Page 32 of My Wild Horse King

“But we mean to be exactly that,” Grigoriy says. “Leonid may not be afraid of us, but we plan to do everything we can to stop him from terrorizing anyone else.”

“Who exactly has he terrorized?” Gustav asks. “Because I’m not nearly as upset about Lukashenko’s death as you seem to be, and Russia has always had executions that we would never approve of here in the United States. Heck, the United States has executions that its citizens think violate due process. Being copacetic in America is a high bar, and dictators never clear it.”

“It’s not that one death that bothers me.” Grigoriy scowls. “It’s the reason Lukashenko’s dead that should worry you. Leonid wanted Belarus, and when he wants Iran and then Syria, no one will object either, because their leaders are also bad men. But what happens when he starts taking countries you Americans care about? What happens when he starts killing good people? Is that when you’ll finally decide that bad actions are wrong and shouldn’t be tolerated?”

“I thought we decided to talk about this tomorrow.” Kristiana shoves a pile of pillows and blankets at Grigoriy.

Surprisingly, the notorious hothead actually backs down. I wish I had Kristiana’s skill at pushing the guys around. From the day we first met at magical training as children, no one has ever listened to me.

Except Leonid, I suppose, but by the time I met him, we were all much older, and his listening days were short-lived.

“Alright.” Kris claps. “Katerina will sleep here.” She points at the sofa. “All of us will hear if you try and sneak off, because Gustav’s door has a security code, and the elevator’s ding is noisy.” She glances at him as if to verify what she’s saying is true.

Gustav nods.

“Great, so let’s sleep. Things will make more sense after we’ve rested—I can’t speak for everyone, but jet lag combined with the late hour is making me downright punchy.”

Once everyone disappears, I realize there aren’t any pillows and blankets left over. Of course there aren’t. At least Gustav has a throw pillow. I punch it a few times and lie down. It feels like I’m trying to sleep on a pile of slate. I tiptoe back down the hallway to the closet Gustav keeps his blankets and pillows in, but it’s right by his bedroom door. I have to work hard to make sure I’m extra quiet.

And after all my efforts, I discover that the cabinets are entirely empty. I suppose he’s not used to accommodating this many uninvited guests. Who would be? I close it slowly, and turn to walk back.

My foot squeaks on a board.

I freeze.

No sounds. I think I’m safe.

I sneak back to my sofa, but before I can lie down, Gustav’s door opens and he emerges, looking around. “Were you over here?” He arches one eyebrow.

No one on earth is quite as perfect as Alexei, but Gustav’s not actually too bad looking. He’s relatively tall, and he has sandy brown hair with light brown, almost golden eyes. His nose is long and sharp, balanced with powerful—but not overpowering—brows. His cheeks are high and prominent, and his jaw’s square. His hair’s just long enough to fall over his eyes a bit.

Exactly like I like it.

When he’s not standing next to one of the most beautiful men on earth, he’s impressively good looking. I feel a little bad for not noticing before. “Sorry. I was looking for a pillow.”

“At least you weren’t trying to escape.”

“Wouldn’t that be easier on everyone, being honest?” I sigh. “I probably shouldn’t have come to New York at all.”

His brows draw together. “Come with me.”

I consider refusing, but he’s been nicer to me than anyone else in this entire country, and I did cause him quite a lot of trouble. I straighten and follow him. . .into his bedroom. I freeze in the doorway, wondering why he summoned me here.

But all he does is grab one of his pillows and the duvet from his bed. “Here.” He extends his hand toward me.

“I can’t take your pillow and blanket.” I shake my head.

“I sleep anywhere, and I’m not at all fussy. Besides, I tend to run hot. The blanket’s usually kicked off on the floor by morning.” He shakes his hand at me as if to say,come get it already.

I finally take the four steps across the room to take it, but I can’t help looking around as I do. His room looks nothing like I expected—nothing like the rest of the apartment.

The family room, entry, and kitchen are plain, utilitarian, and modern. They boast clean, straight lines, but this room is different, like it’s part of a totally unrelated apartment. It’s bright and warm, with wood tones and taupe paint. All the furniture, from the chest of drawers to the nightstands and the end table by the large leather chair, are made from rich, dark wood. The floor’s made of a lighter color of wood. Ash, maybe. There are large, brilliant whorls that cover it. There’s a huge portrait of a stunningly beautiful woman on the wall, and I can’t help wondering who she is.

“Your girlfriend?” I ask, inclining my head.

“The only woman I love, other than my sister.” He compresses his lips and drops the blanket in my arms. “Now, go.”

I’m nearly out the door when I hear him.

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