Page 67 of Golden Eagle

“Ah, well. Not exactly. After ten years or so, I stopped meeting with her. We traded correspondence through her secretary, and she didn’t see me again. I can’t imagine how I would have explained it to her, my agelessness.”

“Some humans are more understanding than you think.”

“That isn’t the sort of thing you reveal to the Queen of England,” Dante argued, lifting his brows.

“Maybe not,” he conceded, trying to be casual, and earned a warm smile. “What?”

“I–” He bit his lip, point of one fang showing, and hesitated.

“What?” Alexei pressed.

“I still can’t quite believe you’re alive,” Dante breathed, like a confession. “I knew of Rasputin, and there were rumors of your survival, but without any direct proof…My God, that first time I saw you at Nameless, I thought I’d faint. You’realive.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.” Alexei shifted, uncomfortable with that kind of attention. Like he was some rare thing. Like all that mattered was that he was the tsarevich.

“No,” Dante said, like he understood. He set his wine aside and leaned forward, capturing Alexei’s free hand in both of his. He squeezed, just tight enough. “I’ve spent my whole long life studying families. Following their tragedies and triumphs, never interfering. I’ve watched – I’ve watched them fall apart. And be killed. And suffer. I…” He blinked and glanced down at their joined hands. “I’ve been in America since World War Two. Just…existing. Lost. I love history…but it’s only one tragedy after the next.” His gaze lifted, shockingly intense. Intimate. “Until I saw you. You’re the one who lived, Lex.” His hands tightened. “I’ve been a coward, only observing, never interfering – never using my powers for anything useful. But you’re here. You’re alive. Maybe noteverything’sa tragedy.”

Alexei was stunned. Could only blink, stupidly.

“Tell me what’s going on with Gustav. If – if you want to. I want to help, if I can.”

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