Page 203 of Golden Eagle

Simple words, but they hit Nikita like a shove. He took a sip of his tea to hide whatever his mouth did in response.

The worst part? It was fair. Lately, Nikita was having to take long, hard looks at the things he’d always said and done, the codes he’d clung to like lifelines. In his own mind, he could see all the ways Alexei lived as being dangerous, reckless, and harmful to the mortal world.

But was his opinion right? Or was it merely his?

Right, a stubborn voice in the back of his head insisted. It was wrong to take too much from humans. To kill them.

Said the Chekist to the prince…

“I’ve let you treat me like I’m stupid,” Alexei said. “I’m not going to do that anymore.” He swallowed after, throat jumping, which ruined some of the effect.

But Nikita heard him.

He wanted to punch him, more than a little. But heheard.

What if I won’t go along with it?Nikita thought.What if I tell you to go to hell? Are you going to fight me?

But he didn’t voice those things. In truth, he felt something almost like relief. Meeting Alexei in the flesh, the grown version of the sick little boy his mother had shed tears for by sputtering candlelight, who Nikita had always seen as a victim in every way, had been one of the most disappointing experiences of his too-long life. For the Whites of Russia, Alexei – along with the rest of his family – had gained a kind of saintliness in death, pity leading to admiration. But to see that he was frivolous, spoiled, careless – that had left Nikita hating him.

So, yes, he felt relief now, seeing him like this. He said, softening his voice a fraction, “What happened with Gustav…your grace?”

Sasha perked up straighter beside him. Nik heard several quick, indrawn breaths as shock moved through the room.

Even Alexei’s brows twitched with surprise; but his shoulders slumped, after; his own relief. “Gustav has been…trying to sway me against all of you. Especially you,” he said to Nikita. “He keeps reminding what you are, what you did. The way your people killed my family.”

“They werenevermy people,” Nikita growled.

Alexei tipped his head. “How long can a man pretend to be something before he actually becomes it?” He waved when Nikita moved to protest. “I know, I know, but that was the sort of thing he said. He was – convincing.”

Then Alexei lifted his head and shot a glare toward Dante, still curled up in his chair like a frightened child. “Andyou. You were part of it all along. You pretended to be a historian. You pretended you worked for my great-grandmother!”

Nikita twisted around to see Dante lift his face from where he’d pressed it into his knees, its already narrow lines made longer by the hangdog look he wore. He blinked, the light catching the gleam of checked tears on his lashes. “But I did know her. I am a historian. Lex–”

“Shut up!” Alexei shot to his feet, nearly tripping on the bench and having to catch himself with a palm on the tabletop. The mage looked up at him with wide eyes. He jabbed a finger through the air toward Dante, who shrank back deeper into his chair. “Shut the fuck up! I should’ve let those wolves have you!” His expression was thunderous…though it looked more like an actor playing at being furious; like a hurt, frightened boy posturing. This betrayal cut deep; it felt personal to Alexei, and Nikita realized he felt bad for him; a novel experience where Alexei was concerned.

“Lex–” Dante tried again, voice choked.

Alexei growled.

Trina set her mug aside with a sigh, and a muttered, “God, Iamgonna have to be the mom friend, aren’t I?” She smoothed her features to a pleasant, inviting expression. “Dante,” she said, turning to him. “Why don’t you explain it to us?”

“I don’t care what he has to say,” Alexei snapped. “It’s all lies.”

“Well,Iwant to hear,” Trina said. She gestured to Dante in invitation.

Alexei sat back down in a huff, bristling and agitated.

Dante flicked him a cautious glance, swallowing, chewing at his lip. He decided Trina was the less hostile audience, and directed his words to her. “My name truly is Basil Norrie.” His voice started tremulous, but gained stability as he slipped into the explanation. “And I’ve truly been living as a schmuck named Dante in the city for the last two decades. Reinventing myself, as it were,” he said with a grim, self-mocking smile. “I suppose I was always a bit hopeless and awkward, and I decided to make a go at being a – a seducer.” His cheeks turned pink.

Alexei scoffed. “You’re not even that good in bed.”

So that explained it. Nikita had suspected, but it was nice to have it confirmed; no wonder Alexei felt so personally affronted about the whole business.

Dante bit his lip again, dark lashes fanning low across his cheeks. Hurt. And over something so petty.

Trina cleared her throat. “Let’s assume all of that’s true. How did you end up working with Gustav?”

All the flustered color bled out of his face. His cheeks went bone white, and his lashes lifted, eyes wide, and pale, and gleaming. He wet his lips, and his hands tightened on his ankles, clinging tight. “I’m – I’m afraid I didn’t have much of a choice.”

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