Page 21 of The Crown's Fate
“Because I want the crown.”
“What?” Pasha and Vika said at the same time.
Nikolai shrugged. “You heard what I said.”
“On what basis do you have a claim to be heir?” Pasha’s voice was steady, but he pressed his hands flat against hiscoat. Nikolai recognized the gesture, a method for producing outer calm that Pasha had used for years to deal with the pressure of being part of the imperial family. His need to employ it now made Nikolai smirk.
“The tsar was my father,” Nikolai said. “You made it official by bestowing upon me the title of grand prince at my memorial service. But it’s unclear whether the tsar wasyourfather. I hear your mother rather enjoyed the company of a certain staff captain. Alexis Okhotnikov, was it?”
“How dare you!” Pasha’s illusion of calm evaporated, and he advanced toward Nikolai, while at the same time beginning to remove his glove, to throw it down as a challenge in a duel.
“No!” Vika started to run between them.
Nikolai snapped his fingers. A dozen sabers appeared in the air and flew at Vika, surrounding her, their sharp tips gleaming and pointed at her.
She skidded to a halt. Snow piled around her boots.
“What are you doing?” Vika said.
Pasha stared. “Release her!”
But Nikolai was paralyzed by his own warring thoughts. What had he done? Vika wasn’t supposed to be his adversary anymore; they’d joined together at the end of the Game. And yet here they were again, one against the other.
“I’ll release myself.” Vika frosted the ends of the swords, encasing the tip of each blade in a block of ice. They tumbled from the air and onto the cobblestones with a dozen heavy thunks.
Her ability to free herself so easily shook Nikolai out of his stupor. He might have returned to reality, but somehow, the lion’s share of magic from Bolshebnoie Duplo seemed toremain hers, as if his shadow self couldn’t quite hold on to power. They were not as evenly matched as they’d been in the past.
“Are you all right?” Pasha asked Vika.
She ignored him and turned to Nikolai. “Don’t do that to me again.” She picked up one of the swords, melting the ice so that the water dripped down the blade, and brandished it in the moonlight. It was a haunted echo of the end of the Game, when the sun had caught on Nikolai’s dagger.
He did not miss the reference, and an unseen band tightened around his shadow heart.
“Neither of you are thinking straight,” Vika said. “Your Imperial Highness, you cannot challenge an enchanter to a duel. He’d kill you on his first turn. And as for you, Nikolai ...” She whirled to face him, although she lowered the sword before she spoke again. “You’re better than this.”
Am I?
But what was greatness? Was it constantly accepting second place? Nikolai had spent his entire eighteen years coming in second. He’d merely been tolerated in his village on the steppe. In Saint Petersburg, he’d been permitted only to skirt the outer edges of the nobility. And he’d conceded the Crown’s Game. Whether by Nikolai’s doing or not—usuallynot—first place seemed always just beyond reach, taunting him.
Now, however, the throne was right there for his taking, and that same cold flame that had flared to life when he escaped the Dream Bench burst forth again. What was this chill, and where had it come from? And yet Nikolai didn’t care, for the possibility of finally reaching his potential sent a thrill and a surge of strength through his veins.
I don’t want to be second to Pasha anymore. I won’t.
Vika stood waiting for him to respond to her.
Nikolai shrugged. “Things have changed. And what I used to be doesn’t matter.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
If Vika had had any hope for Pasha and Nikolai to make up, to shake hands and be friends again, it died with this declaration. And it seemed there was no need now to tell Nikolai of Renata’s prophecy, for it was laid out here, as clear as ice. Or as murky as ice. The analogy worked either way.
Vika shook her head. Nikolai had always been ambitious. He hadn’t taken it easy on her during the Game. But this sort of ambition was different, driven by malice rather than self-preservation. This wasn’t the Nikolai she knew, the one she might have loved. Had turning into a shadow done this to him?
DidIdo this by condemning him to ante-death at the end of the Game?Her arms, which until then had remained outstretched to keep Nikolai and Pasha apart, fell to her sides.
Meanwhile, Pasha simply stood staring at Nikolai. Pasha’s hand remained on his other glove, but rather than tearing it off, his fingers now pinched the edge of the leather tightly.
“Why are you doing this?” Vika asked Nikolai.
