It was late–or rather, early–by the time Nesta and Anatoliy returned to the townhouse. Despite the hour, the midnight sun was bright in the sky, and Nesta turned her face up to the light as Anatoliy helped her down from the carriage.

"That went well," he remarked as he and Nesta made their way up the stairs at the front of the house. They were the first words he'd spoken since they left the underground club. Both of them had been content to sit in silence during the carriage ride home.

Nesta allowed herself a small smile.

"I suppose I should complement you," Anatoliy added. "Even if Prince Kirill is a tough nut to crack, you certainly had Andriy wrapped around your finger by the end of the night. And tomorrow we'll have a shot at Prince Nicolai. He'll be easier than his brother, but harder to keep once you have his attention."

"Tell me more about them," Nesta requested as Anatoliy let them in the front door. "The princes, I mean."

Anatoliy raised a dark brow. "You don't want to go straight to bed?"

Nesta shrugged. "I'm used to working nights," she reminded him. "I'm not tired yet."

Anatoliy smiled. "Fair enough."

He led the way towards the back of the house, to a formal sitting room that overlooked the little garden and the canal beyond. Nesta settled on a comfortable loveseat as Anatoliy built up a fire in the grate. It may have been the height of summer, but Zaryevsk was never what anyone might call warm, and there was an autumnal chill in the air this morning. Nesta kept her fur cloak wrapped around herself, even as Anatoliy coaxed the fire to a cheerful crackle in the hearth.

"So, the princes..." Anatoliy said when he'd started the fire. Nesta watched as he wandered over to a drinks tray in the corner and poured two glasses of horilka. He handed one to Nesta and kept the other to himself.

Nesta waited as he took a long sip and settled into the armchair across from her. As she waited, she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up beneath her for warmth.

"Prince Nicolai will be easier for you to seduce," Anatoliy said. "He is less discerning than his brother, less serious. But he grows bored quickly. Nothing holds his attention for long, not a woman, not a passion or hobby. Of the two, he is the more... debauched."

Nesta nodded. She had met countless men like that while working at the Black Pearl. They came, they demanded attention, they spent lavishly, and then they moved on, and they never came back twice.

"Prince Kirill, as you saw, is the more serious of the two. He is... perhaps too serious. When he turned eighteen, he was offered a commission in the army, as is customary in the royal family, but he turned it down, calling it an unearned honor and a false command. He wasn't wrong. The next day, he ran away and enlisted as a mere sailor in the navy. He earned every medal, every rank, every honor that he's won–and he's won a great deal. He captains a ship now. He could have been an admiral, but instead, he spat on tradition and turned his back on his duties as heir to the throne."

Nesta frowned. "It sounds honorable to me."

Anatoliy scoffed. "He should be helping to run the kingdom, not playing pirate in skirmishes on the border. He has a responsibility as Crown Prince that he's shirked in favor of his own pursuits–and I won't deny that he's a war hero, several times over. But... He was born to rule, not to sail the high seas."

Nesta refrained from saying that she thought Prince Kirill's path was far more honorable than staying in Zaryevsk and playing at statecraft. She supposed she could see where Anatoliy was coming from. It was less than ideal to have an heir to the throne who had absolutely no interest in ruling.

"Prince Nicolai is the opposite," Anatoliy continued, staring into the depths of his glass like the horilka held the answers to all of life's questions. "He never takes anything seriously, never sticks with anything for longer than a few months. The frustrating part is that he picks things up quickly, and could be good at them if he stuck with them, but he doesn't. If he'd apply himself, even a little, to ruling Kirovka, he would make a better heir than his brother, particularly given that he's far more personable and charming. But..."

He shook his head glumly. "Anyway, you'll have an easy enough time seducing him, and then you can move on to the older brother. Or do it the other way round. If Nicolai sees you with Kirill... Well, that boy's always had a fondness for the things he can't have. And you don't need to keep him, just make him look bad, or, even better, turn Kirill against him. It won't be difficult. The pair of them fight like cats and dogs. Never have two brothers been more different the one from the other."

"And what about the princess?" Nesta asked. Her unspoken question? Will she be a problem?

"Vassa?" Anatoliy's tone was surprisingly affectionate. "The gods were cruel to make her a woman, and the third-born at that. She'd make a far better heir than her brothers, although she isn't what anyone might call biddable."

"She's rebellious?" Nesta asked. She knew precious little about the Princess Vasilisa. People didn't gossip about her the way they did about her brothers.

"No. More... stubborn. And sheltered. The king is overprotective. It makes for a dangerous combination. She's naive in many ways, but headstrong. She hates being wrong, but doesn't know enough about the world to be wise. She chafes at the bit, and the king has a firm hand on the reins. Maybe too firm."

Nesta shivered. She remembered a story about another king who'd been firm with his daughter. Too firm, in the end. But as soon as she remembered it, she buried it deep again.

"So, at the party tomorrow," Nesta ventured. "Who do I start with? Kirill or Nicolai?"

Anatoliy fixed her with a piercing stare. "What do you think?"

Nesta covered her hesitation by taking a sip of her drink, and nearly choked. She'd never developed a taste for horilka or vodka, even after a decade in Zaryevsk. The alcohol burned on the way down leaving the taste of anise and honey lingering on her tongue.

"You said the Prince Nicolai wants what he can't have?" she asked. Anatoliy nodded. "Is he jealous of Prince Kirill?"

"I don't know that jealous is the right word. Prince Nicolai has as little interest in ruling as his brother. But... perhaps competitive would be more accurate."

Nesta pursed her lips. "Then, I'll start with Prince Kirill, purely because you seem to think it'll be more difficult. It gives me more time to work on him." Even though Anatoliy hadn't said precisely how long she had to pull this off.

Anatoliy smiled. "Good. We'll leave at eight tomorrow night for the ball. Wear something scandalous. And don't forget to wear a mask."

Nesta smiled at him over the rim of her glass. "Oh, I will."

✦————✴————✦

Nesta took great pains getting ready for the ball. She'd slept badly, tossing and turning until the sheets were soaked with sweat and she gave up. There was precious little she could do about the dark circles under her eyes except apply a bit of powder and hope that the mask covered them. 

And the mask...

Anatoliy had delivered three masks for her to choose from, all half-masks with ribbon ties. The first was a rich purple studded with what Nesta suspected were real amethysts and hundreds of smaller crystals. It was heavy, and just a little bit too ornate. When she tried it on, it seemed to seemed to wear her, rather than the other way around.

The second was a soft, rose color, fit for a princess. It was decorated with pink, grey and cream seed pearls and delicate embroidery. Nesta loved it, but discarded it, in the end, because it was too girlish. Not at all enticing enough for her purposes.

The third, though... The third was perfect. It was a soft blue that complemented her fair hair perfectly, ornamented with delicate embroidery in blue and silver, with only a few crystals around the edges. Understated, yet elegant, and it added just the perfect amount of mystery, disguising her features perfectly. Nesta barely even recognized herself when she tried it on.

In the back of her new wardrobe, she'd found the perfect gown to go with it, blue silk that fit her torso so well that it looked painted on. It left her back fully exposed, and the skirt was wide and elegant without being too large. The sleeves were long, but with cutouts at the shoulders and slits that ran from wrist to armpit. The neckline hinted at everything, while showing nothing. The bodice and skirt were covered in delicate embroidery and tiny crystals that sparkled when she moved.

Elegant, but also seductive. A little scandalous. Perfect, in other words, for Nesta's purposes.

Nesta paired the dress and mask with pale blue heels that tied with ribbons and were comfortable enough to dance in all night if she had to. For her hair, she couldn't do much on her own, so she pinned it up in a simple twist and wove in a silver headband that seemed to suggest something like a crown.

As a final touch, she stained her lips a vibrant crimson, and then stood back and admired her handiwork in the mirror.

"Nesta!" Anatoliy's shout carried up from downstairs. "Are you coming? Or do I have to wait all night?"

Nesta glanced at her reflection and rolled her eyes. It seemed like a pattern was emerging. "Coming!"

She snatched up the mask and her white fur cloak and hurried down the stairs, the heels of her shoes clicking pleasantly on the hard wood floor.

Anatoliy was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs–again, that sense of deja-vu–and his jaw dropped as he caught sight of her. Nesta allowed herself a moment to preen on the landing. She had done a very good job, if she said so herself.

"Holy Saints," Anatoliy breathed. "You look..."

Nesta had never seen him speechless before. She let herself feel a little triumphant at that, too.

Anatoliy visibly collected himself and offered her his arm with a gentlemanly flourish. "Shall we?"

Nesta took his arm and let him lead her out to the carriage. 

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