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“Queens need mathematics.”

“Why?”

“To count taxes.”

“That sounds boring.”

“Most ruling is.”

“Then I’ll be a magical queen where there are no taxes or money or bad people,” she says.

Nikolai’s face closes down at the last part. I know he thinks himself as the bad guy.

I’m being honest, he had told me. How long can I keep defending what he does even though I don’t care. And that’s the absolute fucked up truth about all of this. I don’t care what he is.

“Do you think there can be flying cows?” Anya asks.

“Anything the queen desire, your highness,” I tell her.

I bite back a smile, but Anya giggles into the blanket. The sound loosens something in me. For a while, the three of us watch the movie in a crooked, uncomfortable heap on her little bed. Anya’s head ends up on my arm. Nikolai adjusts the blanket when it slips.

His hand stays around mine.

Anya falls asleep before the last song. I tell myself I will move once the movie ends. Then I tell myself I will move after the credits. Then Nikolai’s thumb brushes once across my knuckles, and I am too tired to keep arguing with my own heart.

I fall asleep with Anya tucked between us and Nikolai’s hand holding mine behind her back.

When the door opens in the morning, I wake at once.

For one second, I don’t know where I am. Then I feel Anya against my side, see the pink headboard above us, and find Nikolai asleep on the other side of her with one arm bent awkwardly under his head.

Galina stands in the doorway.

She has one hand still on the knob.

Her eyes move over us: Anya asleep between us, Nikolai in yesterday’s shirt, my hand still caught loosely in his.

I pull it away. Too late.

Galina’s face changes so slightly that anyone else might miss it. I don’t. It’s not scandal. It’s not even surprise. It’s something quieter, and for some reason that makes my stomach twist.

“Forgive me,” she says. “I thought Miss Anya was alone.” Then she steps back and closes the door.

Nikolai doesn’t wake. Anya only sighs and turns into the pillow. I lie still for a few seconds, staring at the door.

Then I carefully climb out of bed.

The floor is cold under my feet. I smooth my hair, fix my cardigan, and slip into the hall.

Galina is already halfway down the corridor.

“Galina,” I call softly.

She stops. When she turns, her face is composed again. Perfectly so.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”