bout halfway to Europe, Tanya began to believe the fairy tale. And it was Sasha who began to convince her by not even trying. While the others were annoyed with her again for putting Stefan in such a lousy mood—though she never saw this mood, she only heard about it—Sasha befriended her. Without fail, he was always respectful. He would grouchingly criticize Vasili, sometimes Lazar, and once even the usually quiet Serge, and in their presence no less, but he never had a condemning word for Tanya.

One day she finally asked him why he was being so kind to her.

“Because you deserve it more than most, your Highness. Your life has been hard, harder than mine, I think, before Stefan took me into his service.”

“How would you know what my life has been like?”

Sasha explained. “Stefan has told me what you tell him. He doesn’t believe all of it. Then he believes what he shouldn’t. I think you throw him the truth, daring him to accept it, then toss him the lies to punish him for his doubts. He also told me what he saw for himself. That man who raised you, he should have been shot.”

Tanya grinned at that opinion. “I’ve often thought so myself.”

“But you stayed with him, when you could have left.”

“He finally needed me, really needed me. I had to...”

Tanya didn’t like the way that sounded, as if she had some daughterly feelings for Dobbs, which she didn’t. She couldn’t. The man was too mean‑spirited to inspire affection. She discounted those years when she had thought he was her father and loved him despite his cruelties.

She continued almost belligerently. “I was going to be paid for staying, with the tavern. I wanted to own that tavern more than anything. It would have been my support, my freedom from being under someone else’s control.”

“Yes, Stefan realizes his mistake in buying it. He could have more easily, and cheaply, just burned it down without your knowing and placing the blame on him. But then your Mr. Dobbs wouldn’t have had the settlement that will keep him happy for the rest of his days. And Stefan didn’t want you worrying about the man—in case you might.”

“You know Stefan very well, don’t you, Sasha?”

“As well as any man can.”

“Is he always so... at odds with his own feelings?” she asked hesitantly.

The little man laughed. “You put that very well, your Highness. And no, he is not always so. Usually his feelings are in complete accord, whether they are good or bad. He doesn’t like doubts, or conflicting emotions, and usually has none. Anything that will tip the scales, he stays away from.”

“Like me,” she concluded aloud. “Is that why he’s been avoiding me?”

“He stays away from you because you asked him to—and because you two cannot come together without fighting. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“You’re asking me, when he’s the one with the short temper?” she snorted.

“He has a temper, yes, but of necessity he has learned how to control it.”

“Sasha, do you know how he controls it? What he does, or wants to do, when he’s so passionately furious?”

He was amused by her rising indignation. “Yes, and it began at his father’s suggestion, because when Stefan was younger and became angry enough to fight with someone, he inevitably hurt them. They would not fight back, you see, because he was their prince, and not just any prince, but the Crown Prince. So he had to find another outlet for his anger, an outlet that would hurt no one. He would go to whomever he was currently... well, I think you get the drift.”

“I’d already realized that, but I’m not his current mistress.”

“No, but you are closer to him than a mistress could ever be. You are his betrothed by royal decree, which is as binding as any marriage. In his eyes, Princess, you are already his wife. It only lacks a ceremony to make you believe it.”

It was not the first time Sasha had made mention of Stefan being the royal one, rather than Vasili. In fact, since Stefan had made his confession before they sailed, all of them, the crew and captain included, now spoke of Stefan as their king. Vasili had even made the remark that it had been tedious on his part, trying to be something he was not. Tanya had choked back her laughter, for the man was as arrogant and patronizing as ever. If he had pretended to kingly qualities, she couldn’t imagine what they were.

The Cardinians had shown her some very officious-looking documents, shoved them in her face, actually, the day after they sailed, when she had made some caustic comment that betrayed her skepticism over Stefan’s confession. The papers were clear testimony that Stefan Barany was the new reigning King of Cardinia. Any government would have rolled out the red carpet were it presented with such credentials. Tanya had suggested the documents could have been stolen, or merely faked, and three men had stared at her in offended outrage, which they continued to display to a lesser degree for a good week.

But after she thought about it, really thought about it, she realized how much easier it was to believe that Stefan, rather than Vasili, could be a king. After all, they had all, always, deferred to Stefan, followed his lead, even looked to him occasionally for silent permission before doing something. And it was Stefan who gave the orders, not Vasili. They had tried to tell her the reason was because he was the older cousin, but that had never rung true, and that, com­bined with the rest, was why she couldn’t believe Vasili was their king, and so couldn’t believe the rest of their tale either.

But then she recalled the time Lazar had asked her if she would prefer that Stefan were king. And even Stefan had asked her once how she would feel if she had another choice besides Vasili. Why, unless it was so? And it was Stefan who had taken charge of her from the beginning, as if it were his right—or as Sasha said, he already thought of her as his wife.

And how would she feel about it if she finally accepted everything they’d told her? It was actually much harder to consider marrying Stefan than Vasili. With Vasili there was no question. She simply re­fused. But with Stefan—she was probably as divided in her feelings as he was. There was the powerful attraction she felt for him while hoping it was all true, that he was going to be her husband. Then there were all her doubts while she hoped that even if it was true, she wouldn’t be forced to marry him in the end.

The doubts, of course, took precedence. They were just too numerous. Incompatibility, hostility, the fact that the only thing they had in common was some distant relations she knew nothing about. Then there was marriage itself, the very thought of which she despised. To be under the control of a normal man would be bad enough, but Stefan wasn’t a normal man, he was an all‑powerful king, for crying out loud. And she’d already had a thorough taste of just how controlling he could be, with her own wishes being consistently ignored.

And she mustn’t forget Stefan’s baffling attitude toward her. He wanted her but wished he didn’t; thought she was beautiful but wished she weren’t. And his wanting her was only for one time. He’d admitted as much and was probably of the same opin­ion as Vasili, that royal marriages were political, not personal, and didn’t require much intercourse of any kind between the couple. But where would that leave her? Still wanting Stefan with no hope of ever having him? Would she willingly put herself through that kind of hell? She’d have to be as stupid as they seemed to think she was.

As she would have done with Vasili, she’d have to refuse to marry Stefan—if it were all true. And unfortunately, she was nearly convinced that it was. And then she learned how naive she was about what she could or couldn’t do. Stefan had said it once himself—that as a subject of Cardinia, she would have to obey the king just like everyone else. She had assumed that meant obey or get thrown in a dungeon or some such distasteful alternative. Again it was Sasha who enlightened her when they were having another of their daily talks.

It began when she asked how Stefan had received his scars. For once the little man didn’t want to an­swer her and said as much.

“Stefan should be the one to tell you about it, if he chooses.”

“It’s been a peaceful voyage, Sasha. “ Her tone was as dry as parchment. “Do you really think I should change that by requesting an audience?”

He chuckled. “It is nearly five weeks since you have seen each other. Perhaps you could now manage a few minutes alone, only a few, mind you, without cutting each other to shreds. You haven’t missed him?”

“Not even a little,” she said with absolute certainty, but only for Sasha’s benefit.

Actually, she did miss Stefan a little, or more exactly, the stimulation of being in his presence. What she didn’t miss was the insults, and even Vasili was being on his best behavior now that they suspected she was starting to believe everything, even that she was a genuine princess.

“Has he said anything,” she continued, “that would lead you to think he—ah—misses me?”

Sasha smiled at her hesitancy, but shook his head, saying, “The truth, your Highness, is that since he has been away from you, he has reverted to his normal habit of keeping his feelings strictly to himself.”

“He’s brooding?” she asked with interest.

“No. He simply speaks of nothing of a personal nature.”

“You mean he hasn’t even asked after me?” she demanded, not caring how indignant she sounded.

“For what reason? Everything he could possibly want to know is told him before he need ask.”

Her eyes flared wide. “By you?”

“Certainly.”

“You mean you tell him what we talk about?” she fairly shouted.

“There is no reason for this display of anger, Princess,” Sasha said soothingly. “I haven’t told him anything that might displease you.”

“How would I know? And don’t you dare tell him I asked if he misses me!”

“The subject is already forgotten,” he assured her, only to venture to add, “But perhaps if he thought you wouldn’t mind a chance meeting with him—”

“I would mind,” she insisted stubbornly. “I would have to be a glutton for punishment if I wanted to talk to him again. Why, the very last time we spoke, he asked my price. My price, Sasha! Do you know how insulting that was? No, I like it just fine that he’s arranged things so that we don’t run into each other by accident or otherwise.”

Sasha’s cheeks flushed as he tried to explain. “If you were a whore, then you would surely be delighted at the mention of price. They all think you a whore, so half of what you take as insult is not meant as insult. Why do you not tell them it isn’t so?”

She wasn’t offended by such plain speaking, not from Sasha, and she didn’t prevaricate either. “Why should I bother? Would it change their plans for me?”

“No. You are going to marry King Stefan of Cardinia. It is the old king’s wish. It was the wish of the king before him, your own father. So there is nothing you can do to prevent it from happening.”

“I can say no.”

“It can be accomplished without your permission. You were raised in a country where many voices make the law, but you were born in a country where only one voice is the law. Stefan has merely to order it so, and this he will do because it is his father’s wish.”

“But not his.”

It was not a question, but Sasha treated it as one, admitting, “It was not his wish when he came to find you. Now I am not so sure.”

Tanya was sure. Duty before preference, as Vasili had put it. Stefan would marry her whether he wanted to or not. And now she knew that she would have no choice either. She wouldn’t even be allowed the satisfaction of putting them to the trouble of forcing her.

Sasha became disturbed by her silence. “Perhaps I should tell you how Stefan came by his scars, after all, to help you understand him better.”

“Don’t bother,” she said glumly. “I’m no longer interested.”