In the Winter Palace on the coast of the western sea, there was the usual hustle and bustle for that time of year. Another big ball was to be held; this time, it was a celebration in honor of spring. The coast of the western sea, otherwise warm and sunny, finally yielded to the gusts of winter from the northern regions, so that everything was white as far as the eye could see. It was not exactly ideal for the celebration of spring. Still, Emperor Vatroslav and his imperial family believed that precisely because of this, the people should be reminded of the beauty and exuberance of spring. After all, the spring ball was held every year at this time, and the emperor did not allow the whims of capricious nature to spoil his plans.

Especially for the celebration, the emperor ordered the most beautiful flowers and the freshest fruits from the south to be brought. He wanted everything to shine and be divinely beautiful. His wife, empress Kaliya, in her time one of the most beautiful women in the empire, indulgently smiled and discreetly changed the emperor’s orders here and there. She thought that her beloved husband, although talented in state affairs, was not very gifted when it came to organizing celebrations. But that’s why she was there. The only bright spot in her rather boring royal life were celebrations, so it is understandable that she also wanted everything to look ravishing. Of course, her concept of beauty was very different from the emperor’s, but it seems that this was exactly what made the two of them love each other so much.

The only one in the entire empire who was not looking forward to the spring ball was their son, Tsarevitch Vladislav. Why, no one knew, but the fact remained that he was now in a black phase, so he tended to be bothered by everything frivolous and luxurious. He had his chambers painted black and took the furniture from the attic of the winter castle, already decayed and worm-eaten. His parents worriedly asked him why he hadn’t brought something newer to the room, because after all, a worm-eaten armchair was more dangerous than some, God forbid, assassin. It was enough to throw oneself on it a little bit harder, and one could break an arm or a leg, and not just those belonging to the chair. Not to mention the worst option of breaking one’s neck. Such a thing would be most inconvenient.

At that, the Tsarevitch told them that he did not intend to sit in it anyway and dragged himself to a tatami mat in the corner by the fireplace.

The emperor then declared that he was beginning to regret his own mortality, because one day he would be forced to leave the empire to such a … son (his exact words are best not to cite, because even emperors, despite being emperors, have quite an extensive vocabulary).

In return, Tsarevitch started to hum a death march, which indescribably angered his parents, so they left, leaving the door open.

Vladislav seriously considered painting the white keys on his piano black, but then he concluded that he would not be able to distinguish the notes on the keyboard, so he abandoned the idea.

And so, in the twilight of his room, he thought about the meaninglessness of life. The sounds of the orchestra rehearsing a waltz reached him. He stopped his ears in contempt. He hated people. When he became emperor, he would ban all balls and build a special castle, just for himself, on top of a cliff, from where he could jump when he secured an heir. And maybe even earlier; he hated waiting, too.

What particularly annoyed him was that he would have to lead the first waltz at the spring ball. He began to play a sad tune on the piano with all his might to drown out the sounds of the orchestra. A few years ago, he had entertained the idea of becoming the most famous pianist in the whole empire, but gave up when he realized he had talent. Emperors, in his opinion, should occupy themselves exclusively with things for which they had no talent at all. Like, for example, his father, who was now engaged in decorating the ballroom.

Another thing he dreaded was the girl he had to waltz with in two weeks. In the past, when he was still young and inexperienced, he liked to carefully choose his dance partners and then twirl them into the garden or onto the ballroom terrace, mostly somewhere away from people, and test his seduction skills on them. But, soon, he saw that they would fall into his arms even if he had behaved like an ordinary piece of driftwood, so he gave up on all that in disappointment. There were only a few things left to happen in his life, and that was to be crowned, to be married to a scarecrow of noble origin, to produce an heir, and to perform his spectacular jump from the cliff.

Of all that, he was most eager about the latter.

He left thinking for later and turned to the servant who had entered and was now patiently waiting for the Tsarevitch to notice him.

“Speak, servant!” he said, trying to give his voice that familiar, contemptuous imperial note. He attributed the fact that he sounded like a crow to a cold that had been bothering him for several days.

The servant coughed and said:

“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Vatroslav II, your father, has ordered you to go down to the cabinet of his Imperial Highness for a very important conversation.”

“He said it in those exact words?” Vladislav asked, with doubt.

“Well, it sounded more like–go tell that waste of space to come down within five minutes or else,” said the servant timidly.

“Ah, it’s more serious than I thought. Well, tell his Imperial Majesty that I’ll come down as soon as I’m properly dressed. And then come back to help me with it.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

After some time, Vladislav came down and stood before the earnest faces of his parents. His father scowled.

“We have called you to speak on the occasion of a very important event which we hope will take place soon.”

“It’s not that boring ball, is it?” Vladislav asked, worried.

“No, something much more important,” his mother said with a smile.

The emperor continued. “Tomorrow, your cousin, Princess Lydia, with whom you will lead the first waltz at the ball, will arrive at our court.”

“Wonderful!” Vladislav muttered in despair.

“And to whom we’ll get you hitched,” added his mother happily, to which the emperor looked at her in astonishment. “That is, to whom we shall bind you in holy matrimony,” the empress quickly corrected herself.

Vladislav, who was drinking a glass of water in an attempt to moisten his suddenly dry throat, forgot to swallow out of astonishment, which resulted in an indescribable coughing fit and a spray of liquid that splashed his parents.

“Beg your pardon?” he managed to say when he could breathe again.

“Exactly what you just heard. We intend to marry you to Lydia,” the emperor said firmly.

“But don’t I have the right to choose my own wife? You chose mother, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but fate chose her as my wife, and for you, the soothsayer was drunk at birth, and later, God rest his soul, he died. That’s why mother and I decided to help fate a little, and to spare you the effort of searching.”

“And what if I don’t like Lydia, what then?”

“We sincerely hope you will like her, but if you don’t, we’ll find you another one. Just try not to be too picky, because our patience has its limit.” Having said that, the emperor pointed to the door.

Leaving, Vladislav turned and said:

“You won’t get rid of me that easily!”

Thus ended, all in all, an awkward interview, which resulted in the emperor being completely distracted for the rest of the day, and the empress spending the whole afternoon with a cabbage leaf tied around her forehead.

During that time, Vladislav was desperately trying to think of a way to escape this hopeless situation.

That evening, while Tsarevich, reclining in his worm-eaten armchair, was still trying to figure out how to avoid meeting Princess Lydia, the wind broke one of the windows in one of the corridors of the Winter Castle. This was noticed only in the morning, when the wind had already blown a lot of snow through the opening, causing additional work for the servants. Of course, this was not a particularly important fact, especially not in a world like this one, in which magic was something to frighten naughty children with and where fate was told by senile or drunken seers. But what was important, and what nobody seemed to have been able to remember, was that the corridor and the window in question were in the part of the castle located on the leeward side.

Around midnight, a storm started raging, and freezing rain, carried by the wind, noisily whipped the windows. Vladislav woke up from the slumber he had fallen into. He shivered from the cold, approached the fireplace where the fire was smoldering, and held out his hands to warm them.

At that moment, several things happened—the fire in the fireplace went out, one of the decorative lanterns that hadn’t worked in ages alighted, one of the horses in the stable woke up after being bitten by a very inconsiderate flea, and, to his astonishment, Tsarevich turned and saw a very, very old woman sitting in his favorite armchair.

After recovering from the initial surprise, Tsarevich managed to squeeze in a few comprehensible words.

“Excuse me, why are you sitting in my chair?” he said politely.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I maybe stand on it?” said the old woman and quickly straightened up.

Tsarevich muttered something to himself that sounded like “what a nasty grandma,” and then decided to act as anyone else would in a similar situation.

“Tell me what you’re doing here,” he demanded, “or I’ll start screaming!”

The woman smiled.

“You couldn’t scream even if you wanted to. But let me get to the point!” And, saying that, she floated to the other end of the room.

Vladislav really tried to scream and really couldn’t, but that didn’t surprise him much, because he had long suspected that this person was a witch who had come to avenge her cousin, the seer (the same one who had died for unknown reasons after Tsarevitch was born; Vladislav had always thought that the man had died out of fright, when seeing baby Tsarevitch).

Tsarevich whispered:

“It’s not my fault I was ugly when I was little. My own mother barely acknowledged that I was her son.”

“That’s not why I’m here. My name is Matilda. I am the greatest of all the good fairies in this hideous realm.”

Tsarevich breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, if you’re a good fairy, then no problem. By the way, this realm isn’t hideous.”

“I’m here to help you. And, for the record, this realm is hideous. And disgusting.”

“And, in what way can you help me, good fairy Matilda, me, the future emperor of this wonderful realm?”

“Your parents did something against your will, which is not surprising, considering what a disgusting realm they rule.”

“Indeed, they did. But why do you despise this place so much?”

“That’s why I’m here to help you,” said Matilda. “And I despise this place, because the people here don’t respect magic at all, which is unforgivable.”

Vladislav’s head was spinning from this conversation, so he said:

“Fine, understandable reasons. Now let’s get down to business!”

“Those were just my words. Let’s get to the point.”

“Well, let’s do it.”

“Of course!”

“So?”

“That goes without saying.”

“What goes without saying?”

“That we should get to the point.”

“Then, let’s get to it.”

“To what?”

“To the point!” exclaimed Tsarevich, running out of patience. Sure, the fairies were useful, but why on earth did they have to be so complicated?

“Ah, so what would you do if you could avoid marrying Lydia?” said Matilda, the fairy.

It felt to Vladislav as though the sun suddenly shone on him.

“I would spend a few more wonderful years enjoying my freedom!”

“That’s what I expected you to say. But, unfortunately, I can’t provide it for you. You see, your parents want to marry you so badly that changing their wishes is impossible, even for a fairy like me.”

Tsarevitch shrugged his shoulders sourly, declaring that he hadn’t had much hope to begin with. “So, what can you change then?”

“One important thing. I can get them to let you choose your future wife.”

“Uh, thanks for nothing.” Vladislav sighed.

“In your present situation, that’s more than enough. And, to sweeten the deal, I will tell you what that drunken seer didn’t manage at your birth—your destiny.”

Tsarevitch, although he did not believe in fortune-telling, still felt a strange chill creep up his spine. Struggling to appear more composed than he felt, he said:

“Very well, let me hear that amazing piece of information!”

The fairy cleared her throat and began:

“He was born for love, though glory calls his name,
And all who know him are drawn to his flame.
Yet joy never comes without a hidden scar.
After the bright morning, darkness waits afar.

Oh, let him take caution, though strong he will be,
For shadows hide horrors that no one can see.
Turn from steel and fire, from water and ice,
Give your heart to love—the sweetest sacrifice.”

While the fairy was saying this, Tsarevitch thought he saw the reflection of a girl in a white dress in the mirror on the wall. But it only lasted a moment.

“There, that’s all,” said the fairy. “I have to go now. Sleep well.”

She smiled and disappeared.

Tsarevich soon fell asleep and dreamed the strangest dream in his life—a dream about a young woman in a white dress whose face he did not see, about monsters he would kill, about seas he would cross, all to win her heart.

The following morning dawned gentle and calm, as if the night had never happened, and silenced even the usually lively court. Vladislav awoke, dazed, wondering whether last night’s adventure had been the result of poor digestion or too much wine. Somehow, he pulled himself away from the warmth of the fireplace and approached the window, shivering from the cold.

He wondered what the purpose of windows actually was. Only to let cold air into the room? His castle, he firmly decided, would not have a single window. And yet the view stretching across the snow-covered shore all the way to the thin line of horizon separating sky from sea made him change his mind. Nature was the creator of the most beautiful, unrepeatable works. That must be why people needed windows—so they could admire them.

He noticed another useful purpose of windows when he looked at the dark, winding line of the road. Several even darker specks were crawling across the plain. Good heavens, it couldn’t be that monster of a cousin of his! They certainly were not wasting any time.

“Horatio!” he shouted.

The servant, who had been dozing in the antechamber, jolted awake and ran to answer his master’s call.

“Yes, Your Majesty!” he said, trying at the same time to straighten his clothes, smooth his hair, and put on his shoes.

“Horatio, come here!”

At that summons, Horatio burst into the room with one shoe in his hand, smiling in confusion.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he repeated, attempting discreetly to slip the shoe onto his foot. At that very moment, the door he had been leaning on swung open, and Horatio stumbled forward, ending up tangled in the curtains of the prince’s bed. Vladislav sighed like a very unhappy man and said to the page who had entered:

“What do you want now?”

“Your Majesty, Empress Kaliya, your mother, has sent you this message.” With that, the page produced an envelope bearing the imperial seal.

“All right, you may go.”

Vladislav cautiously opened the message, which read:

“My beloved son, your fiancée, Princess Lydia, will shortly arrive at our court. I wish you to appear properly dressed and to welcome her suitably.

Your mother.

P.S. No jokes whatsoever about her appearance, her servants, her hairstyle, her manner of speaking… (the list continued across the rest of the page) … and finally, the decorations of the reception hall.”

The prince sighed once more, even more miserably than before, if that was at all possible, and collapsed onto his imperial bed (which resulted in one of the four wooden posts supporting the canopy breaking, with far-reaching consequences for a spider whose web had been located there). It seemed the fairy had not managed to change anything after all. It had probably all been a dream.

“Horatio, bring me some clothes,” he finally muttered between two sighs.

“At once, Your Majesty,” said Horatio, limping to the wardrobe, since his unfortunate shoe had been irretrievably lost beneath the prince’s bed.

The reception hall echoed with the hurried footsteps of bustling servants. The prince reluctantly approached his parents and greeted them.

At that moment, something strange happened—his parents froze and looked toward the window, a cold wind whistled through the room, leaving an uneasy chill behind, and the prince thought he glimpsed the smiling face of Matilda, the fairy. But the very next moment, his parents cheerfully resumed chatting, and everything was as it should be.

The page announced the arrival of the royal family. Empress Kaliya turned to her son with a smile and whispered:

“Don’t look so gloomy. Vatroslav and I have thought it over and decided that you should choose your own wife, after all. It will be wonderful! You shall choose her at the spring ball in two weeks. All the girls will wear masks, and the one with whom you dance the first dance will become your wife. That way, fate will be best satisfied. Now welcome Lydia properly. And smile, for heaven’s sake.”

The prince looked at her in astonishment and then smiled, as requested. So, Matilda had not been a dream. And best of all, she had kept her promise. Now he only had to hope he wouldn’t end up with some monster. And not a princess. They were the hardest to get rid of.

Vladislav, feeling tremendously happy, awaited Lydia’s arrival. The doors opened, and King Rovin and Queen Lisa were the first to enter. He thanked them most ingratiatingly for coming.

Then, Princess Lydia entered.

Tsarevich was studying his fingernails when she approached, and he casually lifted his gaze toward her.

At that moment, he made a tremendous effort to stop his eyes from bulging in astonishment. Before him stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life—and he had seen many.  She curtsied, and a black curl fell across her forehead so lovely that Vladislav, gazing into her eyes, forgot to return the greeting.

The emperor cleared his throat, and the empress discreetly nudged Vladislav, so he came to his senses and took Lydia’s hand. Afterward, the royal family withdrew to their chambers to rest until dinner, and the prince retreated to his rooms at the speed of light and threw himself onto the bed (which once again tore apart the newly spun web of the aforementioned spider, who then decided to move elsewhere).

He was enchanted!

He was astonished!

He was hopelessly foolish!

What kind of reaction was that? He was behaving as though he had never seen a female being in his life. One pretty girl, more or less. Big deal.

What Vladislav did not want to admit to himself was that he could hardly wait for dinner time to arrive.

Lydia was a princess — and a beautiful one at that, which was quite rare — and she was very well aware of it. She rejected marriage proposals from various princes, counts, and shahs from other countries and parts of the empire because she wanted to make the best possible use of what she had. And what could be better than an imperial crown?

Now the opportunity she had been waiting for had finally appeared. How he had stared at her! As if he had never seen a woman in his life. Lydia smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Her parents hadn’t told her anything, but it seemed that something was being arranged. And it looked like that something was a marriage to Vladislav — or whatever his name was…

There were still two weeks left until the ball. By then, everything would be settled.

Nervously, she called her two personal maids to help her bathe. She had to rest before dinner. She wanted to shine, and that was difficult with layers of travel dust on her.

One maid’s name was Tilia, and the other’s Leona. Lydia should have remembered which was which, but she didn’t bother. She would dismiss them soon anyway. Empresses, after all, were served only by women of noble birth, not by ordinary, half-trained peasant girls.

The maids hurried at her call, because they knew how unpleasant Lydia could be when she was tired. Leona had spent the entire journey through the blizzard sitting beside the coachman because Lydia’s fur coat hadn’t been warm enough. Leona noticed Tilia watching her cheeks, which were burning as if with fever, and she said to her:

“Don’t worry. I’ve survived worse.”

Lydia shouted for them to hurry, which they silently did. When the princess was finally clean and ready for her afternoon rest, the two of them went to the kitchen to find something to eat.

The kitchen was warm and pleasant, perhaps a bit noisy, but cheerful. The head cook was shouting at the assistants, and in one corner, the servants were carefully polishing the gold and silver cutlery. Only a few short hours remained until the ceremonial dinner.

Leona and Tilia settled onto a bench in the corner by the stove so they wouldn’t get in the way of the pages who were strutting about with their heads and noses held so high they seemed to slice the sky. They sat there laughing at a servant who had spilled a plate of pepper — which made the entire kitchen sneeze — when suddenly an unfamiliar young man dressed in black appeared in the kitchen.

All at once, everyone grew silent. They all bowed to the ground and waited for the young man to do something, but he merely waved his hand carelessly for them to continue working and walked over to the head cook.

Tilia pulled Leona, who was watching in confusion, closer to the ovens.

“Do you see that young man beside the head cook? Do you know who that is?”

Leona studied the tall, dark-haired man without recognizing him.

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s the crown prince himself, beard and all. That’s the one Princess Lydia is supposed to marry. Or so they say.”

“Crown Prince Vladislav?” Leona said in surprise. “Well… he looks so… ordinary.”

“What did you expect — a horn in the middle of his forehead?” Tilia laughed.

“No, but he should be serious, frowning, talking down to the cook, and not like this… ordinary.”

“You don’t like that he smiles?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Still, he’s more handsome when he smiles.”

“He’s handsome even when he doesn’t!” Tilia sighed. “That Lydia has more luck than sense.”

Leona laughed at her friend’s gloomy expression and turned to return to the bench in the corner. In doing so, she collided with that same unfortunate servant who had previously spilled the pepper and was now carrying a new bowl of the precious spice. The servant staggered and lurched toward the crown prince while pepper scattered over the astonished faces of the staff. Amid the renewed outbreak of sneezing that followed, Leona saw only the furious servant apologizing to the crown prince and pointing in her direction, and the cook shouting that both the servant and she — and the bowl of pepper — would be punished.

“It was her — one of the princess’s maids!” the servant protested.

The crown prince looked at Leona, who stood there confused and changing colors, and waved his hand.

“Leave her alone. Besides, I haven’t laughed this much in a long time.”

Then Vladislav left, and Leona fled with Tilia to the servants’ quarters.

“Good thing that wasn’t Lydia. With her, the whole thing wouldn’t have passed without consequences,” said Leona.

“Next time watch where you’re going.” Tilia looked at her worriedly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I am, I’m fine. Just a little tired. Oh, Tilia — if only a person could change their own life.”

“And what then?”

“Then you and I would be two princesses appearing at the spring ball and being the most beautiful…”

Leona closed her eyes and dozed off that very moment. And so she didn’t hear Tilia, who, watching her gently, whispered:

“You already are a princess, my poor Leona.”

Vladislav returned to his room, smiling whenever he recalled the events in the kitchen. Lydia’s arrival had brought at least a bit of life into the stale atmosphere of this boring castle. He sat for several minutes staring into the fireplace and then called for Horatio. Those tailors he had dismissed last week might actually be of some use. It wouldn’t be fair to appear at the ball poorly dressed—especially not with the royal family present. And besides, one could easily grow tired of wearing only black.

This unusual bout of fussing over his appearance had nothing whatsoever to do with the beautiful princess, of course. Vladislav was completely certain of that.

Dinner passed as dinners at the imperial court usually did—with one important difference. Vladislav was not listlessly poking at his plate with his fork; instead, he was trying to impress his guest, and his parents were not looking at him with disappointment but smiling proudly.

No one noticed Lydia’s remark that the soup was too salty—least of all the prince, who was busy staring at her eyes. They had just served the fruit cake when the princess awkwardly dropped a cherry onto her lovely dress. Lydia shrieked in horror. The maid waiting in the background rushed over at the cry and used all her skill to remove the stain. When she finished, Lydia examined the result.

“You’re not even capable of that, Leona. You’ve ruined my dress,” she muttered angrily and shoved her aside.

The girl staggered and nearly fell. Only then did the prince look at her. Wasn’t that the maid from the kitchen he had met earlier that day? He started to say something, but the girl had already withdrawn, and Lydia—calm and cheerful again—turned back to him.

“These servants are getting more and more incompetent. I’ll have to find another one!” she said.

And Vladislav, carried away by her cheerful chatter, soon forgot all about it.

Several days passed, enchanting and wonderful ones. Vladislav had never known life could be so interesting. More and more guests were arriving at the castle, and he found it increasingly difficult to decide whom to give his time to. Lydia often needed a companion for her afternoon walks, and Vladislav was hospitable enough to always be at her disposal. The snow had melted, so all the charming paths in the palace garden had turned muddy. It was therefore more pleasant for them to stroll along the paved roads that disappeared into the forests around the castle.

One day, the princess stopped in delight when she spotted freshly blooming violets. She ran to the clearing and began picking them passionately.

Vladislav smiled and started after her. But then he had a better idea. Why not circle the clearing and surprise Lydia from the other side? That would surely amuse her. With that in mind, he ordered his escort to stay where they were and headed into the forest.

Unfortunately, Vladislav had slept through all his survival skills lessons, and the undergrowth around him was quite dense, so he soon bitterly regretted setting off on the adventure at all. No matter which direction he looked, everything appeared the same. He was just about to start calling for help—rather undignified—when he realized he was not alone.

Standing before him, to his surprise, was the good fairy Matilda.

“Well then, young sir, have we gotten lost?” she asked.

Vladislav cleared his throat and replied somewhat uncertainly (which can be forgiven, given the significance of such an encounter):

“What’s it to you?”

“Oh, I see you don’t need me,” said the fairy, sweeping her cloak as if preparing to disappear.

Vladislav saw that stubbornness wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he hurried to apologize to the fairy.

“I do need you, all right. I just don’t like how you always appear suddenly and without any respect. I am a prince, after all!”

“A prince! Ha—you look more like a lovestruck gander to me.”

“Me, in love? And with whom, may I ask, you witch?”

“Don’t call me a witch, or I’ll disappear at once, and you can manage on your own. And before that, I’ll turn you into a gander, which you already are,” Matilda huffed. “You’re in love with that overdressed chatterbox, Lydia. That’s obvious to anyone with eyes.”

“This has really gone too far!” the prince said angrily. “I never want to see you again in my life. Besides, I didn’t even need you. You can freely put everything back the way it was. I have no objection to marrying Lydia. She’s at least tolerable. I’m not going to risk choosing some monster at that ball.”

At this, the fairy smiled somewhat spitefully (which doesn’t really suit a good fairy, but sometimes that’s how it goes).

“That won’t be possible. What has once been changed cannot be undone—even if I wanted to help you. At that ball, you will choose your wife, and if it is Lydia, you will get your monster. I am only fulfilling the wish you made a few days ago.”

Then Fairy Matilda turned and, forgetting her magical powers, began pushing her way through the branches. As she left, the prince heard her muttering:

“Any sensible fairy would have turned this rude boy into a frog long ago. And here I am, still helping him. Serves me right for meddling with humans.”

Vladislav looked around anxiously. By some magic, however, the branches parted, and he easily found his way back.

But something was bothering him. In a few days, the ball would take place, and he was supposed to choose a girl. Until now, he hadn’t thought about it—but what if that girl wasn’t Lydia?

The Winter Palace, lavishly decorated, sparkled in the light of great chandeliers and small candleholders. Vladislav sat in the library reading a book, or at least trying to. In truth, he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed he hadn’t turned the page for half an hour.

At that moment, a servant entered to inform him that his parents were once again summoning him for a conversation.

Vladislav wearily made his way to the reception room.

His mother spoke first:

“Dear son, we have called you so that you may join us in welcoming Duke Ivan, who is arriving from the eastern provinces. The second reason is that we have not seen you very often these days, and we think we should talk.”

“What’s new?” Vladislav yawned.

“We have noticed that you have changed since Princess Lidia’s arrival.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and we are glad about it. Of course, our arrangement about the ball still stands. That was your wish, after all,” said the emperor, sounding a little like Fairy Matilda.

Vladislav had just opened his mouth to say something when the servants announced Duke Ivan.

The prince was about Vladislav’s age, blond, with cheerful eyes, and strangely familiar. Tsarevitch felt as though he knew him from somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where. The last time the ducal family had visited the imperial city, Vladislav had still been in diapers, and Ivan could not have been much older.

Ivan greeted everyone informally, which no one held against him, since they were all far too charmed to insist on protocol. Vladislav looked him over suspiciously.

“Will you join us for dinner?” he asked, while his parents examined the lavish gifts the duke had brought.

“Of course,” Ivan replied. “Though I hope it won’t be one of those boring dinners. Will there be any splendid young ladies present?”

“There will certainly be ladies, but whether they are splendid, you will have to decide for yourself,” Vladislav replied. “And tomorrow there will be a hunt.”

“A hunt? I don’t like hunts much. I hate killing animals,” Ivan told him confidentially.

Tsarevitch laughed. He had thought he was the only man in the empire who hated hunting.

“So do I,” he admitted. “But today’s hunts aren’t really hunts in the true sense of the word. They’re more like outings—unless by ‘prey’ you mean the young ladies, of whom there will be plenty.”

“In that case, count me in!” came Ivan’s cheerful reply.

When the duke was escorted to his chambers, Vladislav still hadn’t decided whether he liked him or not. His parents were delighted with the young nobleman who had not yet been presented at court. In any case, it was a new, young face among the old men who mostly governed the state—someone, perhaps, with whom one could actually talk.

When dinner time came, Tsarevitch, having barely freed himself from his attendants, went down to the banquet hall. There he saw Ivan sitting on a sofa in the antechamber reserved for servants, twirling a small flower in his hand. He approached him and said:

“If my father sees that you picked a flower from the decorations, you’ll fall into permanent disgrace.”

“Fortunately, I picked this flower in the garden.”

“In that case, you’ll fall into disgrace with my mother.”

“In that case, I’d better hide it before hostile eyes notice it,” Ivan said.

Vladislav laughed, and the two of them walked together into the great hall, already filled with people. Everyone bowed deeply, watching with interest the new face who seemed to be on good terms with Tsarevitch.

The shy glances of the girls mixed with the approving smiles of their mothers, while everything was dominated by the somewhat jealous whispering of their fathers. Vladislav was already used to this, and Ivan seemed to feel perfectly at ease as well. After being introduced to several of the most important people in the empire (and their daughters), the duke gratefully grabbed a glass of some drink and withdrew to a corner.

Soon Vladislav joined him, bored with polished flattery and—though he did not want to admit it—rather liking this unusual young man.

Thus, Vladislav learned that Ivan’s father had died recently and that the burden of governing the province had fallen on the unfortunate young duke. He had proved quite capable at ruling, but he didn’t like it. He wished to live comfortably and without many obligations, though he was not naive enough to believe that would ever truly happen. He liked wine, good food, and women. Still, he did not overindulge in anything, unlike his father, who had been known for drunken sprees and extramarital adventures.

“I’m convinced I have at least half a dozen illegitimate half-brothers and half-sisters scattered around the world,” the duke told him indifferently. “Unfortunately, none of them has offered to help me run the dukedom.”

However, the arrival of Princess Lydia interrupted their conversation. Vladislav stopped in mid-sentence. Ivan quietly said:

“Who is that, if I may ask?”

“That’s Princess Lydia. She was supposed to be my fiancée,” Vladislav said, not quite knowing why—perhaps because he didn’t like the look the duke gave the princess.

“And why was she supposed to be? Were the betrothal plans broken off?”

“No, I simply wanted to choose my future wife myself.”

“I wouldn’t have hesitated much,” Ivan replied cheerfully.

At that moment, the princess approached them. She curtsied shyly, but Vladislav did not miss the look of interest she directed at the duke. After introductions, a servant invited the guests to approach the tables, and the entire company, led by the emperor and empress, proceeded toward the lavishly set dinner in strict order.

Vladislav sat at the head of one table, and Lydia was seated near him. Across from her sat Duke Ivan, and the dinner—though very tasty—somehow did not please Tsarevitch at all.

After everything was over, Vladislav withdrew nervously to his chambers. He lay there on the bed, still dressed, for some time, wondering what was happening to him. Princess Lydia was a pleasant young woman, but he was far from being in love with her. Prince Ivan had appealed to him—they had similar views of the world, and he was witty. Yet somehow the combination of those two people did not suit him at all. Simply put, the princess seemed to be enjoying Ivan’s jokes far too much, and he himself did not appear indifferent to Lydia’s beautiful eyes.

And so, Vladislav lay there, feeling a completely new emotion awakening within him—one that, despite his denial, could only be called jealousy.