Vika blinked at the card. “This is real?” “Quite real.” Then the tsesarevich could not have been too offended that Vika had frozen him. Unless he meant to arrest her at the ball. Would he do that? On his birthday? “He’s a sweet thing, that boy,” Ludmila said as she began working on assembling macarons filled with pistachio curd and fig jam. All right, so perhaps he wouldn’t arrest her at the ball, if he was as sweet as Ludmila thought. “And you would make an excellent princess.” Vika burst out laughing. “Me, a wild girl from the woods, a princess? And can you imagine Father, in his tunics and
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