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“Very well. You may go, Nicolae. Speak to Bogdan before you leave. He has been scouring the prisons for likely new soldiers.”
She expected Nicolae to argue—he always argued—but he bowed and exited.
Daciana took his place, wordlessly helping Lada disrobe. She was a better seamstress than Oana, whose eyes were not good anymore. So Oana had taken over the kitchens, and Daciana the clothing of Lada. When she had Lada stuck in place while she measured, Daciana finally spoke. “Is there a problem with Nicolae?”
“No.”
“Good. I like him.”
“I did not ask your opinion.”
Daciana made a small noise, looking up at Lada from where she was marking cloth with chalk. The new coat would have a fur collar and cuffs. It was dyed deep red to match Lada’s hat. “Then perhaps you do not want to hear my next opinion, which is that you should be careful not to let Bogdan get you alone any time soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“He is going to ask you to marry him.”
Lada jerked away in surprise, leaving a long trail of chalk along the hem of her would-be tunic. “What?”
“He talks to me sometimes, after church. This last time he looked around and mentioned how nice it would be to be married there. Asked whether I thought a girl would prefer to be married in that one, or the monastery on Snagov Island. And since I know he was not coyly trying to get my attention, I can safely assume he was thinking of the only woman he realizes exists.”
Lada sat, ruining the shape of the unsewn tunic. “Why can none of the men in my life simply do what I ask them to?”
Daciana gathered up the fallen cloth, then gently unwrapped the rest from around Lada. “Have you asked Bogdan not to be in love with you?” Her tone was teasing.
“I cannot understand what possesses him to be in the first place. Or why he would imagine I am ever going to marry him.”
“He is a little boy.” Daciana set the cloth to the side, then pulled out a comb and began working on Lada’s hair. She was much gentler than Oana had ever been. Lada did not mind it so much when Daciana groomed her. “He sees in you what he wants to see. Be kind when he asks you.”
Lada looked up through her heavy lashes at Daciana and raised an eyebrow.
Daciana laughed. “Well, not kind, then. But do try not to be cruel. He is a fragile soul.”
“He is twice your size. I have seen him break necks with his bare hands.”
“Ah, but you will break his heart with yours.”
“I never asked for his heart.”
Daciana finished, stroking her hand through Lada’s hair. “That is the thing with giving your heart. You never wait for someone to ask. You hold it out and hope they want it.”
The door burst open and two small children toddled inside. Stefan followed, a brief flash of surprise disrupting his plain face upon seeing Lada. “I am sorry, I thought you were gone.” He leaned down to scoop up the children, but they squirmed away.
“They want their mother,” Daciana said, laughing. She held out her arms and both ran to her, collapsing against her.
Lada was confused. Given how often she was away from the castle, she did not see Daciana much. And she had not seen Daciana’s baby—named for Lada herself—since she was an infant.
But Lada was absolutely certain there had been only one of them.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing to the other child.
A furtive look passed between Daciana and Stefan. Lada only caught it because she was so used to Stefan being expressionless. That shared look cut straight through her confusion. Suspicion bled out instead.
“Our son.” Daciana smiled pleasantly, as though such a thing went without saying.
“And where did he come from?”
Daciana pulled her hair free from the little boy’s dimpled fist. “Where all babies come from, of course.”
