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“Um. Where’s my room?” I force a smile.

“You’ve been given the blue room.” He points.

I nod, and then I march in the direction he points. It’s pretty clear which room he’s talking about, since everything in here is blue. Blue pillows on top of a blue duvet on the massive bed. Blue curtains, blue lampshades, light blue striped wallpaper. Blue carpet. “Talk about overkill,” I mutter.

But now that I’m here, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I mean, I’m in Russia. I have no phone, no clothing, no car, no purse. . .nothing. And I’ve stormed off to hide in my room like a toddler who didn’t get the flavor of cake she wanted.

I should have learned to think stuff through by this age, but here we are.

Someone taps on my door and I spin around expecting my sister. It’s not my sister.

No one’s further from my sister than Alexei Romanov.

“Hi.” He leans against the doorframe. “You seem upset.”

My scowl’s practically a reflex.

“I usually get the most upset when I feel powerless.”

I hate him.

“I came to make sure it’s not that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Aleksandr’s family owed me some money when we were all cursed.” He smirks. “They owed us quite a lot of money, in fact. They’d borrowed it to pay—it doesn’t matter.” He holds out his hand.

He’s offering me some kind of bank register.

“What’s that?” I arch an eyebrow.

“He has generously repaid my debt, with interest. I find that having resources at my disposal puts me in a much better mood. While I appreciate what your sister and her friend were trying to do—forcing you to help me—I’m not interested in coercing anyone. Your reminder there was timely.”

“My reminder?”

“You said that I can’t let you do anything.” He shrugs. “You were right. If my mother had been here, she would have beaten me for implying something like that.”

“Your mother?”

“Alexandra, born Alix of Hesse, a princess from her first breath.”

“She was a feminist, it seems?”

Alexei smiles. “She insisted that her only son be named after her. She taught me to ride horses herself. She spent weeks furious with my father when he made one comment about a woman’s place. I’d say that she was quite a women’s rights activist, yes.”

“I think I would have liked her.”

His expression’s suddenly weary, and I remember that for him, it’s like she just passed away.

“I’m truly sorry for your family’s death.”

He shrugs. “Grigoriy tells me the records are fraught with incorrect information, describing me as weak, hemophilic, and quite young.”

“Are you really wanting to try and reclaim the throne?” It seems like a mad idea. “Aleksandr lives quite a nice life here, and I’m sure that if you really can control water, you could do the same.”

“I’m not power mad,” he says. “If my people are safe and healthy and the government’s caring for them well, I have no reason to try and change anything.”

I think about the government in Russia. It’s not always caring for its people, and I’m not at all convinced it’s keeping them safe, but it makes me feel better that he’s not gunning for some kind of insane restoration right away.