Truvor the Red had favored red and black garments, and Oleg often followed that tradition, but for a celebratory occasion such as this, he preferred a lighter touch.
Mika entered his chamber after a quick knock, wearing the colors of his Estonian territory, a deep blue velvet with silver embroidery on the collar. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” He palmed a golden brooch he had designed for Tatyana months ago. The central stone was a ruby that mirrored the goblet that was the symbol of her reign as terrin of the Eastern Poshani. He would find a moment during the dance to give it to her, and then he could see her wearing one of his jewels no matter whom she spoke to or danced with.
“Who will you dance with first?” Mika asked. “I would suggest Takhmina Rasulova, but her family might read more into that than we want them to. Alina would be a safe choice, but?—”
“Tatyana, of course.” Oleg looked into the mirror as he secured the enameled blue-and-bronze Orthodox cross around his neck, a humble reminder of his baptism from barbarian to leader centuries before.
Mika said nothing.
Oleg looked to the right. “I will dance with my wife first.”
“It is not advisable.”
“She has agreed to it.”
“She likely has no idea of the political ramifications. We have not struck any new public deals with the Poshani as we have with the Rasul clan. You had one meeting after the reception, and it was a tea party hosted by Kezia. Her advisors are probably talking her out of it at this very moment.”
“They will not succeed.” Oleg took a tortoiseshell comb to his hair and tried to tame the thick mane. Perhaps he should grow it long again. Then Tatyana could braid it for him.
“The Poshani are reliable allies” —Mika narrowed his eyes— “but your public relationship with her is the subject of rumors and speculation already. Will you please?—”
“Listen, my friend.” He checked his reflection one last time, teasing a fiery finger over a line of stubble on his neck to trim his beard. Then he turned to Mika. “I am being very patient with all this. I could crush the Poshani with my finger, and yet I do not do this because of friendship and how they have embraced my wife. I could stamp out Ivan and raze this very city if I summoned my druzhina to muster their people. Am I lying to you?”
Mika’s voice was steady. “No, Knyaz.”
“And yet I am being patient. I am being… diplomatic.”
His boyar’s eyes were resigned. “Yes, Knyaz.”
“Therefore, I am going to dance the first dance of this night with your empress, though I cannot call her my queen in public yet. And we will let the chattering vampires gossip as they will.” He checked the line of his cuffs. “It will elevate Tatyana in public, and perhaps it will cause others to believe I am being magnanimous with a young vampire who has irritated me in the past while simultaneously staking a claim on a previous favorite of the Fire King’s court.”
Mika’s eyes brightened. “You could be correct. I had not considered that.”
Oleg walked over and patted Mika’s cheek. “Or perhaps they will simply think that I want to fuck an ethereally beautiful woman who challenges me. Either way, I do not care.”
Mika sighed. “Yes, Knyaz.”
Oleg strode toward the door. “I like it when you’re so agreeable, Mika. You should do it more often.”
She wasas beautiful as he had expected, dressed in a gown made of ruby silk draped from shoulder to shoulder, which framed her pert breasts. Her skirt brushed the floor, and the traditional Poshani headdress she wore echoed her clan’s Persian influences while still being utterly unique.
Bright silver thread held beads and jewels along the border of her gown, and she and Kezia wore matching gold headpieces that were not crowns—the Poshani did not have royalty—but were made of woven gold and held a single large jewel at the forehead.
Kezia wore a citrine, and Tatyana wore a ruby.
Oleg tried not to stare, but it was difficult.
He stood along the walls of the ballroom, hanging back as the Báthory clan performed their traditional grand dance and music filled the hall from the orchestra on the far side of the room.
Scanning the gathering of so many powerful immortals, Oleg knew it was essential to create a strategy for the evening.
He sent his amnis out, probing for any intrusive sensations of power, but he felt nothing.
So far the immortals at the summit were on their best behavior.
He leaned over and spoke to Mika. “It’s nice to have these events. Humans have forgotten their history. So few of them entertain properly anymore.”
