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“You called me a bunny and now an orphan. Your pet names are getting weird.”

“They suit you.” He stands and jerks his chin toward the door. “Come on.”

So I follow him to the kitchen like the overgrown, sugar-rotted child I apparently am.

Dimitri moves around the kitchen.

“What are you making?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Syrniki.”

“The cheese pancakes?”

He points the spoon at me. “They were your favorite when we were little.”

Soon the kitchen starts smelling incredible: butter, vanilla, something warm and rich that makes my whole body loosen by tiny degrees. Dimitri shapes the syrniki with patience, then fries them until they’re golden.

I sit at the counter like an actual child waiting for a treat.

He sets the plate in front of me with sour cream and jam, then says, “There you go.”

I take the first bite as Dimitri leans against the opposite counter, watching me with entirely too much satisfaction. “Well?”

I chew, swallow. “Oh, fucking hell.”

He laughs. “That good?”

“You should quit the heir position and stay in the kitchen.”

Dimitri watches me demolish half the plate and looks unbearably smug about it. I continue eating, and I forget the pain in my head.

Of course, that only lasts while he’s here.

Once he leaves, I’ll be thrown back into my own hell.

Little Prince

Hi, Mommy,

I’m sorry my writing isn’t good yet, but I hope you can understand. I miss you very much. It’s been a few months since you went in the sky, and I still look at the door sometimes like maybe you’ll come back and say it was a joke. You used to do jokes. Not this kind. This kind isn’t funny.

Alya said I should write you letters and bring them to your grave when I visit with Papa, so I’m doing it, Mama. I even practiced my letters so you can read them better. If some words are wrong, please don’t be mad. I’m trying really hard.

I’m a bit lonely lately. The house is too quiet without you. Your room still smells a little like you if I stand in the doorway for a long time. I do that even when Papa tells me not to. I sit on the floor and wait. I know you aren’t coming out. I still wait.

Papa doesn’t spend time with me much. Last week I had a fever, but he didn’t come see me. He said he’s busy with work. I had a really bad dream, and I wanted you to put your hand on my head like you used to. You always used to be here. You used to bring me water and tell me I was brave even when I was crying. Papa just said go to sleep. I didn’t sleep. I looked at the ceiling and talked to you in my head. I don’t know if you heard me. If you did, thank you for staying until morning.

Sometimes I get angry, and then I feel bad, because you told me angry is okay but mean is not. I don’t want to be mean. I just want you back. I want you to come downstairs and tell Papa he has to sit with me. You were the only one who could make him listen.

Alya tries. She’s the best sister. She lets me sleep in her bed when I get scared. She pretends she isn’t scared too, but I can tell. Twin thing. You used to say that. I still feel her even when she’s in another room. I think she feels me too. Today she told me to write everything I want to say, because maybe you can hear letters better than thoughts. So I’m writing a lot. Please don’t get tired of me.

I love Alya, but she’s busy with her friends sometimes. I don’t want to be jealous. Jealous is ugly. You said that too. But when she laughs with other people, I stand in the hallway and wish I was enough. I know that is baby talk. I don’t care. I miss having both of you in the kitchen. I miss when you let us lick the spoon. I miss when you called me your little sun and Alya your little light. I still have the nickname in my chest. It hurts there.

Also, she doesn’t like my knives. I found two small ones in the garden shed, and I was only looking at them. I wasn’t going to do anything bad. I just like how they shine. They make me feel brave. Alya said put them back, and her face got that worried look you used to get. I put them back. I still think about them. Maybe I’m strange. You never made me feel strange. Please tell Alya I’m not bad. I’m only practicing being strong so nobody can take more people from me.

Today Papa said he will bring me a brother. I didn’t know I had a brother. He’s older than me. Papa had him with another woman, which makes me a bit upset. Did you know about this, Mama? I keep thinking if you knew, you would have told me. You told me important things. So maybe you didn’t know. That makes me sad for you too.

Well, anyway. I’m excited to get a brother. I love Alya, but sometimes I want someone who will play the games she thinks are too loud. Someone who will sit with me when Papa is gone and Alya is with friends. Someone who will like my knives. Maybe my brother will. His name is Anton. I whispered it all afternoon. Anton. Anton. Anton. It sounds like a strong name. I hope he is kind. I hope he likes me.