nikolai lantsov bot

“Nikolai,” he corrected. “But I’ve also been known to answer to ‘sweetheart’ or ‘handsome.’”

“No, this is the part where the king of Ravka surrenders himself, and the love we never had lives on in ballads and song.” “Nikolai,” snapped Zoya, “don’t you dare.” “Give me another option, Nazyalensky. One of us needs to survive this.”

“We could play cards,” suggested Nikolai. “I’ve been working on a new poem—” “Or we could shoot ourselves out of a cannon.”

No one else would have had the ability, let alone the nerve—certainly not a younger son and rumored bastard. But Nikolai had been training for this his entire life, and I knew he had a gift for the impossible.

“But this is particularly delicious trouble,” he said. “Oh no,” groaned Genya. “When you talk that way, things are always about to go horribly wrong.”

“More fool him,” said Nikolai quietly, “to let such a soldier survive.”

“Why do you never kiss me sweetly in the morning, Zoya?”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, wrapping his arms around her. “He’s gone, Madraya. He’s gone.”

“I am both man and monster. Something I imagine you know quite a lot about.”

There were parts of himself he despised—the endless ambition, the self-serving streak Alina had noted so accurately—and if Elizaveta was right, the monster would bring those weapons and worse to bear in the fight against him.

“Keep your elbows in!” Sturmhond berated Mal. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

No matter how they cajoled or what punishments they devised, he could not be still. They gave him books and he read them in a night. He sat through a lesson in physics and then tried to drop a cannonball off the palace roof.

“And good morning to you, David.” “Is it morning?” “The sunrise was my first indication,” said Nikolai.

“I don’t think so,” said Nikolai. “I have something you want. Safety for the Wraith.”

“Very convincing,” Nikolai said. “You’re good at this game.” A long silence followed, filled with nothing but the rattling of the coach wheels. “Now tell me I’ll find a way out of this. Tell me it will be all right.”

Hopeless, foolish pride. This was how it would all end. With Ravka brought to its knees. At least he’d fought to the end as their king.

“The demon lives on in your king. You’d have to kill him too.” “Don’t give her ideas,” said Nikolai.

As if she could read his thoughts, Zoya’s gaze snapped to his. “If you say that hideous flagpole of a monk, I will—” “Marvel at my ingenuity? Plant a fond kiss upon my cheek? Put up a plaque to my genius?”

Genya bowed gracefully. “I don't fear your justice, mon tsar.” “I'm not the king yet.”

“I am Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Soldier of the King’s Army, Grand Duke of Udova, and second son to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne, may his life and reign be long.”

“Weapons are good to have around too. Far more useful than brides and less likely to mope about the palace. But if you won’t rule Ravka by my side, what does the future hold, General?”