Chapter 6
Kira
Imake it three steps back into the ballroom before my legs start to give out.
The walls tilt. The chandeliers blur into streaks of light. I grab onto a marble column and hold on like it's the only thing keeping me upright. Which, right now, it is.
Maksim is alive.
The thought keeps looping through my brain, unable to fully process.
My stomach lurches. I need to get somewhere private before I fall apart in front of everyone. The Ice Queen doesn't collapse at engagement parties. She doesn't let anyone see her break.
I force my legs to move, each step requiring conscious effort. People are staring—of course they are, they just watched a dead man walk through the ballroom—but I keep my chin up and my expression blank. The bathroom is only twenty feet away. I can make it twenty feet.
Fifteen. Ten. Five.
I push through the door and barely make it to the sink before my knees buckle. I catch myself on the marble counter and hold on for dear life.
The woman in the mirror looks like a stranger. Smeared makeup. Wild hair. A scrape on my shoulder that's going to bruise. And my eyes—God, my eyes look like someone ripped my heart out and showed it to me still beating.
I can feel him inside me still. Feel the places where he gripped too hard, where his mouth bruised mine, where his body claimed mine against that wall. I can feel his release dripping down my thighs.
Evidence of my weakness. Of my need. Of the fact that even after six years, I'm still completely, desperately in love with him.
And he hates me.
The sob that tears out of me sounds like an animal in pain. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle it, but another one follows. Then another. My whole body shakes with the force of grief I've been holding back for six years finally breaking free.
He's alive. He's alive and he thinks I had him killed.
I turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face. It does nothing to help. I look worse—mascara running, lipstick gone, the carefully constructed mask of the Ice Queen completely destroyed.
I grab paper towels and start cleaning up the damage.
Wiping away makeup. Fixing my hair. Trying to erase the evidence of what just happened in the garden.
But I can't erase the marks on my skin. Can't erase the feeling of his hands on me, his mouth, his body moving inside mine with fury and desperation.
Can't erase the way he looked at me with such hatred.
I lean against the counter, taking deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
"Kira?" Anya's voice cuts through the fog followed by a soft knock on the door. “Let me in.”
Despite my desire to keep her away from the party, Roman demanded it and my father promised to have her here.
I move to the door and unlock it, hiding myself behind the door.
“Oh God, what happened to you?" Anya gasps.
“Shh. Don’t.”
I close and lock the door behind her.
I can't find words. Can't explain that my entire world just got thrown into a tailspin and I don't know which way is up anymore.
I collapse to the floor.
I’m so tired of being strong.
"You're bleeding." She kneels beside me, her pale pink dress pooling around her.
The rough stone scraped my skin when he pressed me against the wall. Physical evidence of a moment that destroyed me more than his death if that was even possible.
"I'm fine," I lie.
"You're not fine. You're crying. You’re hurt. What happened?"
She goes to the sink to get more paper towels.
It’s clear she’s only just arrived and hasn’t seen him. I don’t know where he is. Maybe he already left.
"He's alive." The words come out broken. "Anya, Maksim is alive."
She freezes and then slowly turns to look at me. I can see her trying to determine if I’ve suffered some kind of head injury.
“I saw him. He’s here. He’s alive.”
"That's... how is that possible?"
"I don't know. He thinks—" My voice cracks. "He thinks I had him kidnapped. Tortured. He thinks I betrayed him so I could take power."
"That's insane." Anya gently washes the scrape on my shoulder. "You loved him. Everyone knew you loved him."
"He doesn't believe that anymore. He spent six years in a Georgian prison planning revenge. Against me."
“Did he hurt you?” she asks. “Did he attack you?”
I almost laugh. “Yes. But not in the way you think.”
A soft smile spreads over her lips. “I understand.”
“I’m so foolish.”
"We need to get you cleaned up," Anya says, practical despite her shock. "Roman will notice if you're gone too long. I have makeup in my purse."
Roman. God. How do I face him now, knowing Maksim is in that ballroom watching?
But Anya's right. I need to pull myself together.
I step in front of the mirror.
The woman staring back looks haunted. My lips are slightly swollen.
I rebuild it piece by piece. Concealer for the redness. Fresh lipstick to hide the evidence of Maksim's mouth on mine. Hair pinned back into submission. By the time I'm done, the Ice Queen is back.
On the outside, at least.
"You don't have to go back out there," Anya says quietly. "We could leave. Say you're sick."
"And let Roman wonder what happened? Let him suspect something?" I shake my head. "No. I go back. I smile. I play my part."
"Even with Maksim watching?"
"Especially with Maksim watching." I meet my sister's eyes in the mirror. "He wants to see me break. I won't give him the satisfaction."
It's a lie. He's already seen me break. Already knows exactly where to strike to make it hurt most.
But he doesn't need to see it again.
The ballroom feels different when I step back inside. Charged. Dangerous. Every conversation seems to be about the fact Maksim Barinov is alive.
The dead heir walking.
I scan the room and find him immediately, like my body has a compass that points to him regardless of my wishes. He's near the bar with Roman, both of them holding drinks, both of them the picture of familial reunion.
But I can see the tension in Maksim's shoulders. The way he holds himself ready for violence. The cold calculation in his eyes as he surveys the room.
Our eyes meet across the ballroom, and for a heartbeat, I see something flicker in his expression. Regret. An apology.
Then it's gone, replaced by ice.
I force myself to look away first. To smile at someone whose name I can't remember. To pretend my world didn't just explode.
"There you are." Roman appears at my elbow, his hand immediately going to my waist. "I was getting worried."
"Just needed some air." I keep my voice light. "The excitement was overwhelming."
"I can imagine." His fingers dig into my side. “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?” I ask.
“Ah, let me be the first to show you.” Roman guides me toward where Maksim stands. "Come. Let me properly introduce you."
No. No, I can't do this. Can't stand there and pretend we're strangers while my lips still burn from his kiss.
But I don't have a choice.
Roman leads me across the ballroom like I'm a prize he's displaying.
"Maksim," Roman says warmly. "I don't think you've been properly reintroduced to my fiancée. Kira Markov. Though I believe you knew each other before."
The understatement is deliberate. Cruel. Roman knows exactly what we were to each other. He was one of the few that knew about us back then.
This is him twisting the knife. Showing Maksim that he won. That he's taking what should have been Maksim's.
Maksim's eyes drift over me like I'm a stranger he's mildly interested in. No recognition. No warmth. Nothing but cold assessment.
"We've met," he says, his voice flat. "Long time ago. You look different."
"People change." I manage to keep my voice steady. "Circumstances change us."
"They do." He takes a sip of his drink. "Congratulations on your engagement. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
The words are polite. Proper. Completely devoid of emotion.
Roman laughs, pulling me closer. "I'm certainly happy. She will give me many strong sons.”
He's doing it on purpose. Rubbing in what Maksim lost.
"I’m sure," Maksim agrees, his tone suggesting he's commenting on the weather. "Though I'd watch your back, Uncle."
Roman's smile falters slightly. "Oh?"
"Well." Maksim's eyes finally meet mine, and they're dead. Empty. "The Markov family has a history of eliminating their problems. Just ask my kidnappers. Or me, I suppose, since I'm the one who survived them."
Roman chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Take it from someone with experience. There's a good chance she'll kill you eventually. Might want to sleep with one eye open."
He says it casually. Like he's suggesting Roman try the salmon.
Several people nearby have stopped pretending not to listen. This is going to be all over Moscow by morning.
"That's quite an accusation," Roman says, his voice dangerous now.
"Is it?" Maksim's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
I want to defend myself. Want to scream that I never betrayed him. But it’s pointless.
Maksim straightens his jacket. "If you'll excuse me, I should make the rounds. Let everyone know the dead have risen. Enjoy your party."
He walks away without looking back, leaving me standing there with Roman's hand like a manacle on my waist.
"Well," Roman says after a moment. "That was interesting."
Interesting. He thinks Maksim publicly calling me a murderer is interesting.
"He's been through trauma," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "He's not thinking clearly."
"Or he's thinking very clearly." Roman turns me to face him. "Tell me the truth. Did you have anything to do with his kidnapping?"
The question catches me off guard. "What? No. Of course not.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says in a low voice. “I actually admire the idea.”
I glare at him. He knows I hate him. I’m never going to pretend otherwise when it’s just the two of us. I’ll fake it in front of these people, but he will always know I loathe him.
"Now then." He tucks my hand into his arm. "Let's finish this party.”
I catch glimpses of Maksim throughout the night. He's working the room, talking to people, making connections. Planning something.
Every time our eyes meet, I see the same cold hatred.
The boy I loved is gone. Buried under six years of torture and rage.
And the man who returned wants me destroyed.
The party finally ends near midnight. I survive the last round of congratulations. I want nothing more than my warm bed.
I'm heading for the exit when Anya catches my arm.
"We need to talk," she says urgently.
"Not here." I glance around at the remaining guests. "Later. At home."
"Now, Kira. Please."
There's something in her voice—desperation or fear—that makes me follow her to a quiet alcove.
"What's wrong?"
“I've been thinking about this all night. We should run. Both of us. Right now. Before the wedding. Before Maksim can destroy you. Before Roman can—"
"We can't run." I squeeze her fingers. "I explained this. Roman would find us."
"Then we go somewhere he can't. America. Asia. Somewhere far enough that—"
"There's nowhere far enough." I wipe her tears with my thumbs. "And even if there was, Maksim would find me. You heard him tonight. He's planning something. Running would just confirm his suspicions."
"So what? Let him think you're guilty if it means you're alive!" Her voice breaks. "Kira, I can't lose you.”
My heart cracks seeing her like this. My baby sister, who should be worried about boys and art and normal nineteen-year-old problems, reduced to begging me to run for my life.
"You're not going to lose me," I promise, even though I have no idea if it's true. "I'm going to figure this out. Handle Roman. Handle Maksim. Keep us both safe."
"How?" She searches my face. "How can you possibly handle all of this?"
"I don't know yet." The honesty feels necessary. "But I will. I always do."
"Please." She holds my hands tighter. "Please don't marry Roman. We'll find another way to save me. We'll—"
"There is no other way." I pull her into a hug. "I promise you, Anya—I will survive this. We both will."
She cries against my shoulder, and I let her. Let her have this moment of fear and grief.
Then I pull back and fix her hair, wipe her face, rebuild her armor like I rebuilt my own.
"Go home," I tell her. "In one week, you'll be gone. Safe. Building a new life."
"And you'll be stuck here."
"For now." I manage a smile. "But not forever. I promise you that."
She doesn't look convinced, but she nods.
We leave separately—her with our father, me alone.
I need space to fall apart without witnesses.
The car ride home is silent. The driver knows better than to make conversation with the Ice Queen.