“Our father is dead,” Lada said.

Radu leaned heavily against the doorframe. Lada drifted in past him. He shut the door, closing them in.

“Why did you keep this from me?”

Radu was glad it was dark so he could not see her face. “I did not know how to tell you.” He reached for her hand. It felt cold and tiny in his own. “I am sorry. I know you loved him.”

“I did not love him. I worshipped him. And then he betrayed us by being human—so worthlessly, weakly human. He left us here with nothing and made it impossible for us to return home.”

“He terrified me.”

Lada laughed sharply. “Little brother, everyone terrified you.”

“That is true.”

“Mircea is dead, too.”

“Yes.” Radu thought of the raw grief Mehmed had been consumed by after the murder of his infant half brother. Radu felt nothing like that when he thought of Mircea’s death. Perhaps that meant something was wrong with him. He wondered if Lada mourned Mircea. He did not ask.

Lada spoke. “Do you remember that summer? When Father took us out of the city?”

“Yes. I was bitten by so many bugs I could scarcely move.”

“I thought he would see me. I thought if we left Tirgoviste, if we left stupid Mircea, if we left behind the boyars and their ceaseless bickering, he would see what I was becoming to please him. For one day, I thought he did. It was the happiest day of my life. And then he left, as he always did.”

“He loved you.”

“You sound so certain. How do you know?”

“Because he tried to save you, that day the sultan claimed us.”

“He failed.”

“But he tried. That was more than he did for me.”

After a brief silence, Lada let out a harsh bray of laughter. “I keep thinking how angry Mircea must be to be dead.”

“I had the same thought!”

They laughed, and then it was quiet for a few warm minutes, safe and dark with their childhood between them. The things they had had and the things they had lost that only they could ever understand.

“I have something for you.” Radu reached into a box on his side table and pulled out a locket. “That night. When the physician was sewing you back together, I found your little pouch. The one you always wear around your neck. It was ruined, but…Well, I saved what was inside and had this made for you.”

He held out the necklace. The metal locket was heavy and cold in his hand.

With a sniffling gasp, Lada lowered the chain around her neck and clutched the locket to her chest. “Thank you. I have lost too much recently.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. Radu knew some of what she lost had been solely to protect him. As she had always done, in her own way. He breathed out a sigh and steadied himself to tell her he was sorry. That he loved her. That he understood her.

“The throne is yours,” Lada said, puncturing the space and bringing the night with all its dark terrors back down on Radu.

“No.”

“It is.” Her voice rose, excitement kindling there and growing toward a fire as only Lada could burn with. “Nothing holds us here now. We are beholden to none, ransom against nothing. You could claim the prince title. Mehmed will support you, he will be glad of it. We could go back to Wallachia, together, strong, and no one could tell us—”

“No! Lada. No. I do not want to go back.”

“But it is our home.”

Radu shook his head, rising to sit on the edge of his bed. “My home is here.”

“You mean Mehmed is here.” There was no accusation in her voice, but the way she said it stung Radu.

“Yes.” He did not pretend it was otherwise, but he could not explain to her the other reasons. The mosques, with their domed towers making him feel insignificant in the most comforting way. Praying in perfect union with his brothers around him. Having a place, a life, a position where he was valued. And yes, doing it all by Mehmed’s side. Even if it would never be as much as Radu needed.

As though following his train of thought, Lada said, “He can never love you. Not the way you love him.”

Radu laughed, but it sounded old and brittle. “Do you think I do not know that? And still this is better than what we can ever hope for in Wallachia. How can you not see that? You have him, Lada. You have his heart and his eyes and his soul. I have seen the way you wait for him to look at you, the way you relish his attentions. You pretend you do not love him, but you cannot lie to me.” He paused. Then, unable to stop himself, he slipped into a goading tone. “No one will ever love you as he does—as an equal—and you know it. You will not leave that. You cannot.”