The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,45
heard he lost hundreds of thousands of men on that campaign.”
“He did indeed,” Wolff said. “Poor bastards. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even the enemy. I’d rather be shot than freeze to death.”
Anya’s chest tightened at the memory of Dmitri. She supposed she should take some slight comfort from the fact that his death had been relatively quick.
They rode on in companionable silence as the shadows lengthened. Anya took a deep breath, glad of the fresh air despite the chill, and cast around for a less depressing subject. Wolff probably had hundreds of unpleasant memories from the war. No need to dwell on them.
“I’m translating a book of Russian fairy tales for the dowager duchess,” she volunteered. Her breath made a dragon’s breath white puff in the cold air.
“Do you have a favorite?”
“Of course. The story of the ice maiden Snegurochka, a beautiful girl made out of snow. Sneg is the Russian word for snow. She’s always described as wearing a long silver-blue robe edged with arctic fox fur, and a crown made of snowflakes.”
“You have a cloak like that.”
“Yes.” She’d forgotten his unnatural perceptiveness. “It, ah, used to belong to the princess. She gave it to me.”
“So what did this ice maiden do?”
“She’s the daughter of Spring the Beauty and Ded Moroz, old Father Frost. She was immortal, but lonely, and she longed for the companionship of humans. She used to spy on every human she could find, and in time, she fell in love with a shepherd boy named Lel.”
“Of course she did.” His tone was dry. “A girl can’t always find a titled, moneyed prince to fall in love with.”
Anya glanced sideways at him and felt her heart turn over in her chest, despite his cynicism. In the lengthening shadows, he embodied masculine grace and strength. He was exactly the kind of human a foolish immortal would fall in love with.
She cleared her throat. “There are several versions of the story. In some tales, the very act of falling in love warms Snegurochka’s heart so much that she melts and disappears in a puff of water vapor.”
Wolff snorted. “That’s unfortunate. A cautionary tale for avoiding romantic entanglements, then.”
“But another ending has it that falling in love does not kill the princess,” Anya continued. “Instead, she falls into a deep decline because she knows she can never be with her mortal love. Her mother, Spring, asks whether she would forfeit her immortality to be with Lel, and she answers without hesitation, ‘Of course! I’d rather live a short and happy life with Lel than spend eternity without him.’ Seeing the depth of her daughter’s love, Spring grants Snegurochka her wish. The Snow Maiden becomes mortal and marries her shepherd, and they have a long and happy life together.”
“She gave up her privileged position for love?” Wolff raised his brows. “No wonder it’s a fairy tale. Which ending do you prefer?”
Anya wrinkled her nose. “I suppose the first one’s the most realistic. Love certainly has the power to destroy those unlucky enough to encounter it.”
Apart from Elizaveta, all the people she’d ever loved had left her; her parents of illness, Dmitri from war. Her heart still felt bruised. It made sense to enclose it in a layer of ice so thick, it could never be melted. They’d called her the ice princess back in Russia, because she’d kept most of her suitors at a frigid, polite distance. She hadn’t minded the sobriquet.
“You seem a little young for such a cynical outlook.”
Anya shrugged. “I’d like to believe in the second ending. One should always hold out hope, after all.” She risked another glance at Wolff, certain he would be mocking her, but his face was impossible to read.
They’d reached the edge of a large pond. Several swans and ducks floated serenely on the surface, but Anya squinted at a large, unfamiliar bird with a long yellow beak. “What is that?”
Wolff’s teeth flashed white as he smiled. “Have you never seen one? It’s a pelican. They’re not native to these shores. In fact, I believe one of your countrymen was responsible for it being here.”
“How so?”
“According to legend, some Russian ambassador presented King Charles the second with a pair of pelicans back in the 1600s. Those birds there are the descendants of that original pair. Occasionally one creates havoc by pouncing on a passing pigeon and swallowing it whole.”
“Oh dear! I suppose that might strain diplomatic relations between our two countries. At least the ambassador didn’t give King Charles a