But even knowing all that, accepting it, being ashamed for her part in it, she still couldn't exonerate them, not all of them. Lazar had blundered into offending her. Vasili did it deliberately every time.
So she sat back down and said curtly, "You're not welcome in here. They are, but you aren't. "
Typically, he completely ignored her statement and sauntered further into the room. "We have been ordered to keep you company, occupied, and amused. I see we are doing splendidly well in the matter of amusement, but I doubt Stefan will appreciate the topic under discussion."
"She asked about Stefan's scars," Lazar explained, his voice uneasy. "Were we supposed to let her broach the subject with him?"
"Morbid curiosity doesn't deserve to be appeased," Vasili replied, and for once, he got angry. His amber eyes were glowing nearly as bright as Stefan's could when they came back to light on Tanya. "Was it too much to hope you might overlook a few minor flaws? You women are all alike, concerned only with appearance. You never look beneath the surface to what is inside a man, do you?"
She stared at him incredulously, unable to believe she was actually being accused of this, too. "Now there you happen to be very wrong. With you, Vasili, all I see is what's beneath the surface." She didn't elaborate. She just gave him a look so full of disgust, he couldn't help but understand her meaning perfectly.
His smile was so brittle, it should have cracked. "So you want to cross swords with me, Princess? I'd have you in tears in a matter of minutes."
"I don't doubt it. That is your specialty, isn't it, belittling anything you deem unworthy? And, of course, I am beneath your contempt, a whore who must be constantly reminded that she is a whore, because I'm so dense I somehow keep forgetting it. But tell me something, Vasili, just out of morbid curiosity. What would you do if you found out you had misjudged me, that I'd learned at a young age how despicable men could be, and so I wanted no part of them, not even to better my life with a few extra coins?"
"Is this merely a supposition, Princess, or are you saying you had no choice in the matter, that you were forced to lead such a life?"
She wasn't sure what had prompted that question from Lazar, curiosity or indignation on her behalf, but she wished he could have contained it a little longer, until she'd had her answer from Vasili. The peacock was merely looking scornfully dubious. And how the devil had they drawn this new conclusion from what she'd said?
"Forced? I didn't wear that knife on my hip for decoration, Lazar," she reminded him. "Any man who tried to force himself on me ended up losing a lot of blood for his trouble." Except for Stefan, but since he'd never managed to finish what he started, he didn't count. "Now how about an answer, Vasili? Just use your imagination and picture me as chaste as the day I was born. What would you do?"
Vasili refused to cooperate. "I'm afraid my imagination is not that—"
"Never mind," she interrupted, losing her patience and temper. "I know what you would do. Nothing — except maybe find something else to condemn me for."
"Your opinion of me has sunk rather low, Princess," he said with some surprise.
"I assure you it didn't have far to sink."
He looked mildly annoyed. "Very well, we will play your silly game. If you are found to be virginal, Stefan will be furious because you never once proclaimed your innocence. I would have apologized profusely, probably on my knees, but Stefan will insist on a grander gesture to atone for us all, myself being the likely offering."
He wasn't being the least bit serious, so neither was she. "Your head?"
"My tongue, delivered personally. "
"And of course you do everything he asks?"
"Certainly."
"Then start hoping he doesn't ask, Vasili. For that alone I'd be willing to give up my virginity."
"You better hope you don't have any to give up, Princess, because when I said Stefan will be furious, I meant with you. If you're going to turn into a virgin on your wedding night, miraculously, you damn well better make sure Stefan isn't surprised by it."
That had come out so seriously, it sent a chill up Tanya's spine. But all she replied was, "I see you have a splendid imagination after all, Vasili."
Chapter 32
It wasn't until nearly the end of that long voyage that Tanya remembered to ask again about Stefan's scars. She was on the deck with Vasili and Serge this time, and the men were explaining that there was no easy way to reach Cardinia from the sea. It was situated at more or less an equal distance from the Adriatic Sea in the south, the Black Sea in the east, and the Baltic Sea in the north. The only reason they had sailed north was the possibility of being delayed by pirates in the Mediterranean or by the capricious Ottomans, who controlled the entrance to the Black Sea.
It made no difference to Tanya, who didn't know enough about Europe, anyway, to care which route they took. She had already been told that once they docked in Danzig harbor on the Prussian coast, it would still take another two or three weeks, depending on the weather, to reach Cardinia by land. The only thing she might have preferred was the warmer climate of the southern seas, for the end of October in the North Sea, particularly when they rounded Denmark, was colder than anything she was used to. Seeing the coasts of France and the Netherlands had been interesting, though, especially when the ship stopped to take on supplies and she got a much closer look at the foreign ports. The smooth, sandy beaches along the Prussian coastline were almost boring in comparison. But the conversation wasn't. Of course, it never was with these companions of hers. She was either learning something about where she was going, being taught, clumsily at best, court etiquette by two counts and a baron who didn't give a damn about court etiquette themselves, or putting up with Vasili's diabolical wit — or steering the topic to Stefan, which she did more often than she realized.
When she broached the subject of Stefan's scars now, Vasili didn't object. He merely watched Tanya carefully, which should have warned her she wouldn't like what she was going to hear. And Serge didn't elaborate this time either.
Briefly, he recounted, "The royal family was traveling to their hunting lodge in the north woods, where they spent several weeks every year — Sandor, Stefan, his younger brother, Peter, and only about fifteen attendants. It was spring, the winter had been especially harsh that year, and there were reports of villagers being attacked by wolves in the area they were passing. Peter was warned not to venture from the camp alone, but at ten years of age, he rarely did as he was told. Stefan heard his screams and reached him first."
"That's enough," Tanya whispered, but with the wind on the deck, Serge didn't hear her.
"I was there. So were Vasili and several of the guards. But we were all too far behind Stefan to stop him from charging into that pack of wolves to save his brother. He kicked, he slashed, he threw them off Peter, but they kept coming back. By the time we were close enough to shoot, Stefan had already killed four of the beasts. One had gone for his face. There was another still clamped to his leg that he was stabbing, and stabbing... and stabbing."
"For God's sake, Serge!" Vasili snapped, startling Tanya. "You're not entertaining a roomful of drunken louts who would appreciate all that blood and gore. A few simple words would have sufficed."
Serge glanced at Tanya's white face and his own pinkened. "I'm sorry, Princess. I am afraid I was seeing it all happen again... "
"You have nothing to apologize for," she assured him, while she tried to remind herself that it had happened so long ago, she had no business feeling sick to her stomach. "I asked to hear it, didn't I?"