No. She was far more likely to kill someone than to make a friend.

Only when she could not place her source of vague disappointment did she come to a horrible realization. She had thought if she looked like a noblewoman, men would talk to her. Of course she would have rejected their flirtations, but she had been preparing herself to do that.

She had not prepared herself to remain utterly invisible while wearing a dress and with her hair combed. Or maybe she was so unbelievable in a dress, or had humiliated herself so completely by kneeling, that no one would ever believe she belonged among nobility.

Lada was taken back to Mehmed’s wedding. Standing alone, always alone, without a place and without worth. She drew a ragged breath. This was not the same. She was not that person. She had more than just Mehmed and Radu now.

But she did not have them anymore. Tonight, she felt the full weight of that loss. The loss of a brother who would have stood at her side and fought this battle of manners and politics for her. The loss of a man who would have laughed at her dress and her hair but also been desperate to be alone so he could undo it all for her.

Perhaps she had never stopped being that girl lost in a place where she could never have power.

It took Lada several minutes to realize Stefan had returned from his rounds. “What did you find?” she asked, relieved and grateful for a familiar face. Even one as anonymous and blank as Stefan’s.

“The crown,” he said, nodding toward where Ladislas spoke with several priests and a tall, confident-looking older man. The rest of the royalty revolved around two men and a regal woman. The woman was glorious, Lada had to admit. She truly wore her elaborate clothes as armor, not something to wilt under like Lada did. The way she commanded the attention of everyone around her, shooting frequent sharp glances at the king, reminded Lada of Huma, Mehmed’s mother. Huma had been so sick when Lada left, surely she was dead by now. The thought of Huma’s death made Lada oddly mournful. The woman had been a threat, and a murderer, too. But she had been so good at everything she did.

The woman in layered, gold-embroidered finery briefly met Lada’s eyes. Lada felt herself weighed and summarily dismissed. It stung.

“Where is the crown?” Lada asked, glad Stefan was here to distract her.

“After Varna, the Polish king took it for safekeeping. But no one can truly be king of Hungary without the crown. Elizabeth is trying everything she can to secure it.”

“Elizabeth?”

Stefan nodded toward the glittering woman. Suddenly it all made sense. “She is his mother?” Lada asked

“She is the true ruler of Hungary. But she does not have the money to buy the crown back. And until Ladislas has it, his rule is illegitimate. The man next to him is Ulrich, his regent. Between him and Elizabeth, this country is run.”

“I suspect Ladislas’s rule will be as short in stature as he is.”

“No one speaks outright of killing him. They do not speak of him at all. He does not matter. Elizabeth is the throne.”

“And Ulrich?”

“The most likely successor. The connection to the royal line is distant, but there. He is modest, just, and well liked.”

“How do you know?”

“I spoke with his servants. It is the best way to get a sense of a man. And the other—”

They were interrupted by silence, which was followed by a wave of noise. Lada followed the crowd’s eyes to a doorway in which Hunyadi stood. The day before, he had ridden out to the Transylvanian border, to respond to a problem there. Judging by the riding cloak he wore on his shoulders and the weariness on his face, he had only now returned. A chorus of cheers filled the room as he smiled and lifted one hand. People surged forward to speak with him. Elizabeth watched with narrowed eyes. Then the crowd parted for her, and she greeted Hunyadi with a lingering embrace.

“He could have it all,” Lada said.

Stefan shook his head. “He will not take it. But he controls the soldiers, which means he has more power than anyone else in this castle.”

It was similar in Wallachia. The prince was allowed no troops of his own, permitted no fortresses or defense. He was entirely dependent on the boyars, each of whom kept his own soldiers at the ready. It did not make for powerful leaders.

King Ladislas waved to Hunyadi. Hunyadi did not see it. Lada pitied the king then, but more than that, she hated him for being weak. This was his country, and he let another man have all the power. He deserved to lose everything. Lada did not understand why Elizabeth depended on a feeble son rather than taking the throne herself.

Huma had played the same game, and in the end it had seen her banished. Power through sons was no more secure than power through husbands.

“You said there was another contender for the throne?” Lada asked Stefan.

One man had not moved forward to greet Hunyadi. He stood alone, dark eyes calculating as he watched everyone who mattered in Hungary clamoring for a moment of Hunyadi’s attention. Though he was far leaner than Hunyadi and dressed in more finery than Hunyadi would ever wear, Lada saw the same determined jaw, the same confident brow. But where Hunyadi’s eyes were bold and honest, his son’s were calculating and secretive.

“Matthias,” Stefan said.

Lada watched Matthias throughout the evening. He never so much as glanced her way, so she had ample time to study him without fear of being caught. He wore a smile as ostentatiously as he wore the gold chain at his neck and the jeweled pins on his vest. It was ornamentation, meant to dazzle. But always his eyes were narrowed and shrewd as he spoke to this person or another or, in many cases, did not speak to them.

Hunyadi had been drawn into a corner, trapped by an impassable wall of dresses. Lada did not envy him. He was a widower, and the most powerful man in the country. The fact that he had no family name paled in comparison to his wealth. She wished he could break free so they could speak. Of what, it did not matter. But he was her only ally here, and she might as well have been alone.

Nicolae sidled up to Lada. He had secured some clothes nice enough to gain him access. She did not know where or how he had obtained the clothing, and she did not care. It was a relief to see him.

“You should dance. Or at least speak to someone,” he said.

Lada shook her head. “It will do no good. I belong here as much as a pig in a dress does, and everyone will know as soon as I open my mouth.”

“I actually saw several pigs in dresses as I came in. Not a single one got past the door. You are definitely doing better than they are.”

Shaking her head, Lada let Nicolae lead her away from the wall. “Look, no one is speaking to the king.” Nicolae nudged her in that direction. “Talk to him.”

“No one speaks to him because he does not matter. I have pledged my loyalty for nothing.”

Something in Lada’s tone must have warned Nicolae, because he immediately turned them both around and steered Lada out of the throne room and into the freezing night air of the courtyard. He smiled and nodded to everyone they passed, quickly taking them through the gate and across the bridge. Lada leaned heavily against one of the stone pillars.

“I knelt in there and swore fealty to another king—a foreign king—for nothing, Nicolae. He will not help me get my throne. He cannot even get his own crown. What have I accomplished?”

Nicolae took her hands in his. “You do what you must. It is no different from what the little zealot does, making treaties and creating alliances that mean less than the paper they are written on. Your brother would have done the same. You must survive, and Hungary has welcomed you. Take advantage of it. Hunyadi is a powerful ally. In spite of your best efforts, he cares about you. This is a good situation. It is certainly better than hiding in the woods, picking on Transylvania.”

“But it is not what we came for.”

Nicolae shrugged, stamping his feet against the cold. “I came to get away from the Ottomans. We all did. You gave that to us.”

“Matei was spying on me,” she said. She had told no one, holding the information close out of shame, anger, and, perhaps, a bit of guilt over his death. “He was reporting to Mehmed.”

Nicolae uttered a sad oath, his breath fogging into the night air. “Matei was a fool, then. I will keep a sharper eye on everyone. But I know this—you have done many things for us already. We are in a good position. You fight at Hunyadi’s side. Foreign kings accept your allegiance. Your men respect and are loyal to you.” He smiled. “That is quite a bit for a little dragon from Wallachia.”