THE MORNING BEFORE the winter fete was to occur, Freya could not sit still. She paced the room she had been given in the Grand Palace to prepare, shuffling on her feet every few seconds. It was the first time she had ever been in the Grand Palace at all, and she could not really say she enjoyed it. Everything looked so expensive and she felt out of place. She was a village girl and the only grand thing she had ever owned before coming to Ravka was an iron chain necklace her father had bought her for her when she begged him long enough. It was a small and thin thing and she had not seen it since the night of her father's death.

The palace was nothing compared to that. If something here was made of iron, it was cheap and worthless. Gold and silver and platinum were the only things allowed, and it was what everything was covered in. From the pale white marble pillars to the corners of nightstands and stools. Freya could only think distantly about the run-down and starving villages she had passed when she was brought to the Little Palace. How much money was all this worth? How much of that money could have gone to helping the people instead making the royal family feel the slightest bit richer? She doubted that they would even notice if half of the things in the room went missing.

She tried to think about other things. Like how the thin robe she had been given was covered in expensive lace and how soft her hair felt after the servants had washed her with aromatic soaps and shampoos from Shu Han. Her skin felt just as soft bra that her fingers when she ran them over her face. The only thing that broke the gentleness of it was the taut skin of her burn scar, still stretched over the angle of her jaw. It had healed a lot throughout the years and it was not as ugly as it had been before, but it was still there.

When the General had offered a few days earlier for it to be removed entirely, she found herself refusing. The red-haired Tailor girl named Genya – Freya had hardly known Tailors even existed up until that point – had not argued against her, but did as she saw fit everywhere else. They discussed what she would look like during her presentation before the court. Whether she would wear natural colours on her face or if her eyelids would shimmer with blue and violet like her kefta did.

In the end, the two of them had spent hours giggling over various colours and styles of makeup. It was the first time in years that Freya had felt like a completely normal girl. Violet and blue is what they decided on, and so Freya would that very evening walk out in front of hundreds of people and look like exactly the thing the people had begun to call her.

A siren of the seas. Freya would be lying if she said she did not enjoy the nickname. The Siren had become so thoroughly embedded into people's minds that it ended up being the name she was mostly referred to by. Not the name given to her Grisha order – the Sound Bender –, but the Siren. A girl who could wield sound to her will just like the mythical creature could.

Around noon, there was a knock on the door. Freya was quick to fix her hair and smooth out her robe, just in case it was someone important from the Grand Palace that had come to see her. She schooled her face to be cold and unfeeling. When she opened the door, that ice melted away into a bright smile.

"Fedyor!" she cried out and launched herself into her friend's arms. She could not believe that he was here! His strong arms wrapped around her waist and he chuckled, spinning her around slightly before putting her down on the floor. His smile was just as bright as she remember it. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming to the fete this year!"

Fedyor shrugged and closed the door behind him as he entered the room. "Ivan has been chosen for an amplifier," he told her. Freya's eyes widened. When an amplifier was discovered, only the General's most favoured and trusted Grisha received it. It was an honour to be the one chosen for it. "The General allowed both of us to come back."

Freya grinned up at him. "You must congratulate him for me, then." She and Ivan had never been close, not that anyone ever truly was close to the stern-faced Heartrender, but he had often been in her presence because of Fedyor. Freya would refer to him as a friend, even if he was rather reluctant.

"My other half will be glad to hear it, I'm sure!" Freya's brows furrowed and she narrowed her eyes at his choice of words. His other half, she studied him for a moment, watched as the corners of his lips quirked up at her stare. There was a sparkle in his eyes and he raised a brow at her as if he was waiting for her to react.

Freya inhaled sharply and then shouted, "You two are together?" Her eyes must have widened beyond recognition. As Fedyor nodded his head in confirmation, her jaw dropped and she was left gaping. "Why did you not write to me about it? This is extremely important information!" Fedyor chuckled, though it sounded more like a comically villainous cackle.

"I wanted to see the look on your face when I proved to you that I could succeed! What did you call it? A nearly impossible task?" he teased, poking his finger into her shoulder to accentuate it. Freya gaped at him. It was true, she had said that. It was right before Fedyor had left for the front and she was days away from turning ten. He had confessed that his feelings for Ivan had grown further than just a simple crush, and Freya had not known how else to react at that age other than to tease him. Luckily for her, Fedyor took any jokes aimed at him in stride and instead decided to take the challenge.

"Then you must congratulate him for me for this as well, then." Freya smiled, suddenly feeling giddy for her friend. Fedyor had waited for years. It was a wonder that he and Ivan had ever even gotten together. Freya grasped Fedyor's hand in hers and dragged him further into the room. "Now come! You must tell me everything."

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Nikolai Lantsov despised any and all royal parties, but he had to admit there was some use to them. If he overlooked the utter waste of money on decorations, food that would not be eaten and the clothing all nobles wore, he would say that it was perhaps the most productive time in his boring days. When better to charm the nobles, military officers and foreign dignitaries than during the annual winter fete? The occasion during which their senses were dulled by wine and champagne and the Grisha demonstrations, so the only thing they would actually remember was that the second prince of Ravka had graced them with his time and spoke to them.

Nikolai was an expert at wearing a mask, even at the age of fifteen. Much better than his brother Vasily, who was already deep in his cups, or his father, who simply smiled and nodded along to everything. He was often overlooked and underestimated, not that he had had much time to prove himself in his fifteen years of life. But it gave him more room to stun people speechless with his views on things, for he knew how to craft his sentences just right to awe even the most senior advisors. Like a master smith welding together metal.

The crystal glass of champagne in his hand went practically untouched as he made his way from one noble to the other, only there to great an illusion that he too was drinking and was therefore lulled into a better mood. While Nikolai did drink, it was certainly not as much as other people at the fete.

Charming high-ranking members of the court and the army were not what Nikolai was looking forward to that day, however. No, perhaps for the first time since he was a child, he was excited to see the Grisha demonstrations that day. Men and women in purple, blue and red keftas could be seen mingling amidst the crowd, pulled into random conversations whenever the nobles deemed it fit enough to talk to one of them – usually only out of pure childish and admittedly insulting curiosity.

Nikolai could not help his wandering eye as he searched the crowd, looking for the black kefta of General Kirigan. Where else would the girl Nikolai so wanted to see be? The General would certainly want to keep her close. The Siren was finally making a debut at court, and Nikolai certainly could not miss that. He had been captivated by the monicker since he had first heard it a few years back and had been drawn to her even before then when it was brought to his father's attention that an entirely new kind of Grisha had been found.

He had always liked peculiar things, and this certainly was peculiar. 

When he finally caught sight of General Kirigan, it was thankfully at the time that Nikolai was standing beside his father's throne alongside Vasily. General Kirigan was making his way towards them, a girl following after him just a few feet away. They were surrounded by oprichniki and a pair of Heartrender guards, though they kept a respectful distance away so only those who were keenly watching would notice they were there. Nikolai, of course, did.

"Moi tsar, moya tsaritsa,"  Kirigan greeted his father and mother with an elegant bow. King Pyotr only nodded, his attention drawn far too easily by the girl behind the General. She was rather small – short in stature and slim of body, though Nikolai could tell there were muscles lining her limbs beneath the silk kefta she wore. He would expect nothing less, he knew that the training the Grisha underwent at the Little Palace was gruelling. "Allow me to introduce to you Freya Helvar, our only Sound Bender."

At the name of the girl, Nikolai's mother perked up. "Freya? You are Fjerdan?" The girl seemed a little startled, but she collected herself quickly enough. Impressive, Nikolai thought. For someone who had never been at court and was so young, she held herself well.

Freya curtsied almost as elegantly as Kirigan had bowed, so much so that Nikolai had to wonder how many hours had gone into perfecting it. "I am, moya tsaritsa. I was born in a village close to Halmhend." Saints, the girl's voice was divine. It was perhaps the most melodic sound Nikolai had ever heard in his life. He wondered distantly, if she had always sounded like that, or if she used her powers to change it. Like a Tailor changes an appearance, he thought. But surely not, because Freya Helvar's fingers were relaxed and not held in a summoning position. It was all-natural, and it was utterly captivating.

The Queen seemed delighted by Freya's answer, her lips stretching into a wide grin. "That is wonderful! You must come and sit with me and my ladies during luncheon sometime! I would love to hear some stories from your home." There was a flinch that Freya managed to conceal relatively well, but Nikolai still caught it. Perhaps he should stop staring at her so vividly, but he simply could not tear his eyes away. Her voice was not the only thing that captivated him.

Her face was a delicate oval shape. A soft natural blush coloured her cheeks. Even from relatively further away, Nikolai could tell her lips were shaped into a perfect Cupid's bow. She looked soft in every aspect except for the burn scar that poked out from beneath the high collar of her blue kefta, and even that was perfect. Nikolai fought the urge to shake his head to get the thoughts out of his mind. It was hard to not focus on how beautiful Freya was.

A girl born in Fjerda, with moonlight laced into her hair and the northern sea captured in her eyes.

"You must excuse us, moya tsaritsa, but we must prepare for the demonstrations," General Kirigan cut off whatever conversation Nikolai's mother was trying to hold with the girl. The Queen did not look offended though, perhaps only because the General at least tried to look apologetic – a ploy, Nikolai was sure – as he bowed and pulled Freya away.

Nikolai allowed himself to breathe, but he still could not tear his eyes away from Freya's retreating form. He kept staring in her direction until she was nothing more than a smudge of pale blonde hair and blue and violet silk.

"She is rather plain, isn't she?" Vasily spoke up from beside him. Nikolai was suddenly glad he had long learned to keep his emotions from showing on his face. He turned his head barely towards Vasily, just enough to see his brother tilting his head and looking in the same direction as Nikolai had been moments later. Nikolai mulled over the words he had spoken mere moments before.

Good, he thought. If his brother did not find her pretty, he would most likely leave her alone. One less person to bother her at court.

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The rush of being amidst so many nobles and other Grisha had quickly faded into unbridled anxiousness. It bubbled in the pit of Freya's stomach as she approached the King and Queen, then fully turned to a burn when she realised just how many people's eyes were on her. The Queen was kind enough, the King a bit disinterested, but that might have been because he was already in his cups. It was the Princes that had caused her to want to hide in a shadowy pit and never come out.

The older one – with darker hair and a much crueller look on his face – looked her up and down as if she was beneath him, and she probably was in every way that mattered in the royal court. The other, perhaps a few years younger than the first, did not stare at her so harshly. He merely seemed curious, and there was something in his hazel eyes that sparkled with pure excitement. Like a child that was discovering something new.

Freya repeated their names in her repeatedly, making sure she did not forget even though she had known them by heart for years now. King Pyotr, Queen Tatiana, Crown Prince Vasily, Prince Nikolai. The last name rang in her head even as she walked away from them, the General's hand gently on her shoulder but firmly leading her away from the royal family's eyes. The younger Prince's stare had felt like hot coals on her skin. Freya was used to being stared at with hate, she had experienced that many times during her earlier days at the Little Palace when she could not speak the Ravkan language and she was still viewed as the enemy. Now, she had spent just as much time in Ravka as she had in Fjerda – and Djel was that not a humbling and rather terrifying thought – and those stares had gone away from most Grisha. But being looked at like that? Almost admired, if Freya could call it that?

It was something entirely new. And she could not say she hated it. She had to wonder if she had just made it up if her young and naive mind did not just conjure something to make the whole experience more fairytale-like. She was just a girl born in a small village that was not even marked on any maps. For a Prince to notice her in such a way... it was unthinkable.

And yet she swore that Prince Nikolai had, and it made goosebumps rise across her skin at just the thought. The thrill of it was something she clung to, not necessarily the wish to truly involve herself with him in any way. She told herself quickly, as she pushed through the crowd of nobles and other finely dressed people, that she had enough attention at the Little Palace, especially now that she had private lessons with General Kirigan himself. She did not need more. Especially not from a Prince who was more likely than not a spoiled and mean boy who would demand things of her simply because he thought he owned them.

"What did you think?" Vanya's voice brought her out of her thoughts. Freya hadn't even noticed that they had stopped walking and that the General had been caught up in conversation by some high-ranking First Army officer. Vanya was, as always, absolutely gorgeous. She too was dressed in a silk kefta, though hers was not embroidered like Freya's. She had not earned her colours yet. Neither did Freya, but the General was adamant that symbolism and a show of her power and standing in the Second Army were far more important than her wearing an embroidered kefta once before she had passed the tests.

"The Queen is kind, I suppose," Freya said, careful to not speak too loudly or too out of turn. They were at a public place, at a party held by the royal family. To insult any of them would surely warrant her head.

Vanya gave her a look that told Freya she did not agree with her statement, but she did not voice it out loud. By then, there was not much room for conversation, as the Etherealki demonstrations started. Inferni tossed balls of fire between themselves, once even throwing numerous at once. The crowd oohed and ahhed at the sight, looking at it as if it was the most wondrous thing they had ever seen.

It was all just entertainment for them, Freya had been told. And it was the truth. The Grisha who were performing were nothing short of circus monkeys at that moment. Hard-working soldiers were reduced to nothing more than a spectacle for the spoiled nobles to gawk at. 

As the time for Freya's own performance came, she felt the strange anxious fluttering in her stomach growing. The kefta suddenly felt too tight, too heavy and too warm. She fingered the hem of her sleeve to distract herself. She could not back out now. It would be unacceptable. An embarrassment to the Little Palace and an insult to the King. She inhaled shakily.

"Are you alright?" the General asked from beside her, frowning slightly at the growing layer of sweat on her forehead. Freya bit the inside of her cheek to stabilise herself for just a moment so she could answer.

"I am nervous, nothing more," she answered. Nervous was an understatement. She felt as though she could collapse at any moment. The ballroom was too stuffy, there were too many aromas that her brain suddenly zeroed in on. The sweat of the people around her, the overly sweet wine, the roasted duck, the incredibly strong perfumes.

The General stepped in front of her, trapping her between his body and the pillar she had been standing by. Not trapping her, hiding her. From the view of everyone else around her. His hand lifted up and Freya was prepared to flinch away at the sudden movement, but then she saw the black handkerchief he held. Black, Freya let out a barely audible scoffing laugh, just like everything else he owned. The General ran the handkerchief down her forehead and her temples, wiping the sweat away.

"You do not need to worry," he told her, his words only slightly reassuring. "You have practiced this very thing over a hundred times. The only thing that is different now is the audience." Freya would have begged to disagree if she dared. It was not the only thing different, not at all, but she repeated the General's words in her head over and over again until her breathing settled and she had somehow managed to convince herself that it was true. She nodded at him and he stepped away.

The Inferni performers had stepped down from their podiums. The General placed a hand at her back again and nudged her forward. There was a podium prepared for her as well, directly across from where the royal family were sitting. It was made to be visible from each corner of the room. Visibility was not what was important in her performance though. The only thing the audience would see was her bending her fingers and twisting her hands as she summoned. There was also a large harp placed there, gold and gaudy, made to draw attention. Its strings glistened in the light.

The General stepped onto the podium first, leaving Freya to stand at the stairs leading up to it. He silenced all conversation with his presence alone. All eyes turned to look at him. He spread out his hands slightly, just like a performer would when he was introducing a new act. And that was exactly what Freya was. A new act in the circus. And the General was a performer. No matter how much he might've despised the fete and all it meant for the Grisha, he always made sure to put on the best show possible. It was a great talent of his.

"It is time for all here to bare witness to something new," he began to speak, voice loud and clear. "An entirely new Grisha power, never seen before! Our very own Sound Bender has come before you all tonight to show the abilities she has honed in the Little Palace for the past seven years." The General's eyes fell down to Freya and held out his hand, beckoning her to come to him. 

Freya inhaled, steeling her nerves before she used one hand to pick up the long skirt of the kefta and placed the other in the General's awaiting one. He gripped her hand tightly as she walked up the steep steps and then he led her to the centre of the podium. The audience was alive with excited hushed whispers.

"Please welcome Freya Helvar," the General added. The syllables of her name rolled off his tongue perfectly. Her name was said with such emphasis that it would be enough to raise respect in those who heard it. If she was anywhere else, she supposed. She doubted the nobles would think of her in any such way. Still, she could see how a few of the military officers – those who had seen real battle and fought beside Grisha – set their faces into the same approval and appreciation they showed to all soldiers.

As the General left the podium, Freya could do nothing but stare out at the crowd for a while. The room was utterly silent. Not a single person spoke. Her eyes focused on the other side of the room where the King and Queen sat, their two sons beside them. Their gazes were trained on her. The King with amusement, the Queen with curiosity, Prince Vasily with contempt and Prince Nikolai with something Freya could not really understand.

Then she turned to the golden harp beside her and plucked the string. The singing sounds it made reverberated through the room, drawn out and echoing. Freya lifted her hands and felt for the pull she always sensed while using her power. She focused on the movement of the molecules in the air and gripped them.

A loud screeching and ringing sound broke out through the room as she forced it to grow. The audience flinched. Many covered their ears. And then she swayed her hand just the right way, and suddenly the loud uncomfortable noise was a harp singing again. She played a song with nothing but her hands in the air, with the sound produced by a single pluck of the string.

And then she shifted the sound of the harp into that of the whispering of the wind, the rustling of the leaves in a summer breeze, the hum of the ocean brushing across grains of sand. The audience watched in awe as she summoned the sound of fire crackling, of drums beating and of children laughing. A bird's gentle chirping turned into the cry of an eagle, the neighing of a horse into the roar of a tiger. 

And then she allowed the waves of sound to go free, and it turned into the sound of the harp again. She slowly lowered her arms, listening to the last notes of the harp's song before it fell away completely and the room was silent again.

The audience burst into applause and an ear-splitting grin broke out across her face. She barely registered her rapid breathing and the sweat running down her back. She had done it. Carefully and with the help of the General, she climbed down the steps of the podium. Vanya was waiting for her there already and drew her into a quick hug.

"You were great!" she whispered into her ear. And Freya could only smile. Because she had been. She truly had been great.

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The air in the garden was cold and refreshing when Freya walked out onto the balcony. She allowed herself to breathe it in, to feel the stretching of her lungs as it entered her body. Finally, she had managed to escape the crowd of nobles clambering to speak with her. She could breathe at last. 

The balcony was a surprisingly secluded place. Not a single noble or military officer was in sight. It was far too cold for them, Freya supposed, feeling the chill begin to seep through her clothes. She did not care. The only thing she had known most of her life was the cold. The harsh Fjerdan winter and the barely warmer summer that came after it. She leaned against the marble railing, a single finger travelling over the black veins in the rock.

"I hope I am not disturbing you?" a voice suddenly spoke from behind her. Freya jerked at the sudden sound and pivoted on her heel. She was met with the gentle and charming smile of Prince Nikolai, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "My apologies, I did not mean to startle you."

"It is quite alright, moi tsarevitch." Freya smiled at him in turn. The pleasant upturn of her lips seemed to please him enough. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Prince Nikolai walked over to the railing as well.

"I simply wanted to speak to the Siren, that is all," he said, and Freya's smile widened the tiniest bit at the nickname. It sounded so nice when he said it. Not the same fearful tone with which some servants whispered it as if Freya was some monster they had to hide from. But a kind teasing remark, like those old friends made with each other. "We are the same age, are we not?"

Freya nodded. "Though I hear your birthday is soon to come, moi tsarevitch." Prince Nikolai leaned against the railing just as she did, though he seemed much more elegant and collected as he did so.

"Yes, it is," he answered. "And please, call me Nikolai." Something jumped inside of Freya. The surprise settled into her bones quickly. She had not met the Prince prior to this, it was utterly strange for him to want her to call him by his given name. But she could not very well refuse. He was the Prince of Ravka, for Djel's sake!

"Then I must congratulate you, Nikolai." The name tasted strange on her tongue at first, but she surprisingly enjoyed how it fell from her lips. It was a beautiful name. The Queen and King had chosen it well. Nikolai let out a dry laugh at her words. Freya frowned, afraid she had said something wrong.

"Yes, congratulations on your sixteenth birthday! Here are your draft papers!" he joked, and Djel was it not a strange thing for him to joke about such a thing? Freya's frown deepened and she leaned her elbow onto the marble railing before resting her head in her palm. "Do not seem so concerned. I already enlisted myself anyway."

Freya's brows shot up in surprise. It was unthinkable for a royal to do such a thing. Completely unheard of. Most – if not all – members of the royal family waited for the draft to come and then served honorary positions, hidden away in an office far away from the fighting. But if Prince Nikolai enlisted himself, then he would be sent to the infantry and would have to do all the work himself. A sudden and newfound respect bloomed in her chest. She knew for a fact neither the King nor Prince Vasily did such a thing. They sat through their years of service in relative peace and then received metals for their 'bravery'.

"You seem surprised," Nikolai remarked, his grin rather lopsided. Freya nodded.

"I apologise, moi tsarevitch," she answered, lifting herself up so she was standing straight beside him. He followed her lead, but the leaned his back against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. "It is just... I have never heard of a prince doing such a thing."

"Nikolai," he reminded her, and Freya could not help the small smile that formed on her lips. "And I suppose I am one of the first, yes. My family is not known to do much other than eat, drink and waste the country's money on things they do not need." Freya was even more taken aback than before. She had not expected the conversation to turn to this. She herself did not like the royal family that much, but she did not think the Prince himself would show such open criticism. "But please, I did not come here to discuss myself. Tell me something about you."

Freya blinked at him, then quickly recollected her thoughts. "What would you like to know?" Nikolai shrugged.

"Where are you from? Do you have any family? How did you discover your powers?" He tilted his head in curiosity. Freya nodded and sighed.

"As I told the Queen, I am from a small village near Halmhend. It is so small that you will not find it on any maps nor find its name in any records. I have a mother, a sister and a brother." She swallowed thickly. "I discovered my abilities when soldiers of the Second Army burst into my village, set it ablaze, murdered my father and tried to kill me too."

Nikolai visibly grimaced and he turned his gaze away. "I am sorry," he said, and Freya could tell he was sincere. "I should not have asked." Freya shook her head and looked up at the sky. At the dozens of glittering stars that marked the black canvas of the night.

"You could not have known," she told him, and then added to lessen the hit, "Besides, if I had not been discovered then, it would have happened later when there were no soldiers of the Second Army to take me here. I would have been burned, beheaded, or something much worse simply for existing." She shrugged. "And my family would not have been able to stop it. I doubt my father would even want to stop it. He was a drüskelle."

Nikolai gave her a look of sympathy. "A Grisha born to a drüskelle father, the world truly does know how to be cruel," he said and Freya nodded. The irony of it had never escaped her. They were silent for a few long moments, neither knowing what to say. They stared out into the garden and listened to the distant sound of the musicians playing inside. "I am sorry, you know," Nikolai eventually said. Freya raised a brow in question. "For your father's death and for the attack. You scar, you got it then didn't you?" He gestured to the burn mark on her jaw.

"Yes. My powers manifested when the Inferni's flames got too close," she told him. "I did not even realise how much it hurt until hours later. My body was still thrumming with power and my mind was numbed by the shock." Nikolai nodded as if he understood. Freya knew for a fact he did not. Not yet, anyway. His time in the infantry still had the chance to change that.

"I am glad you were brought to safety, at least," he said, looking straight into her eyes and grinning. "It would be a shame for such a kind and beautiful girl to be lost to the world." Freya blinked at him rapidly. Was her flirting with her? Freya was well aware that her abilities to decipher human interactions were not nearly as good as that of Zoya, Luca, or even Vanya, but she was sure that she had gotten the correct impression of Nikolai's words. His eyes sparkled with something untold, something she did not entirely understand, but it set her skin aflame in a way she did not know was possible. She felt her cheeks heating up and she looked down at the railing where her hand rested upon the marble.

What was she meant to say to that? Would it be too rude if she flirted back? Or was that what he was expecting of her? Would he be angry if she did not reciprocate his words? He was an admittedly handsome and charming young man and he had been kind to her thus far, but he was also a prince. His brother's reputation was not lost on her, a man who took what he wanted and had a hundred mistresses. Was Nikolai like him or not? How was she supposed to know?

"Yes, I suppose it would," she eventually said, smiling softly at him and barely meeting his eyes. Nikolai laughed and a weight was lifted off of Freya's shoulders. He was not angry then. She thanked Djel and all the Ravkan Saints.

Nikolai opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment the glass door to the balcony opened and hurried footsteps made their way towards them. Freya looked up, only slightly relieved when she saw a familiar face. Katya looked dazzling in her long silk kefta, the purple bright and brilliant. Her usual long brown curls were pulled into an intricate bun at the base of her skull and beautiful amethyst earrings hung from her ears.

"I apologise for the interruption, moi tsarevitch, but the General is looking for Freya." Katya smiled at Nikolai. It was a perfectly trained smile as if she had been speaking to royalty all her life. She probably had, if her age was anything to go by. Freya looked at Nikolai, wondering what she should say to him to end the conversation quickly.

"There is no need to apologise," Nikolai said before she could speak. He pushed himself off of the railing and grinned at Freya once more. He bowed at the waist slightly, a show of respect he would give to a noblewoman if Freya was one. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Helvar." And then he was leaving through the glass door.

The last thing Freya saw of him before he disappeared in the crowd was his perfectly golden hair, just like the sun.