Who are you, and what are you playing at?”“Nikolai Lantsov, but please don’t make me recite my titles again. It’s no fun for anybody, and the only important one is ‘prince.’”“And what about Sturmhond?” I asked.“I’m also Sturmhond, commander of the Volkvolny, scourge of the True Sea.”“Scourge?”“Well, I’m vexing at the very least.”I shook my head. “Impossible.”“Improbable.”“This is not the time to try to be entertaining.

If there weren't an all-powerful dictator and his monstrous horde to get to, I'd be opening a bottle of champagne.

If you want to lie to me, go ahead. But I'm not going to pretend to believe you.""Why not?" asked Sturmhond, stepping into the tent. "It's only common courtesy.

What did you see?" I asked. "When-""When I died?"I gave him a gentle shove, and he winced."I saw Ilya Morozova on the back of a unicorn, playing a balalaika.""Very funny.

And the Darkling?""I tried to kill him.""As one does.""By killing myself.""I see.

I don't want lies between us, Alina.""How many lies have you told me, Sturmhond? How many secrets have you kept until you were ready to share them?""Prince's prerogative?""If a mere prince gets a pass, so does a living saint.""Are you going to make a habit of winning arguments? It's very unbecoming.""Was this an argument?""Obviously not. I don't lose arguments.

Watch yourself, Nikolai,” Mal said softly. “Princes bleed just like other men.”Nikolai plucked an invisible piece of dust from his sleeve. “Yes,” he said. “They just do it in better clothes.

And the Darkling?""I tried to kill him.""As one does.

Sturmhond had a way of talking that made me want to shoot someone. Preferably him.