ON HIS sixteenth birthday, Maksim Litauer received a thick book of adventure stories, a new bow and arrow, and notice of his betrothal to Lord Piotyr Vodenicarovic. “He’s only twenty-two,” Maksim’s mother told him placatingly, when she and his father made the announcement. “And very handsome, I’ve heard. Not some wrinkled old man.” “He’s the youngest of seven sons,” his father went on. “So there’s no need for him to produce an heir.” A good thing, Maksim thought caustically. Unless they plan to spring another surprise on me. “You should feel flattered. He chose you from dozens.” “Chose my portrait, you mean. My looks.” Maksim would have hated to see his competition. He wasn’t a deformed troll, he could admit that, but he wouldn’t have called himself a great beauty by any stretch of the imagination. “He knows you are a clever and studious man. His parents say he likes that about you.” Mother picked up the conversational mantle. “They will give the pair of you a good-sized home when you marry, and being a part of the Vodenicarovic family will do wonders for your sisters’ marriage prospects.” And there it was. This wasn’t about Maksim or his happiness. It was, as usual, about what he could do for the family, what he could provide a family rich in history and short on cash. “How long do I have?” “We’ve arranged for the wedding to take place when you’re twenty-one.” “Five years to live my life, then, before I’m locked away as some rich man’s plaything.” “Darling, I don’t think—” Mother began. Father cut her off. “Don’t be so bloody dramatic. I’d have loved the chance to earn a fortune on my knees when I was your age.” “Boris!” Mother sounded shocked. Maksim supposed she might well be. Father huffed and started to stammer about how he didn’t mean that. What he could possibly have meant, then, Maksim didn’t know. He left the two of them bickering in the drafty manor house and went out to hunt rabbits with his new bow. Now that he knew there was an expiry date on his happiness, Maksim began to live his life to the fullest. He was rude to his tutors when he felt like it, loudly criticizing their teaching and their clothing and their breath. He loved learning, but not the sums and the grammar and the boring historical facts they tried to shove down his throat. What good would they be to a man who was destined to spend his adult life being used for sex until his youth and beauty faded and Lord Piotyr Vodenicarovic found a more appealing toy? Then Maksim would presumably haunt the house as an unwanted specter, without even children of his own to bring him some meager usefulness, until he expired, unmourned and unmissed. With that bleak future ahead of him, who could begrudge him a rude joke or two ? The answer, apparently, was the tutors. After the fourth one quit, walking out in the middle of an instructional day with no regard for the model students that were Maksim’s two younger sisters, his father forbade Maksim from attending any more lessons. That was fine. Maksim was seventeen years old by then, and he had other plans for his days. The first time Maksim ran away from home, a few days after his banishment from further learning, a town sentry brought him back to his parents’ house within the hour. The second time, it took two hours before he was dragged back, kicking if not screaming because he had some dignity. The third time, six hours passed before he was captured. The final time, when he was eighteen years old, Maksim was at last clever enough to escape both the guard his parents had outside his door and the soldiers who patrolled the village perimeter. For eight whole days, he was free.