“You.” Vlad pointed at Lada. “Come out. Now.” She did, still watching the door Vasilissa had disappeared through. “I am your father. But that woman is not your mother. Your mother is Wallachia. Your mother is the very earth we go to now, the land I am prince of. Do you understand?” Lada looked up into her father’s eyes, deep-set and etched with years of cunning and cruelty. She nodded, then held out her hand. “The daughter of Wallachia wants her knife back.” Vlad smiled and gave it to her.”
