Zoya allows herself to smile, liking that familiar, annoying fluttering she's always felt in her gut whenever she heard him laugh. When she first realised that was her response to him, she knew that he was destined to be a royal pain in her ass and a blessing upon Ravka—a leader who can laugh with and at himself is someone worth supporting.

But she doesn't pick up on the intention of his question. It's easy not to; there's a rapport that she's three years into, and him laughing rather than scowling or appearing pensive is very easy to be distracted by. (Morozova never laughed.)

Tilting her chin upward, she declares, "I hoped a pirate"—Zoya Petty Nazyalensky, at your service—"like you would've studied something you found difficult."