For a split second Sonia's worried he's -- injured, or something, until she realizes he's laughing, and dammit, it's infectious. She smothers her laughter against her gloved hand, though not very effectively, her shoulders shaking. Oh, she really does like him. Good sense of humor. The one benefit to everyone knowing she's a frigging Princess is that if she glares daggers at a soldier stepping out of line, he's almost sure to recoil.

"It really is horseshit," she puffs, trying to recover her own breath, but she's still grinning as she adjusts her hold on the camera under her arm. "God, you haven't gotten any trouble from Count Piotr, have you? I keep hoping my sister will rub off on him a little more, she's the sensible one, but I've never met a man of such ghastly stubbornness. No idea what she sees in him. No accounting for taste, I suppose. But," she declares, adopting her most Imperial Princess tone, "if you're with me, he can't say a thing. Well, he could, but I don't have to listen. I usually don't."