[ he's lost track of the days. he's lost track of himself.
nikolai has always felt like the palace was something like a gilded cage, something beautiful to behold but a place more like a prison than any of his other homes. he loves the gleaming halls, the statues, the paintings, but in the end it's simply a pretty prison attached to an extremely needy nation. his chains might be invisible, but nonetheless, they're there, a constant and heavy shackle he carries from one expansive room to the next, always with a smile.
this cage is nothing like that. it's like nothing he's ever experienced before, because the cage is his own body. his own head. his own self. whatever cursed magic the darkling employed sent a monster to devour him from the inside out, to leave him immobilized, to take control of his senses, to make him a prisoner inside a sinister cage of roiling black and fresh blood.
it takes an extraordinary amount of effort to finally grasp a thread of his own self, holding on tight enough to see the world through the monster's eyes. it's different. nonsensical. places he knows he's been but can't name now. the signs by the roads and in shop windows are nothing but scribbled symbols. the people — his people no longer look human. they look like prey, and they spark a hunger in him that makes him want to go under again. he can taste blood, rank and metallic, and he's gripped with the fear that he's already killed. not knowing whether it's animal or human blood makes him think that cognizance is just another punishment in the nightmare he's found himself in.
time passes in a haze. it could be days or it could be weeks. nikolai can only stay above water for a few minutes at a time before the darkness sinks its claws in and pulls him under once more.
but a few minutes gradually turns into longer. he's learning the monster now, trying to study it, trying to find a way that they might coexist, and from there, a way to seize control of himself again.
it comes when he recognizes a fountain with roses growing along the edges, the same fountain that stuck him with thorns as a child when he tried to touch the water. dominik ended up pulling them out so his mother wouldn't find out about his behavior. the sudden realization that he's in os alta causes something to shift somehow, his eyes sharper, his mind more alert. the monster is weakening, and nikolai doesn't stop to reason out why. he seizes the opportunity when it presents itself, his wings cutting through the air as he pivots, heading directly to the palace and — not entirely purposely — crashing directly into one of the windows.
it should have been his window leading to his own chambers, but his calculations are simply wrong this time. he skids into the room and hits a heavy trunk, cracking the wood before he falls to the floor in a heap. then everything changes. for a moment he can't see. there's only the agonizing sensation of what he suspects might be his bones grinding against one another. something falls from the ruined wood, blanketing him in fabric, and when he pulls it away he realizes two things: first that he's holding his own coat, one of the teal ones he gave to alina, and second that his hand is no longer clawed. it's human. badly scarred, but human nonetheless.
he rolls over and dry heaves before collapsing onto his side, his head spinning. the room is barely in focus, his vision nauseatingly fragmented, so he shuts his eyes and tries to find it in him to just breathe. ]
SORRY THIS GOT SO DAMN LONG how did i write an entire fanfic as a tag, pls forgive me
[ in a matter of only months, the world has crumbled around them.
os alta has lost its shine. a reflection, maybe, of ravka's dying light. whatever hope remains is a fragile thing, an ember close to burning itself out. no matter how alina strives to keep it alight, to pretend and perform and make promises she knows she cannot keep, the darkness continues to seep into their country like an infection she cannot purge. it slips into the cracks of the walls, a shadow that dances across her quarters at night. it fills the empty halls she walks, its stones nearly collapsed, the carpeting tarnished and its gilded paint burnished from battle.
she can still see the fading life in glazed over eyes and mangled corpses when she closes her eyes. it's poetic, really — that she is a ghost among the spirits that haunt these halls, simply repeating what she had done in life. meetings to secure themselves allies they cannot pay, where she strains herself with insincere smiles and rallies men to causes that will certainly spell their doom. securing those straggling soldiers they have left, looking into faces of terrified grisha that are barely more than children. grasping at straws as she plans their next move, as though she isn't sick of hiding behind these walls and vainly hoping the darkling won't think to return to the very haven he had destroyed.
all to make a point. all to punish her. i will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but mine, he had once warned her. when she thinks of the monster shifting beneath nikolai's skin, the scars etched into genya, the horrified sky-blue of mal's eyes once he had finally stumbled across the truth (that the darkling resides within her mind, a poison she can't bleed out) —
she knows it to be true. a threat he intends on keeping.
some days, she wonders if nikolai would be proud that she has stepped forward to fill the gap he has left in their leadership. on other nights, she tells herself it doesn't matter. she has little right to wonder anything about nikolai when she is the source of his suffering, but when has the heart been anything but selfish and cruel and fickle? she has little right, but she waits and wonders all the same, and wakes the next morning as though her chest doesn't feel like it will collapse under the weight of her guilt.
it's different, on that particular morning. that aching void still threatens to unhinge its jaw and swallow her whole, but her skin is too tight around her bones. it's a restlessness that festers in her scar, the creeping shadows the nichevo'ya embedded in her flesh, like an omen.
her first thought is that they've run out of time. that the darkling has returned to spill fresh blood onto the still-stained stones of the palace, where even her dedicated scrubbing couldn't erase the traces of violence. she follows the pull in her gut as though she's tied to a tether, lured in, and barges into her own quarters with all of the feral bristling of a woman expecting a war at a doorstep.
it isn't what she finds on the other side. or maybe it is, another twisted game the darkling begs her to play, another consequence of defying him by forcing her hand to put nikolai out of her misery. the door rattles on its hinges when it slams shut behind her with the force of a swift kick behind her. against her sternum, the lantsov emerald pulses and sears her — or perhaps that's merely alina, the temperature of the room heating with the sudden defensive impulse of power that flows to her fingertips, readying herself for —
what, exactly? a trap? a scheme? for nikolai's bones to reshape him into that same ravenous, senseless beast? her throat burns, barely trusting her voice. barely trusting her eyes as they take him in, so small and sprawled out on her floor. it would be the perfect strategy for lowering her defenses.
there is no tool at the darkling's disposal that he would not use. despite her body's demand to rush to his side, she stays where she is, tension winding along her spine as she flattens her back against the door. ]
Nikolai.
[ his name, and only that. a test to gauge what he has come to her as: monster, or man. ]
Edited (my grammar app corrected the darkling to 'the darling'...... it's simping for the darkling) 2020-11-27 03:30 (UTC)
[ over the roar in his ears, he doesn't hear the door slam. he doesn't hear his name. the room tilts sharply when he presses his palm to the floor and attempts to rise, a frustrated groan in his throat. he's human, he knows it, but perhaps it's been too long or perhaps this is just part of the darkling's design. a shudder runs through him, his skin unnaturally chilled, and he automatically curls into his coat, clutching it around his shoulders and trying to steady his ragged breathing.
slowly, he opens his eyes again, the room blurry. there's something warm in here, something he feels a powerful compulsion to get away from. no, not him — the monster. the shadows rolling beneath his skin shrink back at the source of the sudden glow, and anything that makes the monster retreat is something nikolai wants to hold fast to. he lifts his eyes, his blond hair dirty and unkempt, curling against his forehead. the ringing in his ears slowly fades, the room righting itself, and his eyes finally sharpen enough that he can see a person standing by the door, light seeping from her fingertips.
the sun isn't in the right place in the sky to offer this kind of brightness. nikolai blinks away the stinging in his eyes, sudden realization flooding back to him. ]
Alina?
[ his voice is scraped raw, pitiful and exhausted even to his own ears. he wants to stand. he wants to cross the room and bury his face into her shoulder, but he doesn't yet have the strength. he wants her light.
saints, he's a man again. he draws in a breath, lifting one scarred hand to run carefully over his face. it feels like him. he can think again. he runs his tongue over his teeth, pressing hard, but they don't draw blood. they're smooth and flat again, not sharp. a relieved sound tumbles out of him, something between a laugh and a cry. ]
Saints. [ no fangs. no talons. his mind is back. saints. he sags with relief, leaning against the cracked trunk for support. ] I won't hurt you, Alina. I promise I won't hurt you.
[ he looks so small. so unlike the presence she has known him to be, demandingly magnetic and larger than life. teal spools over his shoulders, drowning him in swathes of fabric, and the only word that comes to alina's mind is fragile.
the tug at her heart is a weakness, no doubt. wanting makes us weak, the darkling had said, but he had failed to take into account that there is no cure for it — for wanting so viciously that it thrums in her bones, has her stepping across the threshold of her quarters as if answering some ancient, unknown pull. it's only when she comes to a halt a few feet from him that she recognizes her feet have led her toward him at all.
she can't afford to take that risk by inching closer. at a glance, his veins are clear of that dark sludge coursing through them, talons retracted to hands that had once traveled across her skin — careful and attentive and human. the light recedes from her fingertips, dimming to a low, kindling glow. ]
I wouldn't give you the chance to try.
[ her conviction is feeble, the mark of a fool attempting to convince themselves. truthfully, she needs the reminder more than nikolai needs the threat. whatever promises he might offer, whatever shame might swallow her, she assures herself nikolai — of anyone — will understand the lengths she must go for ravka's safety.
no matter what that entails, even if it earns his resentment. even if it must consider that he is still the monster, still a threat that will need to be contained until she knows what to do with him. how to fix him. at her sides, her fingers twitch. ]
You know I can't trust your word just yet. This reeks of a trap.
[ a trap that she doubts nikolai might even be aware of. a pawn, until the darkling is finished puppeteering him. ]
[ her reaction is one that he sees enough sense in to be proud of. of course she should be wary. how long has it been since they last saw each other? the days and weeks all bled into one long miserable nightmare for him, but here? there are other things to worry about besides a perhaps dead prince. like safety. like the citizens. like ravka.
all things that he's managed to monumentally botch before even fitting a crown on his head. it sits in the center of his chest, this bitter truth that he can't manage to keep down. there are so many things he always imagined would stand in his way to the throne, but never once did he consider it might be himself. not until now.
he thinks of what he can say to reassure her. he doesn't have a weapon, but he doesn't need one when there's a monster swimming in his blood. anything he says could be the beast instead, dropping flowery words to lure her in before sinking needle-sharp teeth into the part of her throat he used to kiss. she's right to behave this way. it's clever and it's necessary.
it stings. he swallows it down — his pride, his need for attention, his every-present yearning for validation that he constantly gives to himself because he can't get it from anyone else, whatever it is. this isn't the time or place for any of it. he rubs a hand over his face again, catching another glimpse of the spidery black scars stemming from his fingertips. they'll fade. probably. ]
It's not a trap. But it's likely that I am still dangerous.
[ he might be human again, but he feels the darkness in him like a second skin. it's still there, strong as ever. tentatively, he pushes to his feet, slipping the sleeves of his coat on. ]
Handy that I gave this to you, isn't it? [ he tries for a smile. he means it to be easy, perhaps a bit debonair to inject some levity into the atmosphere, but it turns out there's still far too much emotion trying to wrestle its way out of his throat, so comes out boyish and sincere instead, his eyes catching a bit of the light. ] Stay sharp, Alina. You might have to kill me.
[ it's a cruel reality, and one she takes no pleasure in announcing. she wishes the tension would break beneath another ill-timed joke instead. finally, something the great nikolai lantsov doesn't know. on any other day, he would grin that crooked smile that has infuriated her and infatuated her with the same degree of success, and defend his ego with inform her his very practiced, princely smugness.
this isn't any other day. this isn't like any day she has known.the darkling has left corpses mangled and scattered in his wake, taken the last breaths of men and women as she's watched, but she has never had to extinguish the light in a friend's eyes.
in a lover's eyes. of all that she has been prepared to do, of all the abominable undertakings she has made her own, she could have never planned for this. it's a waking nightmare she can't will away. there are so many impossible wishes she could make, and making stupid jokes that would fall flat is the least of them.
it doesn't change one simple fact: she wishes either of them had a reason to smile. anxiety tightens its grip around her windpipe until her chest hardly rises with her inhales. her chin tips as her jaw tightens, the only sign that she's bracing herself as she moves forward. each slow approach feels like teetering toward the edge of something, knowing she can never return to what came before that plunge.
if he is a monster, perhaps so is she, for doing what has to be done. only the promise of it working to any degree, insane as it is, keeps her determined — the flintiness in her eyes as unwavering as her grasp on either side of his face, clutching him as one would a prisoner. ]
This is going to be worse than killing you could ever be.
[ his only warning before the heat suffuses her palms, the light smoldering against his skin as though it can scorch the darkness away like a toxin, long enough for her to gain control of it. through it, she strains toward that same shadowy link that ties her to the darkling as nikolai has become, that same inky, corrupted thread she finds within him — and latches on, sinking claws into it.
perhaps the darkling failed to consider that he is not the only one with the potential power to bind that beast lurking in nikolai's bone to a master. ]
[ he only has a moment to feel the pleasant warmth of her hands, pushing willingly into her touch because he suddenly finds that he can't remember the last time anyone put their hands on him like this. relief flows through him despite the hardness in alina's gaze, but it's swiftly snatched away when a sudden searing pain cuts straight through him. the source, at first, is a mystery to him. the darkling? the monster? a single moment of agony stretches out like an eternity before him, pulled so taut that he thinks time itself might shatter. that he might shatter.
it's alina, illuminating him from the inside out, and he'd walked readily into it. clever girl. it's something he would do if the situation required him to take advantage of some lost, broken, dangerous thing before him. he can't fault her for this, and yet a part of him feels wounded with the sting of betrayal.
his hands tightly clasp alina's wrists, blunt nails digging into her skin while a cry escapes his throat. the monster rears inside of him, explosive with anger, and nikolai is caught in the balance, tilting this way and that but no matter where he falls, all he feels is a pain unlike anything else. perhaps this is worse than the darkling turning him into this beast. his mind is too scrambled to compare. ]
Alina, stop, please — [ his knees give out as he sinks to the floor, gasping in a desperate breath between gritted teeth. is he dying? is this how he will go? at the sun summoner's hand?
blackness ripples beneath his skin, dark, spidery veins crawling up his throat. his eyes bleed to black and talons push from his fingers, sinking like barbs into alina's forearms. when he bares his teeth they're sharp now, needle-like fangs cutting through his gums.
the voice that echoes isn't his own. it's the darkling's. ]
You can't make me bow to you.
[ but then the monster weakens, and perhaps it's working, but nikolai doesn't have the presence of mind to realize it. his eyes shift to hazel once more, stinging as they begin to water with pain. ]
Alina — stop —
[ blood wets his fingers where his claws still gouge alina's flesh, and then he's gone again, pupils replaced with shining obsidian. it's the darkling's voice that speaks again, raw and angry, sounding more monster than man, but also closer to breaking than before. ]
You're nothing without me.
i know what my brand is and it's this. all of this.
[ little rivulets of blood trickle like streams dripping down her wrists where his jagged talons shred through her skin. another mark that will scar, that will taunt her with the haunting memory of the monstrosity she has become. another blemish he has made on her, ensuring he will never fade.
but there is more than just the darkling's possessiveness tearing through her flesh. each burrowing jab stings with nikolai's pleas, the gut-wrenching begging of a broken boy seeking mercy, lost and afraid. for him, alina urges him closer, a mockery of an embrace that cradles his head against her stomach. and if it hides the sight of his eyes from her as their humanity shifts like a mirage, the glint of tears and the accusation of a betrayal that makes her recoil in revulsion of herself —
all the better to keep herself from faltering. like a shield, she curls herself around him — and her light with it, emanating from her skin like a nova burning itself from the inside out — until there is nowhere to flee from her. her grip hardens like a vice, fingers digging into his cheeks until the flesh whitens from the iron-pressure. when her mouth finds its ear, it's a low serpent's hiss, a venomous threat. ]
Why would I want your submission when I could have your destruction?
[ she does not grant him the pleasure of knowing that she would sooner suffer nikolai's hatred than endure an eternity alone. he must know it, whether she willingly grants him that confession or not. even if she wins the fight for nikolai's soul, the darkling has already won, has alienated her from one of the few sources of solace she has found.
when she leans back to pin him with a hateful, searing stare, the abyss in nikolai's eyes turns her blood to sludge in her veins. a chill ripples through her, despite the scorching heat pouring off of her. still, she does not turn away, even as the discordant, inhuman echo — like two voices, merging together in a discordant, hollow melody — of his words forces the hairs on her arms to stand at attention. ]
Nikolai Lantsov is my creature. [ and this beast — he is little more than that, lashing out in his last, desperate attempt to use nikolai as his vessel. she pushes past the dread that has formed a pit inside of her stomach, her own pupils swallowed by a white, blindingly incandescent glow. ] I won't let you have him.
[ he doesn't feel like he's drowning. he feels like he's well past that, as if he's already inhaled enough water to fill his lungs. he's past the point of breathing. the pain blinks out, his body floating above the gaping darkness that somehow has fused with his bones. alina is trying to get it out. he knows this. alina is trying to save him. to come to his rescue now. but if only she could see the monster the way he does, how his insides are covered with the darkling's hellish prints, how this thing has become a part of him in the months that he lost himself.
maybe a part of him died while he nested away from the darkness, stuck in his own personal cage of blood and bones. maybe that part was replaced by this beast. maybe she'll never be able to look at him the same way again — maybe no one will, maybe his father was right all along, maybe he is nothing. maybe this is how it should end.
but then something shifts, something in the searing heat of alina's light. nikolai always saw it as good. the antithesis to the billowing blackness that spilled from the darkling's fingertips. alina has always been more than just grisha, more than what the small sciences can explain to the average mind. her gifts defy reality in the same way that the darkling's does. and for the first time, the blazing, blinding light doesn't feel like it's burning away the darkness. it slips into the crevices and the cracks, between flesh and blood and bone, and while nikolai always thought it would feel like sweet relief from the inky shadows that try to choke him in every moment of lucidity, there is nothing comforting about this.
magic isn't inherently good or evil. it bends to the will of the user, and the sudden startling realization that alina simply feels different sets a new kind of chill in his bones.
what happened while he was gone?
the monster reaches toward the light now, as if it craves it, teeth glinting with hunger, pitch black eyes shining. when he first felt this darkness flow into him, it followed the darkling's every command. but now nikolai can sense it looking to alina instead, as if her light is threaded with something depraved and half rotten with decay. nikolai laughed before at the notion that mal was afraid of alina embracing her true self, but suddenly he can see the root of his fear manifested right before him. right inside of him.
he comes back to himself with a shuddering gasp, abruptly all man again. his hands fall away, alina's blood sticking to his fingers, and his face feels wet with sweat or tears or perhaps both. he sucks in a shallow breath, the echoes of agony leaving him a trembling mess that wants nothing more than to close his eyes and succumb to exhaustion, but he can't. his bloody hand curls into the fabric of her shirt, gripping so hard that he can feel the stitches beginning to give. ]
What did you do?
[ he's never been angry at her before, never used this tone of voice with her, but his words are scraped raw, balanced on the knife's edge of panic and sheer rage. the expression in his wet eyes is as hard as grisha steel, his chest rising and falling with his unsteady breaths. ]
The monster looks to you to be its master. [ caged in his body, serving the sun summoner. saints. he yanks her closer, his face breaking into desperation. ] Like calls to like. Isn't that what was said? Saints, Alina, I told you to stop.
is it really rp if you're not torturing characters a little
[ there it is — his dawning realization of the stains on her soul, the tendrils of shadow that slip between the strands of sunlight setting her veins alight. darkness cannot exist without the promise of light rising to meet it, a natural balance that sets the world in motion, but there is nothing natural about the darkling's blackened mark on her.
and now nikolai knows her for the abomination she is. like calls to like, and what is she but the other side of the darkling's reflection? within her lives the humanity he has turned away from. within him lurks the monster she has shunned, as if her fear of it could condemn it into fading from her. but it's stitched into her flesh, as vital to her existence as the beat of the darkling's shriveled, terribly human heart.
but whatever self-loathing has rotted her from the inside out, it could never have braced her for her new reality: the mirror of that same scorn in every fiber of nikolai's being, the frantic spill of his breath across her skin, the barbed tip of the accusation threaded through his outrage. like a man that has peered into the abyss and uncovered the creature that has called it home, and wants nothing but to see it gone from his sight.
it cleaves through her, slicing through the bone of her very being, as she comes to the terms with it. he thinks of her as a monster. a creature no better than the darkling. with every desperate wrenching of nikolai's hands in her collar, the stag's antlers rattle against her throat — that same cage that had been crafted with her submission in mind, as though being tethered to the darkling was a gift she should welcome.
perhaps she is no different, in the end, when she has chained nikolai's destiny to her own. perhaps he is no different than the warnings the darkling had issued — another human, aching for her to be anything other than what she is. her hurt flashes in her eyes, fading as quickly as an illusion, before she buries it beneath the glacial iciness of her defiant stare. her chin tips with a pridefulness she does not feel, a dare she does not want to issue, but she has come too far with no hope of returning. regret can't be allowed to cripple her now. ]
I saved your life. What other choice did I have?
[ her voice cracks and crumbles as these walls have, but still she does not let herself collapse. beyond its desperation for an answer, there is too much of a challenge woven through it, too much of a demand for nikolai — nikolai, who has always had to form tactical decisions on his feet, lest he shake the foundation of ravka — to provide her with an option that isn't a futile delusion. ]
Kill you and leave Ravka without a proper ruler? Let the Darkling have you until you were forced to kill me? What other way did you see this ending?
I can't take it away, but I can help you control it.
[ her power wanes along with her physical strength, drained from the sheer effort, and still she wraps her fingers around nikolai's to try to forcefully pry and shove them away from her. ]
You can hate me for what I've done. You can call me a monster if that's what makes you feel better. It won't make it any easier to live with what you've become.
[ the hurt in her eyes isn't imagined — it's just as real as the guilt that settles in his bones, but he doesn't have the luxury to remedy this in the way he knows he should, not when he's still reeling from her light. the beast has settled for now, leaving him once again unsteady as he tries to pull the pieces of himself back together into some semblance of who everyone expects him to be. alina begins to pry his hand away so he releases her collar, his fingers brushing briefly to the stag's antlers before drawing back. ]
You put a leash on me is what you did.
[ it's not so much that she has a certain power over the thing living inside of him. it's that the beast looks to her at all, because it begs the question why, and he's too exhausted to chase the answer right now. he presses a hand to his eyes, his head pulsing, and he sways again as the room tilts once more. now he doesn't know if it's just the toll the monster takes on his body or alina. ]
I don't think you're a monster. That would be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?
[ he clamps down on his anger, sealing it off. what's done is done. he doesn't intend to punish alina for it, but he'd be lying if he said this didn't change things. he can feel the way the monster is drawn to her, a constant stirring even as it lies dormant in rest, and it feels far too much like the way his own heart picks up in her presence, aching to pull a smile from her lips. how much is the monster and how much is him?
his normally sharp mind feels far too cloudy right now, but she's right about one thing. there isn't anything that will make it easier for him to live with himself. his brows knit together as he lifts his eyes to meet her gaze. ]
Don't make my choices for me, Alina.
[ said not unkindly, but there's something hard in his tone, an undercurrent that's normally masked with levity and bewitching charm. saints, he never even got the chance to tell her much how he's missed her. his eyes drop with an unsteady breath, settling on the gouges along her arms after briefly flicking to his own bloody hands. ]
Come. [ it's pitched softly, a request instead of a demand. he takes one of her hands in his, a sudden shiver passing through him at the contact. the monster hums, and nikolai tries to swallow it down, tries to bury the magnetism between them. he just needs something to brace himself with is all, rising slowly to his feet. ] We should see to these while I still have the energy.
[ for the first time in quite some time, she doesn't believe him. the realization settles in her stomach like a sinking stone, dragging her down into the dark depths of distrust. she makes no move of concealing it; her hard stare flickers with skepticism, long before her fingers twitch in his grasp. even that softness feels like a treacherous act on nikolai's part, a gentleness that reminds her of coaxing an injured animal in order to earn its trust. as if he's forgotten what he's uncovered — a shadow to echo his own, roiling restlessly beneath flesh and bone.
she knows very well that he can't pretend it away. it's a revelation that can't be taken back, now that she's crossed that boundary. and the rage he had pinned her with, seething in accusation — she can't wipe it from her memory, either. can't restrain herself from comparing it to mal's wide-eyed terror. can't forget the darkling's warnings, the insistence that only he could accept the rotten, buried parts of herself she's hidden from the light of day. because no matter what nikolai claims — it reeks of rejection, and alina can't stop herself from expecting more of the same, should he come closer to the truth.
perhaps that's the ugly, misshapen sliver of her soul whispering poison in her ear. some days, its voice too closely resembles the darkling's to be able to distinguish it from reality. even now, with the warm cradle of nikolai's hands around her own, ensuring her that — whatever anger he bears — he still lives. that he will live, no matter what selfish deed she has to commit to reassure herself it will remain that way. ]
You've made it very clear you don't want my help.
[ though she wields the words like unyielding steel, stubborn in her offense, there's something brittle and rusted in her voice. she turns her gaze to her forearms, the ribbons of flesh shredded beneath his talons, and yanks her sleeves down to conceal them from view. the burning throb of the injury is a distant sensation, for now, dulled by adrenaline and exhaustion.
she wonders to herself if those, too, will fail to heal even with the help of a healer. if they will continue to ache in his presence as they do now, a mirror of the scar bitten into her shoulder, to warn her of his nearness. ]
[ where there used to be a flower slowly blossoming between them, the petals gradually opening with each hopeful smile and tentative word, now nikolai feels only the frigid cold that's turned the bloom to dust. alina feels as closed off as his own life has been to him these long months spent in the darkling's punishment. her hand slips from his, and, despite wanting to, he doesn't reach for it again, instead letting his bloodied fingers be still.
maybe they've changed too much, or maybe they're only just seeing each other for the first time. the things kept hidden away, the scars and the darkness and the words left unsaid were bound to see the light eventually, and now? now they can no longer pretend. he wanted this dalliance to last a bit longer, but of course fate had other plans in mind. ]
May I just point out — [ he straightens his coat and takes a deep breath, letting his armor settle back into place, cracked though it may be. ] You didn't exactly ask if I wanted your help, either.
[ his ears are still ringing and the space behind his eyes throb with a pulsing ache, but he pins her with his gaze and lifts the corner of his mouth in a brief and too-sharp smile. then he heads to the door, pulling it open to survey the halls — rugs dirty, paint peeling, stones and dust from the cracked walls littering the previously gleaming floors. he has no idea which parts of the palace might be salvageable, but he welcomes a new problem to tackle that isn't what to do about his monster or alina. ]
I hope you haven't let anyone move in to my quarters. [ he takes off down the hall, halfway hoping that she'll follow. ] I won't bite unless you order me to, Alina. I have questions and concerns. Pressing ones, like what sort of state our supply of brandy is in.
[ biting her tongue isn't like her. still, she isn't in any mood to pursue the argument that follows him through the door, stalking him down the dusty, dilapidated corridors much like alina's trailing footsteps. they fall behind him, an echo that never edges too closely to his side, a shadow at his back. all the while, she can taste the rich, copper sting of blood in her mouth — the flavor of every word she has left unsaid.
the air seems to thicken with it, draped in a tension she does nothing to slice through. ]
Everything is exactly as you left it. Close enough to it, anyway.
[ perhaps that habit has invited ghosts to reside in his quarters, the mattress left with only the dip of her imprint as she'd waited for any sign of his return. in his absence, it had been a comfort — finding herself on those sheets, surrounded by the last traces of his scent, inhaling the fresh wind and the salt of the sea. now, it feels like a memorial to mark the loss of — something.
something she might have never truly had to begin with. her chest feels like it's gaping open, numbly empty, as she tries to direct her thoughts away from the memory of rum warmed by a fire and the heat of his mouth. her eyes trail away from his back, pointedly staring blankly ahead of her. ]
If you want a better idea of our supplies, you'll have to ask David. We had to delegate responsibilities while you were gone.
[ it's easier to give that direction, to point him elsewhere, than to address it — or to fully tackle the topic of all that he's missed, the nights she has spent ensuring his kingdom wouldn't topple. because it has always been his, even with her at the helm, in her refusal to believe he wouldn't return.
she sighs, a gust of a light breath she loosens, and briefly presses her palms to her eyeballs. ]
The rest of Ravka believes you've been ill. It was the first excuse I could think of.
[ it does look as he left it, and the first sight of his room sends a steady ache through his chest. if only it could be as easy as stepping back inside. the place feels somehow familiar and strange at the same time, like an old version of himself would call this home and the current one doesn't quite know what to make of it at all. will throwing on his ostentatious clothes and fitting a crown to his head really make him a king? is there anyone left who even believes in him after all his time spent unseen?
alina feels like a ghost. he spares her a glance as he idly roots through his wardrobe. ]
Well, I certainly look like I've been ill. [ the scars on his hands, the shadowy veins that creep over his chest and threaten to climb up his throat when the monster gets restless. he feels like he's been tired for years now. ] Perhaps we can spin that story to make me look like more of a war hero than an invalid. Not that there's anything wrong with being an invalid, but I don't think it garners the same sort of respect in kings just yet.
[ truthfully, he doesn't want to think about any of this just yet. he wants to fall into his bed and sleep for however long his body allows him to, hopefully a week or more, and he wants alina with him so he can draw her into his arms and fall asleep with her soft hair tickling his face. he thinks he would have wanted that regardless, but he still can't be sure if it's the monster preying on him once more. the powerful pull he feels toward her is difficult to ignore.
he busies himself with moving to the next room and drawing himself a much-needed bath. after shedding his coat, he tosses it in alina's direction. ]
Did you wear it while I was gone?
[ he washes the blood from his hands and then sets to scrubbing down every other part of himself, hoping that it will take away the taste of blood and the stain of the darkling's discordant power impressed upon him. after this he'll tend to alina's wounds — that is if she allows him to. his talons are razor-sharp and enormous. he knows they have to hurt. ]
Don't tell anyone I'm back. I'm not quite ready to charm the multitudes just yet. [ he watches the water turn murky as he rinses his hair, grimacing. ] And I think we need to make sure we're both on the same page first.
[ he vanishes into the next room, but the pulse of his presence drums between her ribs like a second heartbeat. it tempts her to follow, a guiding force that rebels against the distance between them. she strains to resist it, reassuring herself with false promises — he will adapt, the compulsion will fade, the monster in his bones will inevitably settle into something domesticated and toothless.
even as she feeds herself those lies, she doesn't quite believe it. intent to ignore that new revelation, she settles into the doorframe. as shameless as nikolai has been, she still allows him his privacy, back turned to the sight of water sluicing off of fatigued, sore muscle. a defensive mechanism against herself, to be certain, but a sympathetic gesture; in his position, she would flinch from the weight of a stare tracing over the webbed veins that line his skin, the ragged scars that speak to his suffering.
she ignores the splash of water behind her, crinkling the jacket between her fingers, and considers the too-intimate question he's posed. truthfully, she's taken off-guard by his choice to leave it in her care at all after what's transpired, even temporarily. ]
Does it matter?
[ can it still matter, now? she wonders if he can hear the questions she doesn't pose, buried beneath it all. in the grand scheme, perhaps it shouldn't matter; as he's helpfully pointed out to her, they'll need to spin his injury into something more inspiring, and in the meantime —
she needs to determine how long he'll be gone from his post again. how long before he reveals himself to the others. how long she needs to act in his stead. her head tips back, resting on the wall, as her eyes squeeze closed. ]
Your secret is safe with me. [ even if accepting an order irrationally grates her. another strange effect of binding them, she supposes. ] But it's going to take time to catch you up and make sure we're on the same page, and neither of us has the energy for that right now.
[ and if some part of her is avoiding that conversation altogether — well, that's her business. ]
[ he's still surprised that she followed him at all, and even more so that she seems to be staying. her presence at the door feels too much like a guard, and he supposes in a way she is. he has no choice but to find his way back to trusting her, because at the end of the day if something needs to be done about his unwelcome guest, she is the one he'll lean on. another page they'll have to get on together. ]
I think it does. [ he's scrubbing his hands again, a futile effort to see if these unsightly scars are really permanent. ] I assume the entire country looked to the Sun Summoner in my absence, and wearing the Lantsov crest either delighted or disgusted them, depending on which Lantsov immediately came to mind.
[ he likes to think it offered something resembling hope, either to the people or to alina herself. hope that he'd make it back. hope that all was not lost even if he didn't. if only his father and every lantsov king that came before him hadn't sullied their name so much that he now has to think of how to pull it out of the mud.
he gives up on the scars, wrapping himself in his robe and going to the drawer by the mirror to pull out a metal tin with bandages and salve, along with a clean towel and a bowl of water, flashing a quick smile as he passes alina on his way to his desk. he sets everything down, pulls out a chair for her, then goes to his closet to get dressed. ]
Are you saying we should ignore reality for the time being just because we're tired from our attempts to kill each other? Or whatever it was we were doing.
[ an extremely tempting thought that he pretends to mull over as he pulls on trousers and a linen shirt. he rolls his sleeves to his elbows as he returns to the table, sitting down and flipping the top off the metal box. ]
We'll multitask. I have faith you can keep up. [ he pushes his damp hair from his forehead and reaches for the towel, dipping it into the bowl and then holding a hand out expectantly. his next words come out as casually as if he's asking for tea. ] I think we should announce our engagement shortly after I take the throne.
[ or whatever it was we were doing. she dares to look at him, then, as if a probing stare alone will tell her what she wants to know. what moments had he witnessed between them, submerged as he was by the darkling's overpowering presence, a passenger in his own body? cold dread slithers down her spine, coiling around its base. he has said nothing, done nothing to confront her over that obsessive, intimate tether she shares with more than just the monster wearing the disguise of nikolai's flesh, and yet —
she can't bring herself to shake the paranoia gnawing on her bones. that piercing stare lingers too long, searches too long, and finds nothing of use. nothing that could crack open his chest until secrets spill out between them, without ever needing to address the demons that lurk in the corner of her eye, always waiting for her next moment of vulnerability. alina's eyes flicker away to the metal tin in front of her, its lid catching the light, unable to face him for long.
some wounds are still too fresh. ]
I suppose you'll just have to ask the people yourself.
[ because she isn't going to walk him down that particular path. she may just fracture beneath the burden of everything she has refused to feel, in his absence, if she digs it up — everything she had needed to slaughter and bury to ensure she could continue forward. everything she hadn't had time to process. it's difficult to envision herself suffocating under a crown, now that she has worn his. the demands of ravka have hardly allowed her room to breathe, let alone room to exist as more than just a figurehead.
it's arguably petulant, the tired glower she casts his expectant hand. that's a battle she suspects she won't win. nikolai is nothing if not persistent, and her lingering guilt insists that allowing him to tend to her wounds is the least of what she owes him. in the process of rolling up her sleeves, sticky with traces of blood, she suddenly stills — taken aback, at first, before it lapses into a look that could melt a lesser man's flesh from his bones.
above all else, she doesn't want to admit that she's shocked he would still consider it an option at all — or abruptly return and start making wedding plans, of all things — but she's never been as well-versed in hiding her emotions as nikolai. shocked and, frankly, terrified of what it will mean. what his next punishment might be, just for continuing to entertain the idea of marrying her. ]
Nearly dying wasn't enough excitement for you? Do you have to make yourself an even bigger target? [ just barely, she resists the urge to lob the jacket still bunched in her lap at his head. ] You can't possibly be that insane.
[ he remembers more than he wants to, and that particular tether already feels like a thorn in his side. it's not the sort of connection he wants with her — it feels like the creeping darkness that fills his rib cage and coats his insides until he doesn't recognize himself anymore. it's not like what they had before. it feels tantalizingly wrong. it feels like something he wants to pull on despite knowing he shouldn't. it feels like begging her to stop but being grateful when she doesn't.
but that's a different conversation for a different day. he needs at least a few sleepless nights to pore over everything that's happened and equip himself with some sort of defense against the temptation that rocks him each time he looks at her. it's especially sharp when she finally allows him her hand, the contact igniting something inside of him that he struggles to ignore. ]
You think our holy matrimony will lure the Darkling out? Perhaps he'll make the guest list. [ his expression is too sharp to be overly humorous, though he does find the joke funny despite the very real possibility that the darkling will string him up by his intestines for taking alina away from him. ] Drastic measures have to be taken. The people are scared. They need to believe that there are heroes and saints out there who will protect them. I need the people on my side. On our side. An alliance with the Sun Summoner was always in the plan. We just need to move up the date a bit.
[ the blood staining her arms slowly disappears as nikolai uses the wet towel to gently clean it away, trying not to look at his own hands. the gouges are a bit more than superficial and will need time to heal properly. he can still feel his talons sinking into her skin and the slickness of her blood at his fingertips when it was over. ]
I'm sorry. Perhaps Genya can do something about the scarring.
[ he dabs a bit of the salve on her wounds, then begins wrapping the bandages around them. even after he's done securing them, he lingers still, clasping their hands together briefly and feeling the physical ache in his chest to be with her. he pulls away, rubbing a hand over his chin, his eyes troubled. ]
How long? [ he looks at her, a crease appearing between his brows. ] The Darkling left his impression on me, but it seems he's done the same to you.
[ she could laugh at the sheer absurdity of it — nikolai rushing them to the altar when he can scarcely stand to touch her for longer than a few fleeting seconds. once he's dropped their joined hands, her fingers flutter away, absently spanning the cold, curling antlers dangling from her throat. it seems to tighten in his presence, seems to vibrate beneath her fingers. startled, they slip away, settling in her lap.
the scars hardly matter. they dig deeper than what is only skin-deep, embedded in the very soul of her. ]
Long enough. Before we had even met.
[ perhaps that's only another betrayal to be tallied on a growing list. another secret she has stowed away, as though refusing to bring it into the space between them would keep their shared moments safe. sacred. unstained by the darkling. a foolish and futile endeavor, fueled only by her hope. it's a greater madness, to tie their lives together when there is so little they know of one another.
those quiet, stolen hours in his bed are a faraway, distant dream — as if haze of that memory belongs to another girl. she rises, propping the jacket onto the table before her, and turns to slip the edge of her shirt down — down further, baring the curve of her shoulder. the mark is still there, the imprint of monstrous teeth embedded into the skin — tinged with circles of black. ]
I'm not a hero, and I'm no saint. [ as he's pointed out, however he had intended it. like calls to like. she goes silent, pulling away to face him, once the weight of eyes becomes too much. ] You won't make me a pawn in whatever story you're selling to Ravka, either.
[ the answer he receives is the one he suspects has been true all along. the darkling isn't one to let go of his precious things, and alina has clearly become one of them. to escape his grasp is no small feat, although now he sees the toll this secret has taken on her. perhaps she thought he would react poorly. that he would look at her as some sullied being, fooled into captivity by a powerful man with a dangerous sort of charm. in truth he is only bothered that he didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle to begin with.
he knows what this darkness is now, and he selfishly feels less alone to know that she does as well.
the wound at her shoulder is a clear marking of the darkness and decay that follows the darkling's touch. nikolai says nothing as he studies it with a thoughtful gaze, his eyes rising to meet hers when she turns, standing before him. ]
You don't have to be a hero or a saint. All that matters is that the people believe you are. [ he runs a weary hand down his face, then through his still damp hair, curling around his ears. ] Keeping up appearances is half the job. You've likely realized that while I was gone.
[ a sigh escapes him as he rests his cheek in one hand, his eyes briefly closing. he can't do this without alina. he forces his overworked brain to think, to come up with something cleverly convincing, something that will make her believe in him again, but in this moment he hardly believes in himself. he pinches the bridge of his nose, his head pulsing. ]
Are we keeping secrets from each other now? [ he lets his hand drop to the table, idly running his thumb along his scars. ] I told you I wouldn't lie to you, so here's the truth: I need you to be a pawn in this game no matter how much you chafe beneath it. Do I feel ready to wed? No. I expect you feel the same. But this is bigger than the both of us. Pulling this country out from beneath the Darkling's grasp has to be more important than the dreams and desires we've held onto for ourselves. Our alliance is necessary, whether we feel ready or not.
[ he pauses here, looking up again as he bites his lip in an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. he still thinks she looks lovely like this, only this time he wants to propel the thought right out of his head. ]
It won't be like it could have been. [ he holds her gaze, wishing he could summon even an ounce of optimism, but he's bled completely dry. ] The monster changes things. So does what you've done. I'm not in any position to be a suitable husband to you, so we will marry in name only. Enter into this alliance with me, Alina. I can't sacrifice an entire country for something as insignificant as my own sentimentality, and I think if you look deep within yourself, you'll find that you feel the same. I still believe in your goodness, no matter what has transpired between us.
[ that's the problem with wrapping his words with promises: she's foolish enough to be captivated by them until she peels them back to find what's inside. what he offers is a cage by any other name, gilded and necessary — but a cage, just the same. from the same prince that had held her in contempt for collaring him, no less. it's the punishment she deserves for what she's done, but no amount of guilt can suffocate the unbidden anger that rises.
fury is an easier enemy to tackle than her grief. in name only. it rings in her ears, pounds in her skull, echoes in her chest — as if that, too, is his form of retribution. reminding her of what might have been, in another life. driving her to grieve a wild fantasy that had never truly stood a chance. she feels twice the fool for daring to indulge in that dream, now, chasing after the risks that come with believing in dangerous men.
like any injured animal, lashing out is nothing more than a means of self-preservation. her mouth twists into a hard line, sharpening the iron in her gaze. ]
What I've done is no different than what you would have done, if our places were switched. Because that's what you do, Nikolai. You charm, and you scheme, and you manipulate the world around you like it's all just a game you need to win. You control everyone and everything around you, because the thought of something being outside of your control terrifies you.
[ she laughs — a hollow, humorless sound that frays. she can't stitch herself back together, no matter how she tries. no matter how cruel it is to unleash that sorrowful rage on him. ]
It's no wonder you're so afraid of me. But it doesn't really matter, does it? You get to put a leash on me in return and parade me around Ravka, and you'll use my love for my country to convince me it's the right move.
[ her fingers fly to the chain at the nape of her neck, fiddling with the clasp. they shake too viciously to be graceful in removing it, but it slices cleanly through her to watch the lantsov emerald dangle from the end of it, refracting sunlight as she tosses it down onto his desk. ]
So long as the Darkling still breathes, you'll have your alliance. I'll be whatever pawn you need me to be. But once he's dead and the monster is gone with him, it ends and we go our separate ways. I don't care what you have to tell Ravka to keep them from searching for me.
[ would it have been better to not come back at all? to remain a captive in his own body, seeing only glimpses of the world through moments of lucidity? looking at alina now, the venom in her words sinking into him as poison should, he can't say he's sure. maybe ravka would be lost without him, but the truth is it still could be lost with him and the nearly fanatical plan he's proposing.
he holds onto his composure because it's the only thing he can think to do, watching the emerald hit the desk, picking up the sunlight in far too brilliant a way than this conversation deserves. the foolish thought that he somehow would be able to find a shred of happiness in a royal alliance seems like just that — the overly romantic dream of a starry-eyed boy, a wholly unrealistic fantasy that settles around him like ash. no matter what happened, he always believed that he and alina could be friends even in a loveless marriage. now he sees that even that reality is breaking down before his tired eyes.
he can't control this, and he can't control her, and he can't control the teeming darkness within himself. it's as if he's stepped from one nightmare right into another. ]
Then I'll make sure you have everything you need to live a comfortable life when you go. [ equal parts of hurt and relief collide with disturbing force. he doesn't want her to go. he doesn't want her to stay. he's already weary of this senseless war waging within himself. saints, how does he miss her when she's standing right in front of him? ] That emerald will fetch a hefty price, you know.
There's another piece to this. One more thing I have to ask of you.
[ he reaches out to catch one of her hands, pulling her toward him, though he's careful in handling her wounds when he presses her hand to his heart and holds it there. it makes him flinch, the way the monster stirs suddenly inside of him, like answering a call. he swallows down an unsteady breath, a heavy longing sweeping through him. ]
I'm at your mercy now. [ her hand is a searing heat against his chest, burning right through the fabric of his shirt. he wants to shove her away. he wants to kiss her. ] Swear to me that if the time comes, you'll kill it if you need to. Don't hesitate just because it's me. Promise me, Alina. It can only be you.
[ in the end, she feels no better for rallying against him. it's an empty victory — like razing a kingdom to the ground, reduced to ashes and dust, simply to keep it from falling into the hands of an enemy. there's nothing noble in it, no prize awaiting her in the aftermath, just the sickening sense of guilt and bitter defeat that often follows those that have survived the bloodshed.
survived feels like too strong of a word when the crushing pressure on her chest hasn't lessened. not even once, not even for a moment. but what triumph is to be had, when he is as composed as he's ever been, letting her beat her fists against his defenses until she tires? she resents him all the more for it — for remaining upright, his mask refusing to slip, while she crumbles around him. it must be an illness to want his blood beneath her fingernails, his tears on her skin, if only to have the proof that this had ever mattered.
that she had mattered, however briefly, as more than just another tool. she waits for the denials that never come, the justifications he never offers. something to give her, when he's taken so much with one proposal. she nearly laughs when he demands more of her — more, as though she hasn't negotiated away all that she is — but it traps itself in her throat, a breath she chokes on once his fingers encircle her wrists.
her palm illuminates the small space between them the moment it touches his skin, a soft glow that seems to recognize the shred of herself she has stowed away inside of him. like a beacon, guiding her closer, aching for connection — for a rightness that feels so very wrong. she nearly flinches away from it, frightened by the sudden surge of misplaced possessiveness that falls over her in response. he isn't hers any longer, if he had ever been, no matter the strange impulse to claim otherwise. her fingers twitch against his chest, twisting loosely in the fabric of his shirt of their own accord. ]
I swear it. I hate you for making me promise that. [ the wetness on her cheek doesn't register, at first. it's only after she blinks that she realizes it's coming from her, beads of moisture clinging to the ends of her eyelashes, dripping onto her skin. it's too much to ask. it's unfair to demand her. it's the least of what they owe one another. ] But who knows? Maybe you'll have to kill me first.
[ maybe neither of them will survive. maybe ravka will fall, after all. scrapped raw as she is, she can't bear to look at him for long — but settling her eyes on that gemstone, gleaming back at her, is hardly any better. for a brief moment, she squeezes her eyes shut, and offers a shake of her head. ]
Keep it. Some of us can't be bought off. [ and she doesn't want the lasting memory of it, truly, to follow her into her next life. it seems too close. it seems too faraway. all the same, she doesn't want nikolai to haunt that one, too. not when the point is to escape all of this. ] It never really belonged to me, anyway.
[ an old, familiar feeling settles over him, one that he thought maybe he wouldn't have to feel quite so much anymore. the feeling that alina chased away when he watched her laugh by the fire. when he kissed her in his bed. when he'd meet her eyes across a room of diplomats and flash her a dramatic gesture that he was ready to die of boredom. when she'd appear at his side to rescue him with a glass of his favorite brandy. when they'd spend moments in comfortable silence, nikolai reading with his feet propped up and alina sketching out plans to renovate parts of the palace to accommodate the second army.
all of it had made him a little too used to not feeling the sense of loneliness that he's carried for a good portion of his life, hidden behind his outrageous confidence and charm, but for all of his bold self-assurance, there's always been a distance, a separation, a lack of true closeness that he's never been able to bridge. everyone adores him, he makes sure of that, but no one really knows him. not since he lost dominik. and now he's afraid he's lost alina, too. ]
Don't hate me. [ he reaches up to brush his thumb beneath her eye, catching one of her tears. of all the things she's said, the accusation that he tried to buy her with the lantsov emerald smarts the most. perhaps it's just his pride, and he knows in the end it doesn't matter, but it pointedly bothers him. it was a genuine gift, not to be flashy or impressive, but because that gem was one of the few things he owned that meant something. it sits on the table still, and he makes no move to reach for it. ] That's harder to carry than anything else.
[ he pulls her hand away with a shuddering breath, tendrils of creeping darkness tickling his throat. no matter how much he wants to be close to her, it's nothing like it was before. he's fraught with sudden discord and contention, so intense it nauseates him, but losing her touch feels like a part of him has broken off. he puts his hands on her hips and carefully but insistently pushes her a step back. ]
I can't kill you, Alina. [ his throat feels raw, like he's swallowed glass. the realization startles him. ] The monster would never let me.
[ he releases her, pressing a hand to his eyes. ] Now go.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auing this shit up
nikolai has always felt like the palace was something like a gilded cage, something beautiful to behold but a place more like a prison than any of his other homes. he loves the gleaming halls, the statues, the paintings, but in the end it's simply a pretty prison attached to an extremely needy nation. his chains might be invisible, but nonetheless, they're there, a constant and heavy shackle he carries from one expansive room to the next, always with a smile.
this cage is nothing like that. it's like nothing he's ever experienced before, because the cage is his own body. his own head. his own self. whatever cursed magic the darkling employed sent a monster to devour him from the inside out, to leave him immobilized, to take control of his senses, to make him a prisoner inside a sinister cage of roiling black and fresh blood.
it takes an extraordinary amount of effort to finally grasp a thread of his own self, holding on tight enough to see the world through the monster's eyes. it's different. nonsensical. places he knows he's been but can't name now. the signs by the roads and in shop windows are nothing but scribbled symbols. the people — his people no longer look human. they look like prey, and they spark a hunger in him that makes him want to go under again. he can taste blood, rank and metallic, and he's gripped with the fear that he's already killed. not knowing whether it's animal or human blood makes him think that cognizance is just another punishment in the nightmare he's found himself in.
time passes in a haze. it could be days or it could be weeks. nikolai can only stay above water for a few minutes at a time before the darkness sinks its claws in and pulls him under once more.
but a few minutes gradually turns into longer. he's learning the monster now, trying to study it, trying to find a way that they might coexist, and from there, a way to seize control of himself again.
it comes when he recognizes a fountain with roses growing along the edges, the same fountain that stuck him with thorns as a child when he tried to touch the water. dominik ended up pulling them out so his mother wouldn't find out about his behavior. the sudden realization that he's in os alta causes something to shift somehow, his eyes sharper, his mind more alert. the monster is weakening, and nikolai doesn't stop to reason out why. he seizes the opportunity when it presents itself, his wings cutting through the air as he pivots, heading directly to the palace and — not entirely purposely — crashing directly into one of the windows.
it should have been his window leading to his own chambers, but his calculations are simply wrong this time. he skids into the room and hits a heavy trunk, cracking the wood before he falls to the floor in a heap. then everything changes. for a moment he can't see. there's only the agonizing sensation of what he suspects might be his bones grinding against one another. something falls from the ruined wood, blanketing him in fabric, and when he pulls it away he realizes two things: first that he's holding his own coat, one of the teal ones he gave to alina, and second that his hand is no longer clawed. it's human. badly scarred, but human nonetheless.
he rolls over and dry heaves before collapsing onto his side, his head spinning. the room is barely in focus, his vision nauseatingly fragmented, so he shuts his eyes and tries to find it in him to just breathe. ]
SORRY THIS GOT SO DAMN LONG how did i write an entire fanfic as a tag, pls forgive me
os alta has lost its shine. a reflection, maybe, of ravka's dying light. whatever hope remains is a fragile thing, an ember close to burning itself out. no matter how alina strives to keep it alight, to pretend and perform and make promises she knows she cannot keep, the darkness continues to seep into their country like an infection she cannot purge. it slips into the cracks of the walls, a shadow that dances across her quarters at night. it fills the empty halls she walks, its stones nearly collapsed, the carpeting tarnished and its gilded paint burnished from battle.
she can still see the fading life in glazed over eyes and mangled corpses when she closes her eyes. it's poetic, really — that she is a ghost among the spirits that haunt these halls, simply repeating what she had done in life. meetings to secure themselves allies they cannot pay, where she strains herself with insincere smiles and rallies men to causes that will certainly spell their doom. securing those straggling soldiers they have left, looking into faces of terrified grisha that are barely more than children. grasping at straws as she plans their next move, as though she isn't sick of hiding behind these walls and vainly hoping the darkling won't think to return to the very haven he had destroyed.
all to make a point. all to punish her. i will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but mine, he had once warned her. when she thinks of the monster shifting beneath nikolai's skin, the scars etched into genya, the horrified sky-blue of mal's eyes once he had finally stumbled across the truth (that the darkling resides within her mind, a poison she can't bleed out) —
she knows it to be true. a threat he intends on keeping.
some days, she wonders if nikolai would be proud that she has stepped forward to fill the gap he has left in their leadership. on other nights, she tells herself it doesn't matter. she has little right to wonder anything about nikolai when she is the source of his suffering, but when has the heart been anything but selfish and cruel and fickle? she has little right, but she waits and wonders all the same, and wakes the next morning as though her chest doesn't feel like it will collapse under the weight of her guilt.
it's different, on that particular morning. that aching void still threatens to unhinge its jaw and swallow her whole, but her skin is too tight around her bones. it's a restlessness that festers in her scar, the creeping shadows the nichevo'ya embedded in her flesh, like an omen.
her first thought is that they've run out of time. that the darkling has returned to spill fresh blood onto the still-stained stones of the palace, where even her dedicated scrubbing couldn't erase the traces of violence. she follows the pull in her gut as though she's tied to a tether, lured in, and barges into her own quarters with all of the feral bristling of a woman expecting a war at a doorstep.
it isn't what she finds on the other side. or maybe it is, another twisted game the darkling begs her to play, another consequence of defying him by forcing her hand to put nikolai out of her misery. the door rattles on its hinges when it slams shut behind her with the force of a swift kick behind her. against her sternum, the lantsov emerald pulses and sears her — or perhaps that's merely alina, the temperature of the room heating with the sudden defensive impulse of power that flows to her fingertips, readying herself for —
what, exactly? a trap? a scheme? for nikolai's bones to reshape him into that same ravenous, senseless beast? her throat burns, barely trusting her voice. barely trusting her eyes as they take him in, so small and sprawled out on her floor. it would be the perfect strategy for lowering her defenses.
there is no tool at the darkling's disposal that he would not use. despite her body's demand to rush to his side, she stays where she is, tension winding along her spine as she flattens her back against the door. ]
Nikolai.
[ his name, and only that. a test to gauge what he has come to her as: monster, or man. ]
shh it's beautiful and perfect
slowly, he opens his eyes again, the room blurry. there's something warm in here, something he feels a powerful compulsion to get away from. no, not him — the monster. the shadows rolling beneath his skin shrink back at the source of the sudden glow, and anything that makes the monster retreat is something nikolai wants to hold fast to. he lifts his eyes, his blond hair dirty and unkempt, curling against his forehead. the ringing in his ears slowly fades, the room righting itself, and his eyes finally sharpen enough that he can see a person standing by the door, light seeping from her fingertips.
the sun isn't in the right place in the sky to offer this kind of brightness. nikolai blinks away the stinging in his eyes, sudden realization flooding back to him. ]
Alina?
[ his voice is scraped raw, pitiful and exhausted even to his own ears. he wants to stand. he wants to cross the room and bury his face into her shoulder, but he doesn't yet have the strength. he wants her light.
saints, he's a man again. he draws in a breath, lifting one scarred hand to run carefully over his face. it feels like him. he can think again. he runs his tongue over his teeth, pressing hard, but they don't draw blood. they're smooth and flat again, not sharp. a relieved sound tumbles out of him, something between a laugh and a cry. ]
Saints. [ no fangs. no talons. his mind is back. saints. he sags with relief, leaning against the cracked trunk for support. ] I won't hurt you, Alina. I promise I won't hurt you.
😭
the tug at her heart is a weakness, no doubt. wanting makes us weak, the darkling had said, but he had failed to take into account that there is no cure for it — for wanting so viciously that it thrums in her bones, has her stepping across the threshold of her quarters as if answering some ancient, unknown pull. it's only when she comes to a halt a few feet from him that she recognizes her feet have led her toward him at all.
she can't afford to take that risk by inching closer. at a glance, his veins are clear of that dark sludge coursing through them, talons retracted to hands that had once traveled across her skin — careful and attentive and human. the light recedes from her fingertips, dimming to a low, kindling glow. ]
I wouldn't give you the chance to try.
[ her conviction is feeble, the mark of a fool attempting to convince themselves. truthfully, she needs the reminder more than nikolai needs the threat. whatever promises he might offer, whatever shame might swallow her, she assures herself nikolai — of anyone — will understand the lengths she must go for ravka's safety.
no matter what that entails, even if it earns his resentment. even if it must consider that he is still the monster, still a threat that will need to be contained until she knows what to do with him. how to fix him. at her sides, her fingers twitch. ]
You know I can't trust your word just yet. This reeks of a trap.
[ a trap that she doubts nikolai might even be aware of. a pawn, until the darkling is finished puppeteering him. ]
no subject
all things that he's managed to monumentally botch before even fitting a crown on his head. it sits in the center of his chest, this bitter truth that he can't manage to keep down. there are so many things he always imagined would stand in his way to the throne, but never once did he consider it might be himself. not until now.
he thinks of what he can say to reassure her. he doesn't have a weapon, but he doesn't need one when there's a monster swimming in his blood. anything he says could be the beast instead, dropping flowery words to lure her in before sinking needle-sharp teeth into the part of her throat he used to kiss. she's right to behave this way. it's clever and it's necessary.
it stings. he swallows it down — his pride, his need for attention, his every-present yearning for validation that he constantly gives to himself because he can't get it from anyone else, whatever it is. this isn't the time or place for any of it. he rubs a hand over his face again, catching another glimpse of the spidery black scars stemming from his fingertips. they'll fade. probably. ]
It's not a trap. But it's likely that I am still dangerous.
[ he might be human again, but he feels the darkness in him like a second skin. it's still there, strong as ever. tentatively, he pushes to his feet, slipping the sleeves of his coat on. ]
Handy that I gave this to you, isn't it? [ he tries for a smile. he means it to be easy, perhaps a bit debonair to inject some levity into the atmosphere, but it turns out there's still far too much emotion trying to wrestle its way out of his throat, so comes out boyish and sincere instead, his eyes catching a bit of the light. ] Stay sharp, Alina. You might have to kill me.
no subject
[ it's a cruel reality, and one she takes no pleasure in announcing. she wishes the tension would break beneath another ill-timed joke instead. finally, something the great nikolai lantsov doesn't know. on any other day, he would grin that crooked smile that has infuriated her and infatuated her with the same degree of success, and defend his ego with inform her his very practiced, princely smugness.
this isn't any other day. this isn't like any day she has known.the darkling has left corpses mangled and scattered in his wake, taken the last breaths of men and women as she's watched, but she has never had to extinguish the light in a friend's eyes.
in a lover's eyes. of all that she has been prepared to do, of all the abominable undertakings she has made her own, she could have never planned for this. it's a waking nightmare she can't will away. there are so many impossible wishes she could make, and making stupid jokes that would fall flat is the least of them.
it doesn't change one simple fact: she wishes either of them had a reason to smile. anxiety tightens its grip around her windpipe until her chest hardly rises with her inhales. her chin tips as her jaw tightens, the only sign that she's bracing herself as she moves forward. each slow approach feels like teetering toward the edge of something, knowing she can never return to what came before that plunge.
if he is a monster, perhaps so is she, for doing what has to be done. only the promise of it working to any degree, insane as it is, keeps her determined — the flintiness in her eyes as unwavering as her grasp on either side of his face, clutching him as one would a prisoner. ]
This is going to be worse than killing you could ever be.
[ his only warning before the heat suffuses her palms, the light smoldering against his skin as though it can scorch the darkness away like a toxin, long enough for her to gain control of it. through it, she strains toward that same shadowy link that ties her to the darkling as nikolai has become, that same inky, corrupted thread she finds within him — and latches on, sinking claws into it.
perhaps the darkling failed to consider that he is not the only one with the potential power to bind that beast lurking in nikolai's bone to a master. ]
yes. just yes.
it's alina, illuminating him from the inside out, and he'd walked readily into it. clever girl. it's something he would do if the situation required him to take advantage of some lost, broken, dangerous thing before him. he can't fault her for this, and yet a part of him feels wounded with the sting of betrayal.
his hands tightly clasp alina's wrists, blunt nails digging into her skin while a cry escapes his throat. the monster rears inside of him, explosive with anger, and nikolai is caught in the balance, tilting this way and that but no matter where he falls, all he feels is a pain unlike anything else. perhaps this is worse than the darkling turning him into this beast. his mind is too scrambled to compare. ]
Alina, stop, please — [ his knees give out as he sinks to the floor, gasping in a desperate breath between gritted teeth. is he dying? is this how he will go? at the sun summoner's hand?
blackness ripples beneath his skin, dark, spidery veins crawling up his throat. his eyes bleed to black and talons push from his fingers, sinking like barbs into alina's forearms. when he bares his teeth they're sharp now, needle-like fangs cutting through his gums.
the voice that echoes isn't his own. it's the darkling's. ]
You can't make me bow to you.
[ but then the monster weakens, and perhaps it's working, but nikolai doesn't have the presence of mind to realize it. his eyes shift to hazel once more, stinging as they begin to water with pain. ]
Alina — stop —
[ blood wets his fingers where his claws still gouge alina's flesh, and then he's gone again, pupils replaced with shining obsidian. it's the darkling's voice that speaks again, raw and angry, sounding more monster than man, but also closer to breaking than before. ]
You're nothing without me.
i know what my brand is and it's this. all of this.
but there is more than just the darkling's possessiveness tearing through her flesh. each burrowing jab stings with nikolai's pleas, the gut-wrenching begging of a broken boy seeking mercy, lost and afraid. for him, alina urges him closer, a mockery of an embrace that cradles his head against her stomach. and if it hides the sight of his eyes from her as their humanity shifts like a mirage, the glint of tears and the accusation of a betrayal that makes her recoil in revulsion of herself —
all the better to keep herself from faltering. like a shield, she curls herself around him — and her light with it, emanating from her skin like a nova burning itself from the inside out — until there is nowhere to flee from her. her grip hardens like a vice, fingers digging into his cheeks until the flesh whitens from the iron-pressure. when her mouth finds its ear, it's a low serpent's hiss, a venomous threat. ]
Why would I want your submission when I could have your destruction?
[ she does not grant him the pleasure of knowing that she would sooner suffer nikolai's hatred than endure an eternity alone. he must know it, whether she willingly grants him that confession or not. even if she wins the fight for nikolai's soul, the darkling has already won, has alienated her from one of the few sources of solace she has found.
when she leans back to pin him with a hateful, searing stare, the abyss in nikolai's eyes turns her blood to sludge in her veins. a chill ripples through her, despite the scorching heat pouring off of her. still, she does not turn away, even as the discordant, inhuman echo — like two voices, merging together in a discordant, hollow melody — of his words forces the hairs on her arms to stand at attention. ]
Nikolai Lantsov is my creature. [ and this beast — he is little more than that, lashing out in his last, desperate attempt to use nikolai as his vessel. she pushes past the dread that has formed a pit inside of her stomach, her own pupils swallowed by a white, blindingly incandescent glow. ] I won't let you have him.
the only brand ever tbh
maybe a part of him died while he nested away from the darkness, stuck in his own personal cage of blood and bones. maybe that part was replaced by this beast. maybe she'll never be able to look at him the same way again — maybe no one will, maybe his father was right all along, maybe he is nothing. maybe this is how it should end.
but then something shifts, something in the searing heat of alina's light. nikolai always saw it as good. the antithesis to the billowing blackness that spilled from the darkling's fingertips. alina has always been more than just grisha, more than what the small sciences can explain to the average mind. her gifts defy reality in the same way that the darkling's does. and for the first time, the blazing, blinding light doesn't feel like it's burning away the darkness. it slips into the crevices and the cracks, between flesh and blood and bone, and while nikolai always thought it would feel like sweet relief from the inky shadows that try to choke him in every moment of lucidity, there is nothing comforting about this.
magic isn't inherently good or evil. it bends to the will of the user, and the sudden startling realization that alina simply feels different sets a new kind of chill in his bones.
what happened while he was gone?
the monster reaches toward the light now, as if it craves it, teeth glinting with hunger, pitch black eyes shining. when he first felt this darkness flow into him, it followed the darkling's every command. but now nikolai can sense it looking to alina instead, as if her light is threaded with something depraved and half rotten with decay. nikolai laughed before at the notion that mal was afraid of alina embracing her true self, but suddenly he can see the root of his fear manifested right before him. right inside of him.
he comes back to himself with a shuddering gasp, abruptly all man again. his hands fall away, alina's blood sticking to his fingers, and his face feels wet with sweat or tears or perhaps both. he sucks in a shallow breath, the echoes of agony leaving him a trembling mess that wants nothing more than to close his eyes and succumb to exhaustion, but he can't. his bloody hand curls into the fabric of her shirt, gripping so hard that he can feel the stitches beginning to give. ]
What did you do?
[ he's never been angry at her before, never used this tone of voice with her, but his words are scraped raw, balanced on the knife's edge of panic and sheer rage. the expression in his wet eyes is as hard as grisha steel, his chest rising and falling with his unsteady breaths. ]
The monster looks to you to be its master. [ caged in his body, serving the sun summoner. saints. he yanks her closer, his face breaking into desperation. ] Like calls to like. Isn't that what was said? Saints, Alina, I told you to stop.
is it really rp if you're not torturing characters a little
and now nikolai knows her for the abomination she is. like calls to like, and what is she but the other side of the darkling's reflection? within her lives the humanity he has turned away from. within him lurks the monster she has shunned, as if her fear of it could condemn it into fading from her. but it's stitched into her flesh, as vital to her existence as the beat of the darkling's shriveled, terribly human heart.
but whatever self-loathing has rotted her from the inside out, it could never have braced her for her new reality: the mirror of that same scorn in every fiber of nikolai's being, the frantic spill of his breath across her skin, the barbed tip of the accusation threaded through his outrage. like a man that has peered into the abyss and uncovered the creature that has called it home, and wants nothing but to see it gone from his sight.
it cleaves through her, slicing through the bone of her very being, as she comes to the terms with it. he thinks of her as a monster. a creature no better than the darkling. with every desperate wrenching of nikolai's hands in her collar, the stag's antlers rattle against her throat — that same cage that had been crafted with her submission in mind, as though being tethered to the darkling was a gift she should welcome.
perhaps she is no different, in the end, when she has chained nikolai's destiny to her own. perhaps he is no different than the warnings the darkling had issued — another human, aching for her to be anything other than what she is. her hurt flashes in her eyes, fading as quickly as an illusion, before she buries it beneath the glacial iciness of her defiant stare. her chin tips with a pridefulness she does not feel, a dare she does not want to issue, but she has come too far with no hope of returning. regret can't be allowed to cripple her now. ]
I saved your life. What other choice did I have?
[ her voice cracks and crumbles as these walls have, but still she does not let herself collapse. beyond its desperation for an answer, there is too much of a challenge woven through it, too much of a demand for nikolai — nikolai, who has always had to form tactical decisions on his feet, lest he shake the foundation of ravka — to provide her with an option that isn't a futile delusion. ]
Kill you and leave Ravka without a proper ruler? Let the Darkling have you until you were forced to kill me? What other way did you see this ending?
I can't take it away, but I can help you control it.
[ her power wanes along with her physical strength, drained from the sheer effort, and still she wraps her fingers around nikolai's to try to forcefully pry and shove them away from her. ]
You can hate me for what I've done. You can call me a monster if that's what makes you feel better. It won't make it any easier to live with what you've become.
nods sagely
You put a leash on me is what you did.
[ it's not so much that she has a certain power over the thing living inside of him. it's that the beast looks to her at all, because it begs the question why, and he's too exhausted to chase the answer right now. he presses a hand to his eyes, his head pulsing, and he sways again as the room tilts once more. now he doesn't know if it's just the toll the monster takes on his body or alina. ]
I don't think you're a monster. That would be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?
[ he clamps down on his anger, sealing it off. what's done is done. he doesn't intend to punish alina for it, but he'd be lying if he said this didn't change things. he can feel the way the monster is drawn to her, a constant stirring even as it lies dormant in rest, and it feels far too much like the way his own heart picks up in her presence, aching to pull a smile from her lips. how much is the monster and how much is him?
his normally sharp mind feels far too cloudy right now, but she's right about one thing. there isn't anything that will make it easier for him to live with himself. his brows knit together as he lifts his eyes to meet her gaze. ]
Don't make my choices for me, Alina.
[ said not unkindly, but there's something hard in his tone, an undercurrent that's normally masked with levity and bewitching charm. saints, he never even got the chance to tell her much how he's missed her. his eyes drop with an unsteady breath, settling on the gouges along her arms after briefly flicking to his own bloody hands. ]
Come. [ it's pitched softly, a request instead of a demand. he takes one of her hands in his, a sudden shiver passing through him at the contact. the monster hums, and nikolai tries to swallow it down, tries to bury the magnetism between them. he just needs something to brace himself with is all, rising slowly to his feet. ] We should see to these while I still have the energy.
no subject
she knows very well that he can't pretend it away. it's a revelation that can't be taken back, now that she's crossed that boundary. and the rage he had pinned her with, seething in accusation — she can't wipe it from her memory, either. can't restrain herself from comparing it to mal's wide-eyed terror. can't forget the darkling's warnings, the insistence that only he could accept the rotten, buried parts of herself she's hidden from the light of day. because no matter what nikolai claims — it reeks of rejection, and alina can't stop herself from expecting more of the same, should he come closer to the truth.
perhaps that's the ugly, misshapen sliver of her soul whispering poison in her ear. some days, its voice too closely resembles the darkling's to be able to distinguish it from reality. even now, with the warm cradle of nikolai's hands around her own, ensuring her that — whatever anger he bears — he still lives. that he will live, no matter what selfish deed she has to commit to reassure herself it will remain that way. ]
You've made it very clear you don't want my help.
[ though she wields the words like unyielding steel, stubborn in her offense, there's something brittle and rusted in her voice. she turns her gaze to her forearms, the ribbons of flesh shredded beneath his talons, and yanks her sleeves down to conceal them from view. the burning throb of the injury is a distant sensation, for now, dulled by adrenaline and exhaustion.
she wonders to herself if those, too, will fail to heal even with the help of a healer. if they will continue to ache in his presence as they do now, a mirror of the scar bitten into her shoulder, to warn her of his nearness. ]
Why should I have any need for yours?
[ or, worse, subject herself to his pity. ]
no subject
maybe they've changed too much, or maybe they're only just seeing each other for the first time. the things kept hidden away, the scars and the darkness and the words left unsaid were bound to see the light eventually, and now? now they can no longer pretend. he wanted this dalliance to last a bit longer, but of course fate had other plans in mind. ]
May I just point out — [ he straightens his coat and takes a deep breath, letting his armor settle back into place, cracked though it may be. ] You didn't exactly ask if I wanted your help, either.
[ his ears are still ringing and the space behind his eyes throb with a pulsing ache, but he pins her with his gaze and lifts the corner of his mouth in a brief and too-sharp smile. then he heads to the door, pulling it open to survey the halls — rugs dirty, paint peeling, stones and dust from the cracked walls littering the previously gleaming floors. he has no idea which parts of the palace might be salvageable, but he welcomes a new problem to tackle that isn't what to do about his monster or alina. ]
I hope you haven't let anyone move in to my quarters. [ he takes off down the hall, halfway hoping that she'll follow. ] I won't bite unless you order me to, Alina. I have questions and concerns. Pressing ones, like what sort of state our supply of brandy is in.
no subject
the air seems to thicken with it, draped in a tension she does nothing to slice through. ]
Everything is exactly as you left it. Close enough to it, anyway.
[ perhaps that habit has invited ghosts to reside in his quarters, the mattress left with only the dip of her imprint as she'd waited for any sign of his return. in his absence, it had been a comfort — finding herself on those sheets, surrounded by the last traces of his scent, inhaling the fresh wind and the salt of the sea. now, it feels like a memorial to mark the loss of — something.
something she might have never truly had to begin with. her chest feels like it's gaping open, numbly empty, as she tries to direct her thoughts away from the memory of rum warmed by a fire and the heat of his mouth. her eyes trail away from his back, pointedly staring blankly ahead of her. ]
If you want a better idea of our supplies, you'll have to ask David. We had to delegate responsibilities while you were gone.
[ it's easier to give that direction, to point him elsewhere, than to address it — or to fully tackle the topic of all that he's missed, the nights she has spent ensuring his kingdom wouldn't topple. because it has always been his, even with her at the helm, in her refusal to believe he wouldn't return.
she sighs, a gust of a light breath she loosens, and briefly presses her palms to her eyeballs. ]
The rest of Ravka believes you've been ill. It was the first excuse I could think of.
no subject
alina feels like a ghost. he spares her a glance as he idly roots through his wardrobe. ]
Well, I certainly look like I've been ill. [ the scars on his hands, the shadowy veins that creep over his chest and threaten to climb up his throat when the monster gets restless. he feels like he's been tired for years now. ] Perhaps we can spin that story to make me look like more of a war hero than an invalid. Not that there's anything wrong with being an invalid, but I don't think it garners the same sort of respect in kings just yet.
[ truthfully, he doesn't want to think about any of this just yet. he wants to fall into his bed and sleep for however long his body allows him to, hopefully a week or more, and he wants alina with him so he can draw her into his arms and fall asleep with her soft hair tickling his face. he thinks he would have wanted that regardless, but he still can't be sure if it's the monster preying on him once more. the powerful pull he feels toward her is difficult to ignore.
he busies himself with moving to the next room and drawing himself a much-needed bath. after shedding his coat, he tosses it in alina's direction. ]
Did you wear it while I was gone?
[ he washes the blood from his hands and then sets to scrubbing down every other part of himself, hoping that it will take away the taste of blood and the stain of the darkling's discordant power impressed upon him. after this he'll tend to alina's wounds — that is if she allows him to. his talons are razor-sharp and enormous. he knows they have to hurt. ]
Don't tell anyone I'm back. I'm not quite ready to charm the multitudes just yet. [ he watches the water turn murky as he rinses his hair, grimacing. ] And I think we need to make sure we're both on the same page first.
no subject
even as she feeds herself those lies, she doesn't quite believe it. intent to ignore that new revelation, she settles into the doorframe. as shameless as nikolai has been, she still allows him his privacy, back turned to the sight of water sluicing off of fatigued, sore muscle. a defensive mechanism against herself, to be certain, but a sympathetic gesture; in his position, she would flinch from the weight of a stare tracing over the webbed veins that line his skin, the ragged scars that speak to his suffering.
she ignores the splash of water behind her, crinkling the jacket between her fingers, and considers the too-intimate question he's posed. truthfully, she's taken off-guard by his choice to leave it in her care at all after what's transpired, even temporarily. ]
Does it matter?
[ can it still matter, now? she wonders if he can hear the questions she doesn't pose, buried beneath it all. in the grand scheme, perhaps it shouldn't matter; as he's helpfully pointed out to her, they'll need to spin his injury into something more inspiring, and in the meantime —
she needs to determine how long he'll be gone from his post again. how long before he reveals himself to the others. how long she needs to act in his stead. her head tips back, resting on the wall, as her eyes squeeze closed. ]
Your secret is safe with me. [ even if accepting an order irrationally grates her. another strange effect of binding them, she supposes. ] But it's going to take time to catch you up and make sure we're on the same page, and neither of us has the energy for that right now.
[ and if some part of her is avoiding that conversation altogether — well, that's her business. ]
no subject
I think it does. [ he's scrubbing his hands again, a futile effort to see if these unsightly scars are really permanent. ] I assume the entire country looked to the Sun Summoner in my absence, and wearing the Lantsov crest either delighted or disgusted them, depending on which Lantsov immediately came to mind.
[ he likes to think it offered something resembling hope, either to the people or to alina herself. hope that he'd make it back. hope that all was not lost even if he didn't. if only his father and every lantsov king that came before him hadn't sullied their name so much that he now has to think of how to pull it out of the mud.
he gives up on the scars, wrapping himself in his robe and going to the drawer by the mirror to pull out a metal tin with bandages and salve, along with a clean towel and a bowl of water, flashing a quick smile as he passes alina on his way to his desk. he sets everything down, pulls out a chair for her, then goes to his closet to get dressed. ]
Are you saying we should ignore reality for the time being just because we're tired from our attempts to kill each other? Or whatever it was we were doing.
[ an extremely tempting thought that he pretends to mull over as he pulls on trousers and a linen shirt. he rolls his sleeves to his elbows as he returns to the table, sitting down and flipping the top off the metal box. ]
We'll multitask. I have faith you can keep up. [ he pushes his damp hair from his forehead and reaches for the towel, dipping it into the bowl and then holding a hand out expectantly. his next words come out as casually as if he's asking for tea. ] I think we should announce our engagement shortly after I take the throne.
no subject
she can't bring herself to shake the paranoia gnawing on her bones. that piercing stare lingers too long, searches too long, and finds nothing of use. nothing that could crack open his chest until secrets spill out between them, without ever needing to address the demons that lurk in the corner of her eye, always waiting for her next moment of vulnerability. alina's eyes flicker away to the metal tin in front of her, its lid catching the light, unable to face him for long.
some wounds are still too fresh. ]
I suppose you'll just have to ask the people yourself.
[ because she isn't going to walk him down that particular path. she may just fracture beneath the burden of everything she has refused to feel, in his absence, if she digs it up — everything she had needed to slaughter and bury to ensure she could continue forward. everything she hadn't had time to process. it's difficult to envision herself suffocating under a crown, now that she has worn his. the demands of ravka have hardly allowed her room to breathe, let alone room to exist as more than just a figurehead.
it's arguably petulant, the tired glower she casts his expectant hand. that's a battle she suspects she won't win. nikolai is nothing if not persistent, and her lingering guilt insists that allowing him to tend to her wounds is the least of what she owes him. in the process of rolling up her sleeves, sticky with traces of blood, she suddenly stills — taken aback, at first, before it lapses into a look that could melt a lesser man's flesh from his bones.
above all else, she doesn't want to admit that she's shocked he would still consider it an option at all — or abruptly return and start making wedding plans, of all things — but she's never been as well-versed in hiding her emotions as nikolai. shocked and, frankly, terrified of what it will mean. what his next punishment might be, just for continuing to entertain the idea of marrying her. ]
Nearly dying wasn't enough excitement for you? Do you have to make yourself an even bigger target? [ just barely, she resists the urge to lob the jacket still bunched in her lap at his head. ] You can't possibly be that insane.
no subject
but that's a different conversation for a different day. he needs at least a few sleepless nights to pore over everything that's happened and equip himself with some sort of defense against the temptation that rocks him each time he looks at her. it's especially sharp when she finally allows him her hand, the contact igniting something inside of him that he struggles to ignore. ]
You think our holy matrimony will lure the Darkling out? Perhaps he'll make the guest list. [ his expression is too sharp to be overly humorous, though he does find the joke funny despite the very real possibility that the darkling will string him up by his intestines for taking alina away from him. ] Drastic measures have to be taken. The people are scared. They need to believe that there are heroes and saints out there who will protect them. I need the people on my side. On our side. An alliance with the Sun Summoner was always in the plan. We just need to move up the date a bit.
[ the blood staining her arms slowly disappears as nikolai uses the wet towel to gently clean it away, trying not to look at his own hands. the gouges are a bit more than superficial and will need time to heal properly. he can still feel his talons sinking into her skin and the slickness of her blood at his fingertips when it was over. ]
I'm sorry. Perhaps Genya can do something about the scarring.
[ he dabs a bit of the salve on her wounds, then begins wrapping the bandages around them. even after he's done securing them, he lingers still, clasping their hands together briefly and feeling the physical ache in his chest to be with her. he pulls away, rubbing a hand over his chin, his eyes troubled. ]
How long? [ he looks at her, a crease appearing between his brows. ] The Darkling left his impression on me, but it seems he's done the same to you.
no subject
the scars hardly matter. they dig deeper than what is only skin-deep, embedded in the very soul of her. ]
Long enough. Before we had even met.
[ perhaps that's only another betrayal to be tallied on a growing list. another secret she has stowed away, as though refusing to bring it into the space between them would keep their shared moments safe. sacred. unstained by the darkling. a foolish and futile endeavor, fueled only by her hope. it's a greater madness, to tie their lives together when there is so little they know of one another.
those quiet, stolen hours in his bed are a faraway, distant dream — as if haze of that memory belongs to another girl. she rises, propping the jacket onto the table before her, and turns to slip the edge of her shirt down — down further, baring the curve of her shoulder. the mark is still there, the imprint of monstrous teeth embedded into the skin — tinged with circles of black. ]
I'm not a hero, and I'm no saint. [ as he's pointed out, however he had intended it. like calls to like. she goes silent, pulling away to face him, once the weight of eyes becomes too much. ] You won't make me a pawn in whatever story you're selling to Ravka, either.
no subject
he knows what this darkness is now, and he selfishly feels less alone to know that she does as well.
the wound at her shoulder is a clear marking of the darkness and decay that follows the darkling's touch. nikolai says nothing as he studies it with a thoughtful gaze, his eyes rising to meet hers when she turns, standing before him. ]
You don't have to be a hero or a saint. All that matters is that the people believe you are. [ he runs a weary hand down his face, then through his still damp hair, curling around his ears. ] Keeping up appearances is half the job. You've likely realized that while I was gone.
[ a sigh escapes him as he rests his cheek in one hand, his eyes briefly closing. he can't do this without alina. he forces his overworked brain to think, to come up with something cleverly convincing, something that will make her believe in him again, but in this moment he hardly believes in himself. he pinches the bridge of his nose, his head pulsing. ]
Are we keeping secrets from each other now? [ he lets his hand drop to the table, idly running his thumb along his scars. ] I told you I wouldn't lie to you, so here's the truth: I need you to be a pawn in this game no matter how much you chafe beneath it. Do I feel ready to wed? No. I expect you feel the same. But this is bigger than the both of us. Pulling this country out from beneath the Darkling's grasp has to be more important than the dreams and desires we've held onto for ourselves. Our alliance is necessary, whether we feel ready or not.
[ he pauses here, looking up again as he bites his lip in an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. he still thinks she looks lovely like this, only this time he wants to propel the thought right out of his head. ]
It won't be like it could have been. [ he holds her gaze, wishing he could summon even an ounce of optimism, but he's bled completely dry. ] The monster changes things. So does what you've done. I'm not in any position to be a suitable husband to you, so we will marry in name only. Enter into this alliance with me, Alina. I can't sacrifice an entire country for something as insignificant as my own sentimentality, and I think if you look deep within yourself, you'll find that you feel the same. I still believe in your goodness, no matter what has transpired between us.
no subject
fury is an easier enemy to tackle than her grief. in name only. it rings in her ears, pounds in her skull, echoes in her chest — as if that, too, is his form of retribution. reminding her of what might have been, in another life. driving her to grieve a wild fantasy that had never truly stood a chance. she feels twice the fool for daring to indulge in that dream, now, chasing after the risks that come with believing in dangerous men.
like any injured animal, lashing out is nothing more than a means of self-preservation. her mouth twists into a hard line, sharpening the iron in her gaze. ]
What I've done is no different than what you would have done, if our places were switched. Because that's what you do, Nikolai. You charm, and you scheme, and you manipulate the world around you like it's all just a game you need to win. You control everyone and everything around you, because the thought of something being outside of your control terrifies you.
[ she laughs — a hollow, humorless sound that frays. she can't stitch herself back together, no matter how she tries. no matter how cruel it is to unleash that sorrowful rage on him. ]
It's no wonder you're so afraid of me. But it doesn't really matter, does it? You get to put a leash on me in return and parade me around Ravka, and you'll use my love for my country to convince me it's the right move.
[ her fingers fly to the chain at the nape of her neck, fiddling with the clasp. they shake too viciously to be graceful in removing it, but it slices cleanly through her to watch the lantsov emerald dangle from the end of it, refracting sunlight as she tosses it down onto his desk. ]
So long as the Darkling still breathes, you'll have your alliance. I'll be whatever pawn you need me to be. But once he's dead and the monster is gone with him, it ends and we go our separate ways. I don't care what you have to tell Ravka to keep them from searching for me.
no subject
he holds onto his composure because it's the only thing he can think to do, watching the emerald hit the desk, picking up the sunlight in far too brilliant a way than this conversation deserves. the foolish thought that he somehow would be able to find a shred of happiness in a royal alliance seems like just that — the overly romantic dream of a starry-eyed boy, a wholly unrealistic fantasy that settles around him like ash. no matter what happened, he always believed that he and alina could be friends even in a loveless marriage. now he sees that even that reality is breaking down before his tired eyes.
he can't control this, and he can't control her, and he can't control the teeming darkness within himself. it's as if he's stepped from one nightmare right into another. ]
Then I'll make sure you have everything you need to live a comfortable life when you go. [ equal parts of hurt and relief collide with disturbing force. he doesn't want her to go. he doesn't want her to stay. he's already weary of this senseless war waging within himself. saints, how does he miss her when she's standing right in front of him? ] That emerald will fetch a hefty price, you know.
There's another piece to this. One more thing I have to ask of you.
[ he reaches out to catch one of her hands, pulling her toward him, though he's careful in handling her wounds when he presses her hand to his heart and holds it there. it makes him flinch, the way the monster stirs suddenly inside of him, like answering a call. he swallows down an unsteady breath, a heavy longing sweeping through him. ]
I'm at your mercy now. [ her hand is a searing heat against his chest, burning right through the fabric of his shirt. he wants to shove her away. he wants to kiss her. ] Swear to me that if the time comes, you'll kill it if you need to. Don't hesitate just because it's me. Promise me, Alina. It can only be you.
no subject
survived feels like too strong of a word when the crushing pressure on her chest hasn't lessened. not even once, not even for a moment. but what triumph is to be had, when he is as composed as he's ever been, letting her beat her fists against his defenses until she tires? she resents him all the more for it — for remaining upright, his mask refusing to slip, while she crumbles around him. it must be an illness to want his blood beneath her fingernails, his tears on her skin, if only to have the proof that this had ever mattered.
that she had mattered, however briefly, as more than just another tool. she waits for the denials that never come, the justifications he never offers. something to give her, when he's taken so much with one proposal. she nearly laughs when he demands more of her — more, as though she hasn't negotiated away all that she is — but it traps itself in her throat, a breath she chokes on once his fingers encircle her wrists.
her palm illuminates the small space between them the moment it touches his skin, a soft glow that seems to recognize the shred of herself she has stowed away inside of him. like a beacon, guiding her closer, aching for connection — for a rightness that feels so very wrong. she nearly flinches away from it, frightened by the sudden surge of misplaced possessiveness that falls over her in response. he isn't hers any longer, if he had ever been, no matter the strange impulse to claim otherwise. her fingers twitch against his chest, twisting loosely in the fabric of his shirt of their own accord. ]
I swear it. I hate you for making me promise that. [ the wetness on her cheek doesn't register, at first. it's only after she blinks that she realizes it's coming from her, beads of moisture clinging to the ends of her eyelashes, dripping onto her skin. it's too much to ask. it's unfair to demand her. it's the least of what they owe one another. ] But who knows? Maybe you'll have to kill me first.
[ maybe neither of them will survive. maybe ravka will fall, after all. scrapped raw as she is, she can't bear to look at him for long — but settling her eyes on that gemstone, gleaming back at her, is hardly any better. for a brief moment, she squeezes her eyes shut, and offers a shake of her head. ]
Keep it. Some of us can't be bought off. [ and she doesn't want the lasting memory of it, truly, to follow her into her next life. it seems too close. it seems too faraway. all the same, she doesn't want nikolai to haunt that one, too. not when the point is to escape all of this. ] It never really belonged to me, anyway.
no subject
all of it had made him a little too used to not feeling the sense of loneliness that he's carried for a good portion of his life, hidden behind his outrageous confidence and charm, but for all of his bold self-assurance, there's always been a distance, a separation, a lack of true closeness that he's never been able to bridge. everyone adores him, he makes sure of that, but no one really knows him. not since he lost dominik. and now he's afraid he's lost alina, too. ]
Don't hate me. [ he reaches up to brush his thumb beneath her eye, catching one of her tears. of all the things she's said, the accusation that he tried to buy her with the lantsov emerald smarts the most. perhaps it's just his pride, and he knows in the end it doesn't matter, but it pointedly bothers him. it was a genuine gift, not to be flashy or impressive, but because that gem was one of the few things he owned that meant something. it sits on the table still, and he makes no move to reach for it. ] That's harder to carry than anything else.
[ he pulls her hand away with a shuddering breath, tendrils of creeping darkness tickling his throat. no matter how much he wants to be close to her, it's nothing like it was before. he's fraught with sudden discord and contention, so intense it nauseates him, but losing her touch feels like a part of him has broken off. he puts his hands on her hips and carefully but insistently pushes her a step back. ]
I can't kill you, Alina. [ his throat feels raw, like he's swallowed glass. the realization startles him. ] The monster would never let me.
[ he releases her, pressing a hand to his eyes. ] Now go.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)