[ 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.
[ harder to carry, he says, and alina can only think: easier. hatred would be a simpler solution, the knife that could carve away that traitorous heart in her chest. it dances for him still, another unwitting pawn in this game — and a part of herself she can't afford to gamble with. not now. it doesn't understand the boundaries between the ugly reality of what has transpired behind closed doors and the fictional life he has asked her to lead in public, one where the appearance of unity and happiness matter more than the cold truth of their arrangement.
they haven't even announced their engagement, and yet she knows she is well and truly doomed. the signs are already there, like omens: the hammering of her pulse at the caress of his thumb, collecting her tears on his fingertip. how it slows to a crawl, dropping out from beneath her, as he cautiously pushes her from him only seconds later. she hates it — that lingering hunger for acceptance, for affection she won't have. can't have. but through it all, she can't quite summon the strength to hate him.
it doesn't stop her from wishing she could. it doesn't stop her from reaching for that resentment, as though that bitterness will numb her. it doesn't stop her from considering, for just a moment, inspiring it in him. perhaps it would kill her instinct to reach for him as she stumbles back with her next step, or perhaps it wouldn't matter at all. perhaps hating him wouldn't lessen the torment of being trapped in this hell of pretending when some part of her still desperately longs for the dead dream they had dared to share.
perhaps that hatred would only taint her further. the sun summoner, destined to destroy herself as the darkling has done, drowning her loneliness with the sweet promise of power. the fear that fills her is enough to stem that thought, though it only slithers into the recesses of her mind, waiting for the right moment to strike. it isn't now, swiping at her eyes as inconspicuously as she can manage, angry at herself for having anything less than a stone heart in the face of — this. discussing his very possible death at her hands. nikolai's dismissal, blunt and unmistakable.
the darkness rebels against it, agitated by the command he's issued. whatever she has done to bind them, it wants to roil and rage at the mere thought of placing distance between them. she shudders with it, crossing her arms protectively around herself. ]
Go where? [ she tries and fails to make it sound like a demand. anything less pitiful than what it is: perturbed, disoriented, wounded. truthfully, she wants nothing more than to return to her chambers and lick her wounds in private, but — ] You know I can't go far. I didn't just put a leash on you.
[ that's the thing about leashes — they can only stretch so far. in leashing him, she has inevitably chained herself. ]
[ go where? anywhere. out of this room. out of the palace. she could go search for truffles in the dirt with mal for all he cares right now. he just needs her to be away from him, because he can feel the monster moving again, how it's awakened from their close proximity and his foolish choice to touch her. and yet still he wants to reach for her again, to twine their hands together, to hold her in his arms, because now that he's had a moment of quiet, everything that's happened is beginning to sink in. how many people did he kill during those months? did he do it quickly or did they suffer? how much flesh has he consumed, how much blood? was it anyone that he knew, anyone he served alongside with in the first army or shook hands with as their prince? did they know nikolai lantsov? did they trust him?
the questions swarm him like a tempest, questions he will never know the answers to and could spend his entire life poring over. already he makes an attempt to push them deeper within himself, trying to fumble them into a locked box that he can toss alongside the rest, boxes of secrets and fears and doubts that the unflappable nikolai lantsov would never say aloud. and what makes it worse in this moment is that he can feel the monster wrapping tendrils of darkness around his weaknesses, filling the cracks and blanketing the bruised parts of him like an acid. he wants to close his eyes and give in, because if this is what the beast preys on then he's already done for. there's too much of it inside of him to ever truly be safe from this.
alina hasn't moved. he can feel her presence even with his head in his hands, with his eyes closed, with his mind fragmenting. even if she goes he doesn't think he can hide from her aura. he feels it too acutely now, the catch of her breath and the quickening of her pulse, both a roar in his ears. this plan falls to pieces if he can't pull this under his control. ]
It wants you, but I — [ don't is what he wants to say, because maybe if the words leave his mouth then it will somehow become true. alina isn't the darkling. she will never be the darkling, and nikolai is firm in his belief of this, because at her core she wants better, just as he does. he's seen it in her eyes, that hope, that careful optimism that together they could do all the things he's always dreamed of for this country. that they could make it a place that wasn't horrible for children to grow up, a place to grow into more than just a uniform with a gun that jammed when you needed it the most.
she is not the darkling, but the power within her feels like the darkling, and if chafes against every part of him as much as it draws the monster even more insistently toward her. he blinks and he's out of his chair, his hands roughly cradling her face and — it's as if he has no control, no say in stopping himself from doing something he knows he shouldn't but craves desperately anyway. nikolai always thought he knew fear, but the loss of his own agency, the confusion that comes from not knowing whether it's him or something else, having the monster push him to do things he would never otherwise allow himself to do, that is a brand new type of horror that feels like razor-sharp cuts running along his veins.
it's powerlessness, he thinks, that scares him the most, and he wonders if that means he's as power-hungry as the rest. alina was right. losing control is a unique type of dread, a black hole that's nearly impossible to escape once you're in it.
their mouths collide harshly, the taste of her sharp and sweet at once, so familiar and yet it sends an edge of disquiet through him. the monster lurches to the forefront, his hands tightening in her hair — too tight, just like his lungs and how he suddenly struggles to breathe. his eyes flutter open, clouded in black. ] I told you to go.
[ his kiss is an eclipse, dark and devouring and blotting out the world. she understands it with startling, nostalgic clarity — that primal, ancient war between light and dark. how the shadows seek to smother her, how the light responds in kind. always, always vying to destroy one another, despite knowing one cannot exist without the other for balance. she understands it because she has lived through it, once before, with the darkling's fingers tight on her skin. it's only inevitable that a beast born from a similar darkness would be drawn to the allure of an open flame, uncaring that such a meeting can only end in its own decimation.
she wonders what that makes her. no saint should crave their own desecration, and yet she rises to meet him on instinct, welcoming him to ruin her in return. if only she could continue to claim binding him was the noble cause she had planned it to be. if only she could lie to herself, pretend that enduring the creature's singular fixation is only a selfless and heroic act, accepting its wrath unto her to spare ravka its mindless fury. no matter her good intentions, no matter her plans to help temper the beast stirring within him, she cannot hide from the telling hitch of her breath as her scalp tingles from the harsh grip of his hands.
she's sick from the heat in her blood, the molten warmth that pools in her stomach, the demand in her body that begs her to possess him. it inflicts her with a renewed sense of shame. if she hates herself for it, she can only imagine how repulsed nikolai would be to discover it. it takes every ounce of willpower she has not to chase his mouth, consume him until they've torn one another apart, but she can feel the reins of her control slowly slipping through her fingers. ]
I don't take orders from you.
[ forcing the beast to bend to her had been, at best, an impulsive strategy. she has no guidance for controlling it, now. not with the same expertise that aleksander wields power over the creatures in his dominion. she swallows thickly and decides to let her instincts drive her once more, slender fingers finding the pulse in his neck. they encircle around his throat, a loose and light pressure that holds him steady, as she silently wonders if he can ever become a tamed thing under her hand. ]
You can't force me to leave, and you can't make me fear you. You are more afraid of yourself than I will ever be.
[ the revelation of it startles her. she should be frightened by the very embodiment of all she has struggled against, but for all that nikolai spurns it, she can see the truth: the monster is indistinguishable from nikolai, another piece of himself he will have to learn to live with. two parts of one whole. ]
Let me help you. Trust that I can handle it.
[ it asks too much, she knows. she is pleading with him for the impossible, after all: for nikolai to surrender that control. to trust that she can guide him through it. ]
[ it feels like drowning. like he's losing all his senses as they blink out one by one. alina will never look at him the same way again — she doesn't love him and she will never love him, not after all of this torment swirling between them. the monster piles doubts upon him until he's crushed beneath their weight, until he can't feel her lips when he kisses them or her hair when he grips it tight between his hands. he's drifting underwater, thinking of all the ways he's fallen short and all the things he could've done better and all the people he shouldn't have let down. his lungs burn, but there's no way to break the surface, not when the monster's tendrils are wound around him so tightly that he thinks his bones might break.
something wraps around his throat, something hot and real. something that isn't the monster, because he's starting to be able to distinguish the oily darkness of the way it feels from everything else. it's just enough to pull his head above water, and the world comes rushing back, alina's face suddenly in focus again while the black drains from his eyes. he doesn't want this thing anywhere near her. his mind races frantically, trying to cobble up some sort of plan. ]
You're asking me to let this thing take control? [ the sound that comes from his throat can't be entirely described as a laugh. he wants to pull away from her, but his feet feel leaden, too heavy to move. ] No. It could kill you, Alina.
[ even as the words leave his mouth he knows they're not true. the monster would never do that. the feelings tangled through him aren't those of hatred or death. it's a longing ache, a desperate want, and that's what scares him the most. that he won't be able to keep those feelings at bay, that he isn't strong enough to resist this pull. ]
Hurt it. Put it to sleep. [ a temporary reprieve at best, but it's all he can think of when he refuses to entertain alina's request. if it hurts him too, then it's a price he's willing to pay. one hand slides down her back, tracing the length of her spine with hard fingers, and he nearly kisses her again but diverts to press his lips beneath her ear instead, his teeth grazing the soft skin of her throat. ] Please. I can't keep holding it back.
[ slowly, she tips her head to the side. like an offering, baring the vulnerable line of her throat to the same beast that could tear into it until there is nothing left of her to find. it isn't fair — it isn't fair to nikolai, caged by his own bones, barely in control of his bloodlust and the lives he has already stolen with talons and teeth — but she has a point to prove. there is no greater show of trust than his teeth at her jugular, skimming across her pulse. ]
It wouldn't. [ some monsters are destined to turn against their masters. she can't gamble with the chance that it will sniff out her weakness and sink its fangs into her veins. still, something in her declaration shakes, a tremor in her voice that gives away that flicker of fear. through it all, she knows one fact to be indisputably true, a hope she clings to: ] You wouldn't let it.
[ it's a useless debate she doesn't have time to engage him in, she knows. nikolai won't relinquish his hold, and the beast's relentless pacing won't abate, hungering for its chance to rise to the surface. for all that he's spoken of choices, she has no other choice but to honor his.
even if she thinks he's mistaken to think she could offer any cure for its appetites when she is the poison in his system. even if she isn't worth the physical torture nikolai is determined to endure to spare them both. even if she is the very reason he is at war with himself, two sides straining to conquer his mind.
she has done worse than lesser men, and still she loathes herself for the jolt of power that thrums through her when she sinks her fingers into his scalp and forces his head back. it's a mistake to believe in her goodness when she is corrupted by her own greed, drunk off of her own abilities, but this — it's the only strategy he's given her, inflicting the harshness of her touch in a desperate bid to drown out the thing inside of him. but if she's right about her theory, if her grip around his throat had been enough to bleed the darkness from his eyes for even just a moment — ]
Focus on me, Nikolai. Only me. I need you to stay here with me.
[ it's too soft of a plea for what she plans to do. she reaches for one of his hands at her spine, dragging it beneath the hem of her shirt, planted over her sternum. her heart leaps against his palm as if that, too, is a sacrifice — something for him to rend from her chest, if the beat of it fails to anchor him. she bruises her mouth against his, unforgiving and abrupt, sinking her teeth into his lower lip until copper stains her tongue.
it submits to temptation — the kiss she hadn't been given a chance to have before everything had fallen apart, the i missed you she had never voiced — as much as it smothers the sounds she fears she might hear when her fingers find his heartbeat, searing with the light that heats her palm. ]
[ her voice is a tether that he holds fast to, driftwood in the dark. he listens, or at least he tries to — the monster demands command, but he doesn't let go, not even when he feels her moving his hand across her skin, warm and soft and so familiar as if they're back in his bed, sharing a lazy breakfast and getting crumbs in his sheets. he loses his grip for a moment, his fingers digging sharply into her sternum, hard enough to bruise, but then her mouth is on his and all of his attention goes to the warmth of it. he kisses her greedily, a groan pulled from his throat when she draws blood with her teeth.
it's almost enough to distract from the sudden flare of pain that ignites in his chest — almost, but not quite. again, horror rushes through him at the realization that this is what the monster wants. it wants her light just as nikolai wants her, the comparison too close to be anything other than revolting. his stomach turns, agony mixing into the building pleasure that the monster revels in.
focus on me, nikolai. only me. the words play back in his spinning mind, echoing through him, and he latches onto them once again like a man lost and drowning at sea. he tastes his own blood in his mouth, and beyond that, tastes the tendrils of wrongness refracted in the heat of alina's light. he doesn't know when his knees give out, by they do, pulling the warmth of her mouth out of reach. his face presses against her thigh, his own bleeding mouth leaving stains of blood across the fabric of her clothes.
he thinks it might never be over, but then it suddenly is, his body going slack as the monster retreats deep within him. nikolai just barely catches himself from crumpling to the floor, bracing a hand against the rug beneath him while his lungs adjust to breathing again. he needs an answer to this, some kind of solution that isn't her, because he knows right now he's playing with dangerous fire, and eventually one of them is bound to pay the price, and it will be higher than what they've already given up. ]
Alina. [ he pushes out her name raggedly, his throat like gravel, and tugs at her clothes to get her to come down with him. his hand slides against her jaw, pulling her close as he abruptly kisses her again, blood and all, desperation and longing staining his mouth. his heart feels like it's barely beating, the pulse of it an ache in his chest. it can't be like this. this is the monster's attraction, not his. ] Alina, you have to go. Please.
[ perhaps the absence will be a slow ache, or worse, a type of madness, but this? nothing can be worse than this. breathlessly, he chases her mouth, stopping when they're just a breath apart. ]
I need to be alone. [ maybe it will offer him the clarity to think, but maybe all of his thoughts will be consumed by her whether she's here or not. ] I need to be apart from you. Don't make me keep asking.
[ the light fizzles like a dying sun, disappearing over the horizon to let the darkness take its place. it won't be enough is her first thought, panic constricting her throat, waiting for the monster to rise as her strength drains. the blood he spills will be on her hands once it's unleashed, and even if she survives it, she won't ever forgive herself for her arrogant mistake. nikolai will never be able to look at himself without drowning in self-hatred, without seeing every life he's stolen stamped behind his eyelids. but then nikolai slumps, dragging her down with him — to the harsh stone floor, and spiraling into the madness of craving the very thing that could destroy them both.
he had been right — they can't return to what came before. before she knew the flavor of his blood on her tongue. before he sensed the slivers of darkness woven through her scars. it's too late to imagine it all away as though it's only a nightmare that can be burned away by the light of day, and yet her thumb still swipes over his bottom lip like they're the same people, soft and unsplintered, swept away by their visions for ravka's future. for a second longer, she can almost pretend she's allowed to soothe the pain of her bite with a kiss, chasing away that pain until it's a forgotten memory.
almost. the stark red painted across his mouth won't let her forget herself, no matter the trembling fingers she takes to it, wiping away the trickle of blood trailing toward his chin. it hurts — the wrongness of the thought that he's still beautiful like this, exhausted and fractured. she locks it away inside of the same room she's created for her darkness, knowing it will inevitably slither through the cracks in the door, feeding on the last, selfish brush of her mouth to his.
he doesn't want you, she reminds herself, even if the beast pulling on his strings does. it's with a sense of finality that presses her lips to his temple, lingering just a moment too long, and raises herself onto weak, shaking knees. untangling herself from him feels like stepping into the ravkan tundra, a chill that follows her as she retreats toward the door — slowly, cautiously, in case a single movement inspires the monster to give chase. in case her body gives out, running on what little energy she hasn't poured into laying his monster to rest. ]
I don't expect you to forgive me. [ the door creaks open, her fingers tightening around its frame. ] I haven't forgiven myself. He turned you into this because of me, and I couldn't —
[ she cuts herself off, closing her eyes briefly. she doubts he wants to hear her guilt-ridden explanations when it's space from her he's asked for. ]
I swear to you I'll fix it. Whatever it takes.
[ the click of the door seems to echo behind her as she softly closes it, resisting the sudden urge to turn back. the farther she travels down the corridor, the worse it aches — this maddening, impossible tether stretching thin between them. it's all she can do to ignore it as she settles into a hallway corner not far from his rooms, a guard at a post, waiting for any sign of danger — even as a new wave of fatigue washes over her and threatens to drag her into sleep. ]
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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. ]
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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they haven't even announced their engagement, and yet she knows she is well and truly doomed. the signs are already there, like omens: the hammering of her pulse at the caress of his thumb, collecting her tears on his fingertip. how it slows to a crawl, dropping out from beneath her, as he cautiously pushes her from him only seconds later. she hates it — that lingering hunger for acceptance, for affection she won't have. can't have. but through it all, she can't quite summon the strength to hate him.
it doesn't stop her from wishing she could. it doesn't stop her from reaching for that resentment, as though that bitterness will numb her. it doesn't stop her from considering, for just a moment, inspiring it in him. perhaps it would kill her instinct to reach for him as she stumbles back with her next step, or perhaps it wouldn't matter at all. perhaps hating him wouldn't lessen the torment of being trapped in this hell of pretending when some part of her still desperately longs for the dead dream they had dared to share.
perhaps that hatred would only taint her further. the sun summoner, destined to destroy herself as the darkling has done, drowning her loneliness with the sweet promise of power. the fear that fills her is enough to stem that thought, though it only slithers into the recesses of her mind, waiting for the right moment to strike. it isn't now, swiping at her eyes as inconspicuously as she can manage, angry at herself for having anything less than a stone heart in the face of — this. discussing his very possible death at her hands. nikolai's dismissal, blunt and unmistakable.
the darkness rebels against it, agitated by the command he's issued. whatever she has done to bind them, it wants to roil and rage at the mere thought of placing distance between them. she shudders with it, crossing her arms protectively around herself. ]
Go where? [ she tries and fails to make it sound like a demand. anything less pitiful than what it is: perturbed, disoriented, wounded. truthfully, she wants nothing more than to return to her chambers and lick her wounds in private, but — ] You know I can't go far. I didn't just put a leash on you.
[ that's the thing about leashes — they can only stretch so far. in leashing him, she has inevitably chained herself. ]
We're bound together, you and I.
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the questions swarm him like a tempest, questions he will never know the answers to and could spend his entire life poring over. already he makes an attempt to push them deeper within himself, trying to fumble them into a locked box that he can toss alongside the rest, boxes of secrets and fears and doubts that the unflappable nikolai lantsov would never say aloud. and what makes it worse in this moment is that he can feel the monster wrapping tendrils of darkness around his weaknesses, filling the cracks and blanketing the bruised parts of him like an acid. he wants to close his eyes and give in, because if this is what the beast preys on then he's already done for. there's too much of it inside of him to ever truly be safe from this.
alina hasn't moved. he can feel her presence even with his head in his hands, with his eyes closed, with his mind fragmenting. even if she goes he doesn't think he can hide from her aura. he feels it too acutely now, the catch of her breath and the quickening of her pulse, both a roar in his ears. this plan falls to pieces if he can't pull this under his control. ]
It wants you, but I — [ don't is what he wants to say, because maybe if the words leave his mouth then it will somehow become true. alina isn't the darkling. she will never be the darkling, and nikolai is firm in his belief of this, because at her core she wants better, just as he does. he's seen it in her eyes, that hope, that careful optimism that together they could do all the things he's always dreamed of for this country. that they could make it a place that wasn't horrible for children to grow up, a place to grow into more than just a uniform with a gun that jammed when you needed it the most.
she is not the darkling, but the power within her feels like the darkling, and if chafes against every part of him as much as it draws the monster even more insistently toward her. he blinks and he's out of his chair, his hands roughly cradling her face and — it's as if he has no control, no say in stopping himself from doing something he knows he shouldn't but craves desperately anyway. nikolai always thought he knew fear, but the loss of his own agency, the confusion that comes from not knowing whether it's him or something else, having the monster push him to do things he would never otherwise allow himself to do, that is a brand new type of horror that feels like razor-sharp cuts running along his veins.
it's powerlessness, he thinks, that scares him the most, and he wonders if that means he's as power-hungry as the rest. alina was right. losing control is a unique type of dread, a black hole that's nearly impossible to escape once you're in it.
their mouths collide harshly, the taste of her sharp and sweet at once, so familiar and yet it sends an edge of disquiet through him. the monster lurches to the forefront, his hands tightening in her hair — too tight, just like his lungs and how he suddenly struggles to breathe. his eyes flutter open, clouded in black. ] I told you to go.
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she wonders what that makes her. no saint should crave their own desecration, and yet she rises to meet him on instinct, welcoming him to ruin her in return. if only she could continue to claim binding him was the noble cause she had planned it to be. if only she could lie to herself, pretend that enduring the creature's singular fixation is only a selfless and heroic act, accepting its wrath unto her to spare ravka its mindless fury. no matter her good intentions, no matter her plans to help temper the beast stirring within him, she cannot hide from the telling hitch of her breath as her scalp tingles from the harsh grip of his hands.
she's sick from the heat in her blood, the molten warmth that pools in her stomach, the demand in her body that begs her to possess him. it inflicts her with a renewed sense of shame. if she hates herself for it, she can only imagine how repulsed nikolai would be to discover it. it takes every ounce of willpower she has not to chase his mouth, consume him until they've torn one another apart, but she can feel the reins of her control slowly slipping through her fingers. ]
I don't take orders from you.
[ forcing the beast to bend to her had been, at best, an impulsive strategy. she has no guidance for controlling it, now. not with the same expertise that aleksander wields power over the creatures in his dominion. she swallows thickly and decides to let her instincts drive her once more, slender fingers finding the pulse in his neck. they encircle around his throat, a loose and light pressure that holds him steady, as she silently wonders if he can ever become a tamed thing under her hand. ]
You can't force me to leave, and you can't make me fear you. You are more afraid of yourself than I will ever be.
[ the revelation of it startles her. she should be frightened by the very embodiment of all she has struggled against, but for all that nikolai spurns it, she can see the truth: the monster is indistinguishable from nikolai, another piece of himself he will have to learn to live with. two parts of one whole. ]
Let me help you. Trust that I can handle it.
[ it asks too much, she knows. she is pleading with him for the impossible, after all: for nikolai to surrender that control. to trust that she can guide him through it. ]
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something wraps around his throat, something hot and real. something that isn't the monster, because he's starting to be able to distinguish the oily darkness of the way it feels from everything else. it's just enough to pull his head above water, and the world comes rushing back, alina's face suddenly in focus again while the black drains from his eyes. he doesn't want this thing anywhere near her. his mind races frantically, trying to cobble up some sort of plan. ]
You're asking me to let this thing take control? [ the sound that comes from his throat can't be entirely described as a laugh. he wants to pull away from her, but his feet feel leaden, too heavy to move. ] No. It could kill you, Alina.
[ even as the words leave his mouth he knows they're not true. the monster would never do that. the feelings tangled through him aren't those of hatred or death. it's a longing ache, a desperate want, and that's what scares him the most. that he won't be able to keep those feelings at bay, that he isn't strong enough to resist this pull. ]
Hurt it. Put it to sleep. [ a temporary reprieve at best, but it's all he can think of when he refuses to entertain alina's request. if it hurts him too, then it's a price he's willing to pay. one hand slides down her back, tracing the length of her spine with hard fingers, and he nearly kisses her again but diverts to press his lips beneath her ear instead, his teeth grazing the soft skin of her throat. ] Please. I can't keep holding it back.
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It wouldn't. [ some monsters are destined to turn against their masters. she can't gamble with the chance that it will sniff out her weakness and sink its fangs into her veins. still, something in her declaration shakes, a tremor in her voice that gives away that flicker of fear. through it all, she knows one fact to be indisputably true, a hope she clings to: ] You wouldn't let it.
[ it's a useless debate she doesn't have time to engage him in, she knows. nikolai won't relinquish his hold, and the beast's relentless pacing won't abate, hungering for its chance to rise to the surface. for all that he's spoken of choices, she has no other choice but to honor his.
even if she thinks he's mistaken to think she could offer any cure for its appetites when she is the poison in his system. even if she isn't worth the physical torture nikolai is determined to endure to spare them both. even if she is the very reason he is at war with himself, two sides straining to conquer his mind.
she has done worse than lesser men, and still she loathes herself for the jolt of power that thrums through her when she sinks her fingers into his scalp and forces his head back. it's a mistake to believe in her goodness when she is corrupted by her own greed, drunk off of her own abilities, but this — it's the only strategy he's given her, inflicting the harshness of her touch in a desperate bid to drown out the thing inside of him. but if she's right about her theory, if her grip around his throat had been enough to bleed the darkness from his eyes for even just a moment — ]
Focus on me, Nikolai. Only me. I need you to stay here with me.
[ it's too soft of a plea for what she plans to do. she reaches for one of his hands at her spine, dragging it beneath the hem of her shirt, planted over her sternum. her heart leaps against his palm as if that, too, is a sacrifice — something for him to rend from her chest, if the beat of it fails to anchor him. she bruises her mouth against his, unforgiving and abrupt, sinking her teeth into his lower lip until copper stains her tongue.
it submits to temptation — the kiss she hadn't been given a chance to have before everything had fallen apart, the i missed you she had never voiced — as much as it smothers the sounds she fears she might hear when her fingers find his heartbeat, searing with the light that heats her palm. ]
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it's almost enough to distract from the sudden flare of pain that ignites in his chest — almost, but not quite. again, horror rushes through him at the realization that this is what the monster wants. it wants her light just as nikolai wants her, the comparison too close to be anything other than revolting. his stomach turns, agony mixing into the building pleasure that the monster revels in.
focus on me, nikolai. only me. the words play back in his spinning mind, echoing through him, and he latches onto them once again like a man lost and drowning at sea. he tastes his own blood in his mouth, and beyond that, tastes the tendrils of wrongness refracted in the heat of alina's light. he doesn't know when his knees give out, by they do, pulling the warmth of her mouth out of reach. his face presses against her thigh, his own bleeding mouth leaving stains of blood across the fabric of her clothes.
he thinks it might never be over, but then it suddenly is, his body going slack as the monster retreats deep within him. nikolai just barely catches himself from crumpling to the floor, bracing a hand against the rug beneath him while his lungs adjust to breathing again. he needs an answer to this, some kind of solution that isn't her, because he knows right now he's playing with dangerous fire, and eventually one of them is bound to pay the price, and it will be higher than what they've already given up. ]
Alina. [ he pushes out her name raggedly, his throat like gravel, and tugs at her clothes to get her to come down with him. his hand slides against her jaw, pulling her close as he abruptly kisses her again, blood and all, desperation and longing staining his mouth. his heart feels like it's barely beating, the pulse of it an ache in his chest. it can't be like this. this is the monster's attraction, not his. ] Alina, you have to go. Please.
[ perhaps the absence will be a slow ache, or worse, a type of madness, but this? nothing can be worse than this. breathlessly, he chases her mouth, stopping when they're just a breath apart. ]
I need to be alone. [ maybe it will offer him the clarity to think, but maybe all of his thoughts will be consumed by her whether she's here or not. ] I need to be apart from you. Don't make me keep asking.
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he had been right — they can't return to what came before. before she knew the flavor of his blood on her tongue. before he sensed the slivers of darkness woven through her scars. it's too late to imagine it all away as though it's only a nightmare that can be burned away by the light of day, and yet her thumb still swipes over his bottom lip like they're the same people, soft and unsplintered, swept away by their visions for ravka's future. for a second longer, she can almost pretend she's allowed to soothe the pain of her bite with a kiss, chasing away that pain until it's a forgotten memory.
almost. the stark red painted across his mouth won't let her forget herself, no matter the trembling fingers she takes to it, wiping away the trickle of blood trailing toward his chin. it hurts — the wrongness of the thought that he's still beautiful like this, exhausted and fractured. she locks it away inside of the same room she's created for her darkness, knowing it will inevitably slither through the cracks in the door, feeding on the last, selfish brush of her mouth to his.
he doesn't want you, she reminds herself, even if the beast pulling on his strings does. it's with a sense of finality that presses her lips to his temple, lingering just a moment too long, and raises herself onto weak, shaking knees. untangling herself from him feels like stepping into the ravkan tundra, a chill that follows her as she retreats toward the door — slowly, cautiously, in case a single movement inspires the monster to give chase. in case her body gives out, running on what little energy she hasn't poured into laying his monster to rest. ]
I don't expect you to forgive me. [ the door creaks open, her fingers tightening around its frame. ] I haven't forgiven myself. He turned you into this because of me, and I couldn't —
[ she cuts herself off, closing her eyes briefly. she doubts he wants to hear her guilt-ridden explanations when it's space from her he's asked for. ]
I swear to you I'll fix it. Whatever it takes.
[ the click of the door seems to echo behind her as she softly closes it, resisting the sudden urge to turn back. the farther she travels down the corridor, the worse it aches — this maddening, impossible tether stretching thin between them. it's all she can do to ignore it as she settles into a hallway corner not far from his rooms, a guard at a post, waiting for any sign of danger — even as a new wave of fatigue washes over her and threatens to drag her into sleep. ]