[ he isn't proud of the look he places in her eye, but he can't very well admit to being comfortable with this. he doesn't know if he will ever reach that point or if he'll even have time to before he becomes more monster than man. maybe alina will be able to keep the beast at bay, but nothing is ever as simple as it could be, and nikolai certainly doesn't anticipate an easy solution to this. ]
We have an entire impending holy matrimony to celebrate.
[ because if he doesn't make fun of it, his nerve will falter. her hand fits into his, and when he pulls her close it's even more difficult to stomach the clear detachment in her gaze. he's never been foolish enough to think he could marry for love, but he at least hoped that they would be able to stand each other. trying to find their way back to that seems like an impossible dream.
his right hand goes to rest beneath the blade of her shoulder while he lets the fingers of his left lace gently into hers. ] On the contrary, I'm an excellent dancer and I assume I would also be an excellent dance instructor. Eyes on me.
[ even with the tension between them he still finds her a lovely sight to see, looking more the part of a queen than he's ever seen her before. perhaps the distance in her eyes makes it even more believable — there will certainly be plenty of moments of sheer boredom in her future, though he'll have to remind her that she can't always let it show. half of this whole charade is making people believe that you mean what you're saying. ]
It's really all about connection. Become one with your partner. [ he smiles, lifting his chin. ] Follow my lead. Right foot back — [ he steps forward, gently guiding her backward. ] Left foot left, and then join them together. Then left foot forward — [ now he steps back, his fingers pressing lightly into her back. ] Right foot right, and together. Repeat until the sight of your partner makes you want to vomit, and then find a new one.
[ the scoff that escapes her chips through the ice in her gaze, predictably alina in how little she cares for resisting the temptation. it's difficult to pinpoint what, exactly, she takes umbrage with above all the rest: the usage of holy when they're as stained by corruption as they are, or the very implication that it's worthy of a celebration when she's left questioning if he can even endure the sight of her without his insides withering. ]
'Unholy doom' would sound more truthful from you.
[ that easy sarcasm drips from her voice, as unapologetic as it has ever been. for all that she attempts to disguise it beneath the levity and wit, however, the undercurrent of bitterness is unmistakable — a drop in the ocean that's easily missed, if not for the tightness around her mouth. a lifetime of enslavement and torture, he'd said, and isn't this marriage only another means of binding himself to that destiny? ]
Was this in the princely handbook they gave you at birth? [ her mouth threatens to twitch, though it quickly rights itself. around his own, her fingers offer a soft squeeze in time with each step he leads her into. ] It's stuffy and traditional, so I'm assuming it must be meant for royals.
[ and that only means it has the unintended effect of standing for everything she isn't. everything an orphan never had time, or reason, to bother learning. everything they would expect to see from her in the ballroom, queenly and pristine, when she has never fit either of those descriptions. the faint, barely-there twinkle in her eye is his only warning before she kicks off her shoes and lets them slide beneath a table, and purposefully yanks him toward her. to try to get him to stumble, yes — but to draw him closer, more than that. ]
We'll make our own dance. There's going to be plenty of time for stuffy and traditional in the future.
Unholy doom sounds rather exciting, don't you think?
[ it would if it wasn't so frighteningly, comically accurate. the monster feels at least slightly sated for now, always lurking beneath the surface but less an aggressive force than an ever-present irritation. his very blood seems to pulse in his veins with his close proximity to alina, his body humming a dissonant tune of perverse pleasure. it stains the way he knows he would have enjoyed this once, and he wishes fervently that he could go back to that.
but he doesn't miss the bitterness in her tone either, reminding him that he's not the only one at odds with their arrangement. ]
Mm, it was. Also in the handbook was how to smile beatifically while sneaking away from your own parties.
[ it isn't lost on him that this must seem absurd to alina. an orphan from a place like keramzin wouldn't be concerned about ballroom dances and beatific smiles. not coming from a place of poverty. not during a civil war that was so desperate for soldiers that boys and girls were drafted alike. nikolai is used to the pomp and ridiculous circumstance of royalty, but when alina casts her shoes off — gleaming, gilded things, and he assumes largely uncomfortable — his expression sharpens into a mischievous smile, because it's exactly what he would do.
he stumbles right into her, bracing his hands around her waist, a breath cascading over her cheek. ] Well, then. It's only fair that I get to discard something, too.
[ he gladly strips off his sash and his decorated jacket, tossing it onto the same table, then bows primly to her before taking her hand and pulling her in just as she had moments ago. his gloved fingers move along her hair, tucking a lock gently behind her ear and admiring the golden sunburst earring hanging there. ]
Very on the nose. [ he grins, clasping her hand and drawing her in by her waist, setting off toward the stacks of the library. he stops at the section populated by military strategy, lifting her hand high to twirl her around. ] I never gave you the tour, did I? This is where I used to read for hours and hours because the work my tutors gave me was never challenging enough. Then around twelve years old I used to pretend to be in the library for hours and hours when really I was sneaking away from the palace to visit my dearest Dominik. Saints, the things we used to make explode together.
[ he whisks her off to another section, briefly letting go of her waist to run his fingertips along a section of gilded spines. ] This is where I learned to make a bomb, a miniature aircraft, and a little duck that could flap its mechanical wings and float on the water. It was darling. One of my finest inventions to this day. [ his arm slides around her waist as he dips her low enough that she gets a view of the vaulted ceiling. he comes down with her, their noses brushing and his hair falling across his forehead. ] You can assume that everything else that happened here fell into the category of misbehavior.
[ it's really all about connection. become one with your partner. alina's eyes drift closed as he whirls her down aisles, the bejeweled skirt of her gown shimmering like a shooting star behind her. she can almost imagine the whip of the wind through her air, the salt of the sea stinging her eyes — a freedom neither of them can truly seize for themselves. a freedom that a little boy might have tried to steal among these same stacks of books, a ball of golden hair racing toward these same shelves. she can imagine him with a clarity that startles her, that ghost of a boy nikolai seems to honor now, inviting her to share in the old memories he's tucked away inside of these ancient, dusty pages.
it's another piece of nikolai she stows away, placing it between her ribs for safekeeping. because she knows how precious they are, these sides of himself that can't be learned by cracking open the spine of a tome chronicling the lives of royalty. and, with a glimmer of what's perhaps childish, foolish hope, she lets herself consider if this is an invitation to know him when he has every reason to continue to shut her out.
for that reason, she ignores the bittersweet pang that goes through her when he mentions dominik. even bastard princes are born to bear loneliness and ridicule; it warms her to know he had found a home in another person as she and mal had, but she can't help the envy that rears its head, that wonders if he'll ever find her worthy of that same love. if he'll ever speak of her with the same sweet, wistful remembrance.
she hides it with an arch of her eyebrow. ]
Because it wasn't challenging enough? You're getting better at being subtle about your boasting.
[ her eyes flutter back open, then, just in time to catch the graze of nikolai's fingers along fanciful spines. her accompanying smile is a tentative thing that needs nurturing, as if her muscles have forgotten the shape of mirth on her mouth. it blooms only when he lowers her to the floor, bright as if she's taken the sun and placed it there, with a squeal of a laugh that tumbles out of her before she can choke it down.
her hair spills onto the floor like a dusting of comets as her fingers unfurl, slow, to swipe aside the strands that invade his vision. they're as unruly as nikolai's childhood was, it seems, for how easily they drape back into his line of sight — but her smile only softens as she cradles his cheek with one hand. it's surreal, to see the emerald on her hand — for display, a statement of their engagement in its own right — shine on her finger, the band of it pressing against his skin.
and here she is, wondering if she's even allowed to kiss the man she's agreed to marry. she nuzzles her nose to his, warring with herself before she tilts her head to brush her lips to his, feather-light. ]
They're going to write books about us, one day. I can only hope they won't end with you dropping me on my head on the night of our engagement.
[ a mumble against his mouth in her reluctance to part from him, confident as she is that he won't let her fall, no matter how wry her tone is. still, her arms wind around his neck, pulling him even further down with her until they really just might risk tumbling onto the floor. ]
Are you really going to let me just imagine what other kinds of misbehavior you got up to? Because it won't be very flattering, I can tell you that much.
[ it's so much like how he imagined this would always be — their playful dancing, the sound of her laughter, their soft, stolen kisses. it's so perfect that it makes him ache, makes him want to pretend for a moment that this is the real thing, that they've fallen for each other and are eager to wed. the sight of her is breathtaking, just the right amount of light from the flickering candles casting shadows along her face and dancing in her eyes, her hair fanned out like a halo, brushing the floor.
this is what he's always wanted, this moment, this assurance that he won't have to perform for the rest of his life, that he can simply be himself with his bride. gazing into alina's eyes sends a steady ache to his heart, and for a few foolish moments, he latches onto the hope that maybe it can be like this. maybe they can find their way back to each other. maybe he won't lose himself to this monster. maybe he can just want her and not wonder if it's really him or the darkness bleeding through.
he lets go of her hand to brace himself against a shelf when she pulls them down further, and he can't help it when his mouth slides onto hers, remembering the taste of brandy and sweet apple jam like musical notes from another life, another story. one that isn't his to keep. he sweeps her upright, his hand cupping her cheek before he pushes her against the shelf and kisses her again, suddenly breathless, suddenly aching to be near her. several long moments pass before he breaks the kiss, drawing in a deep breath as he tries to steady himself. what was she saying? ]
Honestly — [ he tries for a smile, resting his forehead to hers as he briefly shuts his eyes. ] There was a lot of dropping things from high places. A lot of taking expensive things apart to see how they worked and then making them better — although my mother never really agreed, but she's not one for taste. Dominik's family were common folk, so that's where I learned how to milk a goat, use a plow, and drink moonshine. Those were all counted as troublesome things, but I loved every moment.
[ maybe if he pretends long enough that things are normal then they'll start to seem that way, but he already knows that's a lie. he gasps sharply as his hand suddenly throbs, glancing down to glimpse dark veins spidering along the exposed flesh between the cuff of his sleeve and his glove. his talons suddenly dig into alina's dress, and he snatches his hand away before they can find flesh.
he rips his glove off and grips his wrist, turning away as he wills the throbbing to cease, his fingers nearly black. he screws his eyes shut as his arm shakes, a frustrated breath whizzing between his teeth as he concentrates, finding his focus and forcing the monster back inside of himself. the claws finally retract, leaving his hand stiff and aching, and then he sags against a bookshelf, trying to catch his breath.
of course it would be like this. nikolai is reminded once again of the very real possibility that he might never be able to be close to alina without this happening. ]
[ it's okay, she could murmur, with a voice usually reserved for spooked animals or children haunted by the imaginary monsters lurking beneath their beds. you're okay. all the comforting promises she wishes she could grant him. all the lies that will never come true. but what cure can she provide, when she's the curse? it's apparent, now; once is a coincidence, but twice is a pattern. perhaps it's simply a physical representation of what she's always known: to come close to her is to accept suffering as your destiny.
the darkling might have chosen destruction as his fate, but destruction has chosen her. something in her chest shatters all over again — until the shards have lodged between her ribcage, punctured her lungs, and turned every breath painful. a hurt of a different breed than he expects from her, that can't be inflicted from razor-edged talons. truthfully, she doesn't initially feel the caress of air against her skin. she blames it on the shock that comes with reeling, from being dipped into the warmth of his affection only to face the cold dread of reality — and the loneliness she is beginning to fear will plague the years they share.
gooseflesh climbs her ribcage, unmarred as she had known she would find it. a faith she doubts nikolai is keen to share. she smooths a hand over the dip of her waist as though it will erase the ghosting touch of shadow-stained claws, or how fervently she wishes those hands would still linger no matter which shape they take. ]
No. And I know you're never going to hurt me, or anyone else. [ no one but himself. how long can one person punish themselves, how long can two people punish each other, before they tire of it? her conviction is as iron-clad as any grisha steel, but she isn't so naive as to believe it will convince him. ] I know you don't believe that. I know you can't believe in my belief in you, but I know your strength. I've seen it plenty of times.
[ it's the truth. nikolai shouldn't have to master the art of avoiding bloodshed, but the degree with which he has repressed the monster is — impressive. impressive, and unfathomably horrifying when she considers the potential consequences of that practice. she doesn't give him the time or the opportunity to retract his hand from her grasping; it can only end in another rejection she will swallow and shoulder, but she kneads her fingertips into his wrist, regardless, to alleviate some of the rigid tension in his muscles before she settles it over the tattered fabric of her gown.
it doesn't seem wise to point out the corsetry on it had been suffocating her, anyway, or that it's ridiculous that he would ask after her safety when she's fed this disease. and so she says nothing of the sort, coaxing his fingertips to graze that unblemished skin to prove her point instead. her palm presses over the back of his hand, trapping it there, lest he thinks to yank it away out of instinctual fear. ]
See? You haven't done anything to hurt me, and you won't.
[ the strength of her conviction makes him want to believe in her words. she believes them, but he hasn't told her that every passing day feels like a losing battle against this darkness, how he gives up little pieces of himself to the monster, the agonizing restlessness of keeping a beast caged that wants only to be free. he hasn't told her that at night it's even worse, that he misses her with a nearly tangible ache and he doesn't know if it's him or the monster. that uncertainty is worse than all else. he's always been able to trust his own will, to put his faith in the surety of his own mind, but his footing grows more and more treacherous each day. he doubts himself now, second-guessing every thought, and that precariousness has made this all the more difficult to abide. ]
You don't know that. [ the monster would never kill her. that has been his one and only assurance. but hurting her is another story, one he can't be sure of. ] You don't know, Alina. Even I don't know how many people I might've killed while I was gone.
[ it weighs on him constantly, the not knowing. not being sure what memory goes with what. whether the taste of blood in his mouth is human or not. there are months of memories stacked impossibly high, all of them fragmented, the disjointed parts of a puzzle that he doesn't feel any closer to solving despite the hours he spends trying to piece them together. there's shame and frustration in his eyes when he looks up at her touch, the slightest resistance before he allows her to take his hand.
and he closes his eyes again when his darkened fingertips graze the flesh exposed from the torn fabric of her gown, heat pulling through him, his breath stuttering in his lungs. she seems to know exactly what he wants to do — pull away as if he's been burned — because she holds fast, pressing her hand to his. ]
Let me go.
[ but he comes closer, his hand digging into the shelf beside her head. the monster wants to be free, and the wood splinters suddenly beneath his grip. he drops his head to her shoulder, his teeth grit, the antlers at her neck biting into his hair. ]
I want you. I want you so much, Alina, but I — [ he catches himself, trying to focus, trying to separate his thoughts from the darkness. ] I don't know what parts are me and what parts are the monster.
[ let me go, he demands, and every molecule in her body wants to rebel against it. it's reminiscent of a shackle — the tightening coil of her fingers that she has to force apart in order to coax them into briefly obeying his command, but only so she can protest against it on a much larger scale the moment he inches closer. she invites him against her — against her better judgment, she imagines nikolai would scold — with arms that twine around him in an instinctive embrace and clutch him close.
she doesn't think she could grant him his freedom even if he begged for that mercy, even if he groveled and pleaded and fled from her, and that — that is her own worst impulse, her worst desire, preyed upon by darkness that has lodged its thorns in her skin. what she knows it must feed upon to sustain itself, to torment her, just as she believes it has latched onto nikolai's craving and transformed it into this miserable, misshapen thing he can scarcely recognize. ]
He made you do those things. He turned you into a weapon and set you loose. [ and nikolai had compared her to that same master. the repulsion churns in her stomach, exacerbated by her own fear that he just might be right. that she has ruined him, when she had only intended to spare him that fate as a puppet to aleksander's violent whims. ] Don't tell me what I know, Nikolai. I know you, and I know this —
[ there's too much of him for her to hold. it makes her feel so terribly small, powerless, in the face of his terror and conflict. one hand winds itself around the nape of his neck to pull her into the crook of her throat as the other flattens against his chest, fanning out to capture the thud of his heart. ]
And I know it can't be anything but good, blackened or not. Stop insisting I should be afraid of you. Nothing about you is ever going to frighten me.
[ not like it should. not like he wants it to. perhaps, if she understood it less — if that same fear did not resonate inside of her, nesting in her ribcage — she might. as it stands, she only winds her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and shudders out a breath. ]
Do you think I don't know what that's like? Every terrible thought you've ever had, every impulse you can't control, every desire you don't want to admit to — the darkness only amplifies it until you start questioning who you really are. [ her thirst for power chief among them, she thinks. ] But I'm still who I've always been, and you're still Nikolai. I believe in that.
[ his heart seems to yearn for her touch, his entire body leaning into her when she flattens her palm to his chest. that's him, or at least he thinks it is. he yearned for her before all of this. he wanted desperately for this to work out. those residual feelings still reside somewhere in him, tangled in the dark, but in some moments of lucidity he's able to pick them apart, and he's able to remember what it was like to look at her and feel the rush of purely human emotions — hope and fondness and the untainted edge of fear that she might say no to his entire proposal.
he wishes he could feel that now instead of the sunless gloom that lurks within him, the raw desire that would make him do anything to have her. all he has left to fight this are his memories and his own fortitude, and both of those as of late have felt shaky at best. the darkling may have glaring flaws in the logic of his plans, but this punishment, this retribution of being taken apart piece by piece until nikolai can't even trust his own thoughts — it's nothing short of cruel brilliance. ]
That's just the thing, Alina. [ it takes a great deal of effort to lift his head, to pull away from the warmth of the crook of her shoulder. he wants to hide against her, to stay near to her and close his eyes and pretend just for a moment that they're still the young couple in love, sneaking away from their own party for a moment to themselves. ] Are we still who we've always been? Can you really look inside yourself and feel the same trust in your own will that you've always had?
[ he can't pull his gaze away, his brow tense, his jaw so tight that he thinks he could crack his own teeth right now. this is a hopeless fairy tale, and the pages of the book are already torn in his hands. ]
Do you think you'll always be able to control your impulses? Do you think I will? His darkness is in both of us. I believe in your goodness. I told you that will never change. But it's not just you in there, and it's not just me in here. [ he clasps his hand over hers, the sound of his own heart hammering in his ears. ] Neither of us can be trusted to do the right thing for this country. For the people. Would you let me die if it meant saving Ravka? I couldn't if it was you. I already know the monster would never allow that to happen and I'm losing the strength to stand against it. Saints, Alina, I'm not fit to be king, and if you can't answer yes then you're not fit to be queen, either.
[ slowly, he uncurls his fingers from around hers, an ache in his chest as he draws away and stoops to retrieve his fallen glove, pulling it back onto his hand. this feels impossible. who else can take the throne but them? he's spent sleepless nights trying to think of a viable solution and come up empty each time. crossing the room, he reaches for his jacket and pulls it back over his shoulders. ]
You can't go back out with your dress like that. I'll tell the guests you retired early. [ he fixes his sash across his chest, feeling more like a fraud than he's ever felt in his life, and pushes his tousled hair back into something vaguely resembling dignity. shame burns in his chest both at what he is and how he's treating her. ] I doubt you wanted to fake any more smiles tonight, anyway.
[ it used to be theirs — the golden lights playing over the angles of their skin, casting him in a soft haze. she thinks of him most in the morning hours that once belonged to them, when the sunrise burns away the darkness and reveals the emptiness in her bed. the flicker of the dying lanterns seems to mock that loss, now, sharpening the hard edges of nikolai as he turns from her.
as he prepares to leave her with this memory: the old, tired sight of him walking away from her. of all he's new talents, she thinks that may very well be his greatest. i've seen what you truly are, and i've never turned away. can he say the same? her fingers pierce into her palms where they've knotted into fists, barely containing the adrenaline that quakes through her bones. she trembles with it, that urge to shatter something — anything — as he has broken her with cruel, cutting precision.
anything that might distract from being cleaved open. to have her heart pour out onto the floor, and to have it be found lacking. unwanted. she chokes on a sob before she can deny him the honor of hearing it. she has shed too many tears for him, too many times. better to build her walls and bury the carcass of the girl she is — when she had known how to open herself to pain, when she hadn't been sharp, brutal edges to defend herself — until there's nothing but rotting memories for him to find, the next time those walls crumble. ]
Don't. [ she has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from becoming pitiful. don't leave. don't walk away from me again. she spits it as if it's venom settling in her mouth, instead, to keep that plea at bay. she clings to it, that sudden fury, as if it might detract from the waver in her voice or the burning in her eyes. the way she can barely grit a word out between gasping breaths, or the hand at her chest, like the pressure of it may stop her from crumpling forward. ] Don't try to tell me how I feel about my own damn country. I've given up everything for Ravka. The only thing left to give was my happiness, and now I've even sacrificed that.
[ there are so many truths she could use to topple him. i regret it. i regret choosing you. they would sting, rub salt into every insecurity she knows him to possess. and yet it's a half-lie she worries he'll see through, transparent to the very end. ]
There's only one person in this room facing a lifetime of enslavement and torment at the other's hands, and it isn't you, Nikolai. You're not the one who has to marry someone who likes to pretend they could ever love you. Because that's what you do. You toy with me and make me believe it's true and then you push me away. The worst part is that you don't even realize you're doing it. You're so blinded by your own pain that you refuse to see mine. Or maybe you just like punishing us both.
[ her voice feels scraped raw from shouting at him. from the brittleness of it in her throat, strangling her with every word. she swipes at her eyes, furious to find that they come away damp, and sucks in a sharp breath. when she speaks, the icy, quiet chill of her voice might be a great deal worse than the burst of anger. ]
I could have loved you for a very long time, if only you had let me. Saints know I've tried. But you — you already sound like you've given up. [ let me go, he'd demanded. she wonders if, perhaps, she should have listened from the very start. if she should have worked harder to carve him out of her heart. ] I'm done fighting for someone who doesn't think I'm worth the same.
When you're miserable and alone, remember that you're the one who did this to us. You can't blame the monster for that. Not this time.
[ she moves past him, then, to head for the door — without the shoes that lay nearby, a casualty of this particular war. because there's nothing left for her to say, and certainly there's nothing left for him to say that she would want to hear. at least, this way, she won't be forced to watch him walk away from her. ]
Edited (like half an hour later the flow of dialogue is still bothering me and 500 typos were there...... don't look at my shame) 2020-12-30 11:46 (UTC)
[ he doesn’t cry and he hasn’t in a long time, at least not for things like this — he cries over encountering onions or imagining a spider making its way into his drawers. he doesn’t cry over any of the overwhelming burdens he carries for his country. he doesn’t cry for ravka — he just moves. he takes action. he lifts the drowning man from the water before he’s swept under alongside him. he certainly doesn’t cry in the face of profound sadness even when some days it feels like that’s all there is to him.
alina comes closer and he remains turned away because he doesn’t want her to see the way he shuts his eyes tight as if that can offer him some sort of protection against her words. he doesn’t want her to hear how taut his breath is or see the sudden shake in his fingertips. this isn’t becoming of a king, but more than that, it isn’t becoming of him. he’s supposed to be stronger than this. he’s the one who never shows the toll that anything takes on him. it’s his one constant, the one surety he can offer to those who’ve given him the grace of putting their faith in him.
and it’s cracking now. he knows that alina has given everything. he knows that ravka has bled her dry just as it’s done to him, only much faster. but it’s when she says those words, a lifetime of enslavement and torment, it takes him longer than a moment to realize she isn’t talking about the darkling.
that’s what makes him reach out and catch her wrist. he doesn’t pull her close, he doesn’t force her to face him. he just holds on with his heart in his mouth as he tries desperately not to choke on it. ]
This isn’t what I wanted for you. None of this is what I wanted for you.
[ now he sees that he’d been so foolish to propose to her to begin with. a chance at a happy almost-love might have been the most ridiculous fantasy he’s ever had. it could never have been in the cards, and perhaps that was the moment that damned her to traverse this thankless road with him. he doesn’t cry, but there’s an overwhelming amount of emotion in his voice, like everything he’s been holding back has risen to the surface and battered his walls and he no longer has any defenses against feeling it. ]
I’m not him. Alina — I’m not. I never want to do that to you.
[ the horror of trying to convince himself of this is nearly too much to bear. perhaps this was the plan all long. this is the culmination of merging with the monster, the final nail driven into his frenzied, fragmented mind. saints, he wants to cry, but he can’t. maybe he’s forgotten how. ]
I know I can love you. I’ve known from the very beginning, even when you loved someone else. What I’m doing isn’t pretending. It’s the ugly side of self preservation. [ it’s shameful. dishonorable. it’s him reaching a breaking point and trying desperately not to let go. ] I won’t ask you to love me or even to forgive me. I just want you to promise that you’ll stay true to your word. That when this is all over, you’ll leave me. Not because I want you to go, but because you deserve a chance to find your own happiness away from all of this. I chose this life. I always knew I’d come second and third and dead last to what Ravka needs. You didn’t.
[ he doesn’t feel himself move, but he’s suddenly at her back, his face pressed into the trailing stardust of her hair, his arms wrapped tight around her waist. he can’t bear this. he can’t. ]
Stay with me a little longer. Please. Just not forever. Promise me. I have to believe that there’s an end to this for you.
[ she doesn't turn to dislodge him. nikolai has never felt so small to her, trembling like his bones may break apart from the sheer force of holding himself together. one indelicate touch may very well shatter him until he's shards at her feet, until there's no hope of putting him back together without slicing herself on the jagged edges of him. and so she allows him that moment — that moment to hide himself in the veil of her hair. that moment of clutching at his forearms as if she can keep him from falling to pieces. forcing herself to become a pillar of strength when he feels his own faltering, even though there's nothing more she wants to do than turn and burrow into his chest until the ugly truth is out of sight. ]
Maybe I already do love you, broken parts and all. Maybe leaving you would tear me apart for good.
[ it's cowardly, confessing it to endless rows of dusty shelves when nikolai is right there. but more than that, it's terrifying for what it invites. to love him is to grant him power over her. to love him is to hand him the weapon and show him where to aim to destroy her, once and for all, in his bid for self-preservation. to love him is a bloodier war than what waits outside their door, but saints — the truth of it wracks through her. and for a moment, she considers that maybe she isn't alone in that. that maybe his desire to liberate her isn't born from guilt and guilt alone.
maybe it's her lonely mind grasping at that delusion for comfort. maybe it's only her weakness, melting her resolve every time he opens the door to let her in, but she needs to be certain. her fingers find his at her waist, cupping the back of his hand as her head tilts back into the perch of his shoulder. at least the only casualty in this particular war will be her heart if she's terribly, terribly wrong. ]
And I think, if you're willing to let me go — [ even though ravka needs this union. even though he is placing her happiness above its needs. even though that willingness to let her go only makes her that much certain that she's too far gone to leave, to forget what it was ever like to love him. ] — then maybe you already love me, too.
[ she can't say maybe that's what i deserve. she isn't deserving of any love — not mal's, not ravka's, not nikolai's — or any happiness born from it, but perhaps it's never been about what they deserve. ]
I'm going to ask you to make me a promise instead. Give me a real chance to be happy with you. Stop making our choices for us. Stop pushing me away every time you're afraid. Promise that we'll be partners like we should be. Trust me when I say I'll be strong for us and for Ravka when you can't be.
And when neither of us can be strong, trust that our friends will be. Trust that they won't let us lose sight of what's important. We aren't alone in this fight, Nikolai. Even when there are days where it feels like we are.
[ it's too tight, the despairing grip of her hand around his that is already bracing herself for rejection. her voice fractures with it, despite her stubborn determination to get through to him. ]
I need you to understand. I don't want a chance at happiness away from this. I want you.
[ don't love me is what he wants to say, a desperate plea that he knows comes too late to make a difference. it would've been easy to pretend that none of this existed between them despite the truth of nikolai's own feelings, because it's easy for him to bury his wants and desires and his foolish but steadfast penchant for romanticism. it's never the right time or place for any of those things, and so he's become well-versed in keeping them close to his heart but never quite letting them out for air.
alina does not share those same qualms, because now the space between them is heavy with want and broken honesty. she verbalizes everything that he's wished for, everything he feels, everything that he can't say aloud because it's never mattered if he loved someone. it hadn't mattered with dominik — his parents still sent him away, the war still claimed his life — and now he's wondering how it can possibly matter here, with alina, when everything they're facing is so much bigger than the reckless movements of his heart.
her words ring true. he wouldn't send her away if he cared so little. having her here works to ravka's advantage, but he can't be sure how much more of this he can stomach. he makes difficult decisions every day, but involving matters of the heart brings a different sort of agony, one he's already had his fill of and more. ]
And if it's not enough? [ his arms tighten around her, eyes closed as he buries his face into the curve of her neck. she smells sweetly of some fragrance dabbed across her pulse, lilac and honey, a touch of warm amber. ] If love isn't enough for us?
[ if he turns more monster than man, if he can't control this, if he ends up becoming a danger that alina has to put down — all of these he leaves unsaid but they fill the room anyway, and that doesn't even touch on how he feels as though he scarcely has the luxury of love. love isn't going to protect the people. love isn't going to save ravka. and yet he aches with his entire being to give her what she's asking for, because even if it feels like too much in this moment, he knows it doesn't even begin to cover what she deserves.
his shoulders drop around a beleaguered sigh, his hand slipping out from under hers only to cover it himself. ]
Your optimism is reckless but heartwarming. I do wonder where you picked up that particular habit from.
[ he pulls back, spinning her once as if they're still in a dance. then he takes off his sash and drapes it over her shoulder, drawing it across her chest to pin over the tear at her waist, the golden fabric gleaming in the lamplight. ]
I don't have an answer for you. I want to say yes. [ he keeps his eyes down, adjusting the sash before stepping back to survey his work. he quickly retrieves her shoes and kneels to slip them onto her feet, then looks up at her. ] But come back to our party with me so I can ask you for a proper dance. Not so everyone can see how happy we are, but because I don't want this night to end just yet.
[ it rings with hollow victory. the defeat that lines her shoulders remains, as though she doesn't dare to hope that this marks the end of pushing and pulling one another in every direction until they inevitably crumble to dust. but it doesn't feel wholly like a loss, either, no matter the hand of despair squeezing her heart in its palm. it strikes her as a truce, instead, a negotiation that's more difficult to navigate than any civil political dispute they've encountered. ]
Then at least we'll know that we tried. [ at least she will never doubt that she had clawed and struggled and bled for a love that deserves no less than someone to fight for it. even if it culminates in her destruction, perhaps it's a love worthy ruining herself for, if only to avoid living with her regrets for centuries. ] At least I won't wonder what we could have been if I had stayed.
[ the edge to her laugh is strained and quiet, a bubbling hiccup of a sound she can't prepare for, as her fingertips glide over the smooth silk of his sash. not for the first time, she envies nikolai's ability to present himself as he wishes to be seen. in contrast, she's too aware of the sight she must be, swiping at red-rimmed eyes to cleanse any evidence that she could be anything less than an ideal candidate for queen. the delegates beyond the doors of their library will be able to scent any sign of weakness like sharks pursuing blood in the water.
the last of what she needs — what ravka needs — is to pick apart their engagement to find fault with it, and wonder if the stability and morale it offers is an illusion. she tries to steady her breath, having come this close to losing him in one night, and idly sweeps her fingers through the glittering gold of his hair. ]
I learned from the best. [ no one risks crashing and burning quite like nikolai lantsov. if they can change the course of ravka's future, she can cling to her hope that they can pave their own way to another destination. she smiles, a subdued and harmlessly teasing sheen to it. ] I'll just be annoyingly stubborn about it until you say yes. I've learned that from you, too.
[ carefully, she slips her aching feet into the treacherous confines of her shoes. before he can raise himself to his feet, she grasps at the heavy fabric around her legs, moving it aside to gingerly settle into his lap, twining her arms around his neck. ]
You're going to have to carry me back. These shoes are a special kind of torture. Or — [ it's wishful thinking, but she murmurs it against his cheek, pressing her lips to the sloping bone. ] — maybe we can just hope that they're drunk enough that they won't even notice we're missing.
[ he can't help his despairing smile or the way his arms readily encircle her when she lowers herself into his lap. he feels powerless against so many things as of late, and this is simply another one — her warmth, her soft touch, the lilt of her voice, all of it makes the rapid pace of his heart feel like entirely too much, his breath quickening in response. would it be easier if she was someone he could never love? he always thought that sounded like the worst fate, marrying a stranger and putting on a show for the rest of his life, but perhaps he's even more ignorant to matters of the heart than he gave himself credit for. ]
And after all the time I spent fixing your dress, now you don't want to go back?
[ soft lips brush his cheek, and he turns into them, catching her mouth in a gentle kiss as his hand trails down her collar, past the stag's antlers and down to the center of her chest. nothing about any of this has been wise, and sometimes he wonders what would have been if he'd never come back at all, if he'd lost himself completely to the monster and nikolai lantsov ceased to exist. would ravka be better off without his endless ambition and relentless drive for change? would someone else have stepped up to fill his absence better than he ever could?
he tires of the questions and the constant wondering. his mind has always worked like a ceaselessly hyperactive machine, and for the most part he's comfortable with it, but then there are moments like these that he wishes he could just stop. stop thinking. stop wondering. stop obsessively picking apart his failures. when he kisses alina it feels like a reprieve, however unwise and fleeting, but he chases after the feeling regardless, his hand roaming to pull at the sash he just placed on her minutes ago. now it's just in the way. ]
Are you saying we should go missing like a pair of misbehaving rogues? With the way you keep trying to get out of things, I'd say you were born to be my queen.
[ he pulls her close, his back coming to rest against a shelf as he ends up on the floor again. saints, he shouldn't, but there isn't a moment that goes by that he doesn't want her, no matter what he says. his hand cradles her cheek, kissing her languidly, his head resting against a collection of leather spines. the silken fabric pools between them when he finally gets the sash off, and he pauses mid-kiss, his eyes opening to suddenly gaze into hers. ]
Don't go tomorrow. Don't go to him. Alina, I — [ he swallows, his hand sliding softly into her hair. ] I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. If you want to be partners in this, then let's start here. Don't go off alone. When we face him, it'll be together.
So sorry, moi tsar. The two minutes you spent fixing my dress must have been very arduous for you.
[ his mouth muffles her scoff, but it can't quite silence her mouthy behavior. no matter how distracted she sounds while pressing into his embrace, pressing into him as though even the smallest distance between them is too much to bear. and, in truth, it is; she's too familiar with his pattern of retreating from her to allow him an opportunity to run, caged beneath the long line of her legs cinching tighter around his hips. she's too familiar with the longing ache of missing him as if they're too ghosts passing by one another to let him go this time. ]
I've already shared you with them tonight. It's my turn to have you to myself.
[ there are too many stares piercing into their backs, making her too aware of doubters and dissenters waiting for them to falter; there are too many whispers flitting from ear to ear, and too many smiles alight with expectations she feels forced to meet. for all that it's their betrothal, it has equally belonged to ravka tonight — theirs to celebrate, and theirs to scorn. but these quiet moments, the gentle cradle of his hands, unhurried kisses that steal the last of her air — they belong solely to her, intimate and sacred and hers. free from an outsider's judgment, uninterrupted by pointless flatteries she's learned to tune out, and unhindered by every political issue ravka has felt the need to bring to their attention tonight. returning with him only provide her limited time at his side before someone tugs either of them away for a so-called pressing matter.
at least this is a memory they can claim for themselves.
if only for an hour, she can pretend this is all they are: a misbehaving boy and a rebellious girl in over their heads, hiding away from their own party. she aches to hold on to it, but nikolai's plea washes over her like an icy river that drags her away from the comfortable warmth of his embrace. her throat is already forming a noise of protest before she can silence it, choking out a breath that spills over his lips. she tilts her head back into the soft brush of his fingers to drink him in — the openness in his eyes, lips that have turned kiss-swollen — and wonders how he could ever expect that she could find the willpower to leave him now. ]
Even if you have to live with this? [ she drags his hand away from her sternum and lifts it to her mouth, brushing her lips to each leather-clad fingertip and sealing it with a nip of her teeth. he's already declared as much to her tonight, but nikolai's desire to risk his chance at freedom to ensure her own is too much for her heart to comprehend when there's no guarantee they'll find another means to access the information they need. ] I won't go. I won't. But I promised you that I would find a way to make things right, Nikolai. What if I can't? What if I fail and that that never happens?
Well, I certainly can't blame you for wanting to skip out on the rest of the party.
[ nikolai is used to the scrutiny, the comments whispered behind his back, the weight of hundreds of stares each with their own expectations and preconceived notions. it's quite another thing to be thrust into the role with little training, and a grisha queen certainly has tongues flapping. there will come a time when alina has no choice but to traverse the treachery of public events, but tonight she does have a choice, and nikolai doesn't mind being it.
the reality that he might have to live with this for the rest of his life is a thought he's already spent countless sleepless nights turning over in his mind, but he doesn't let it show on his face. he keeps that tucked somewhere below his heart with the rest of his insecurities that need not see the light of day. this is a curse, a punishment doled out by a very powerful grisha, and it wouldn't be much of a punishment if it was easily broken. he knows this. he knows they might never break it. he knows there's a good chance he will devolve into madness and have to be put down, but tonight he doesn't air out those concerns. not when he plainly sees that alina needs the same reassurance that she's granted him.
there's a glimmer of a smile on his lips when he tucks her hair behind her ear and traces the curve of her jaw with a gloved fingertip, soft leather instead of the rough tread of his own fingers. ]
Failure is simply adventure by another name. [ there's only the slightest trace of tension in his gaze, otherwise looking serene. ] And if I have to live with this, then I'll do just that. I excel at most things and I don't see why this should be an exception.
[ spoken with a confidence he doesn't feel, but there's little he despises more than showing weakness when he truly feels it. he draws her in carefully, lifting his mouth to gently brush a kiss to her forehead. ]
You didn't do this to me, Alina. He did. [ he feels the monster stirring again, and he closes his eyes to face the darkness. ] You did what you needed to do in the moment. Trust me when I say you have far too many pressures to withstand in the future for you to give yourself any more. It's not your job to save me. I need you to be the queen that Ravka needs, no matter what else happens. That's your priority. It's what my mother and father were always missing, same as the Lantsovs that came before them. But not us.
[ he settles his hands at her waist, his smile growing because he can't help but think of how achingly lovely she looks. ] Moya tsaritsa. We won't miss.
[ it's such a distinctive nikolai lantsov speech, steady and cocksure, that she isn't certain he believes it himself. he weaves his words with a precision she's always lacked — like merzost on his tongue, too hypnotizing and capable of knowing what a heart wants to hear most for her to ever discern if it's the raw, unguarded truth. but in this moment, she's nothing short of grateful for it. even if it's a lie he's spun together with a silver tongue, even if it's a myth he's created just to comfort her, it brings her war-torn mind the peace she's been searching for.
or maybe it's the appearance of his smile — a rare and mythical sight, these days, when they have so few reasons to smile — that dispels her fear and stills her tongue and all of the self-punishing statements she wants to use to flagellate herself: he did this to you because of me. i don't know if i can be the queen ravka needs without you. nikolai has been a constant presence at her back, lifting her when she stumbles, guiding her when she comes to a crossroads and finds herself utterly lost. the only companion she has that fully comprehends what it's like to live with that fear of failure and duty dangling over them like a sword above their heads — waiting to drop at any moment.
she doesn't know if she possesses the knowledge to hold ravka together, should they lose him, and the thought of undoing every step forward he has taken to usher in a new era is as daunting as facing the darkling. as far as alina is concerned, nikolai is the very embodiment of ravka. but she can't bear to be the reason the expression on his face disappears and turns haunted, and so she traces the dimples of his smile with slow, careful reverence and hopes he can feel the gratitude that bleeds from her when she slides her mouth over his palm. ]
I don't think I'm ever going to get used to being called that.
[ her nose scrunches as if to ward off the little flutter of warmth that passes through her upon hearing it, or the glow that flushes through her skin. perhaps the issue should be that she enjoys it too much. ]
As long as you don't regret choosing me, I can live with all of that. Even if I know there are going to be days where you'll drive me completely mad. [ her fingers wind through the silken sash draped between them, looping it around his neck — and tugging, in a silent command to draw him into her. the touch of her kiss is teasingly, fleetingly soft. ] You really have no idea how much I've missed being driven mad by you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
We have an entire impending holy matrimony to celebrate.
[ because if he doesn't make fun of it, his nerve will falter. her hand fits into his, and when he pulls her close it's even more difficult to stomach the clear detachment in her gaze. he's never been foolish enough to think he could marry for love, but he at least hoped that they would be able to stand each other. trying to find their way back to that seems like an impossible dream.
his right hand goes to rest beneath the blade of her shoulder while he lets the fingers of his left lace gently into hers. ] On the contrary, I'm an excellent dancer and I assume I would also be an excellent dance instructor. Eyes on me.
[ even with the tension between them he still finds her a lovely sight to see, looking more the part of a queen than he's ever seen her before. perhaps the distance in her eyes makes it even more believable — there will certainly be plenty of moments of sheer boredom in her future, though he'll have to remind her that she can't always let it show. half of this whole charade is making people believe that you mean what you're saying. ]
It's really all about connection. Become one with your partner. [ he smiles, lifting his chin. ] Follow my lead. Right foot back — [ he steps forward, gently guiding her backward. ] Left foot left, and then join them together. Then left foot forward — [ now he steps back, his fingers pressing lightly into her back. ] Right foot right, and together. Repeat until the sight of your partner makes you want to vomit, and then find a new one.
no subject
'Unholy doom' would sound more truthful from you.
[ that easy sarcasm drips from her voice, as unapologetic as it has ever been. for all that she attempts to disguise it beneath the levity and wit, however, the undercurrent of bitterness is unmistakable — a drop in the ocean that's easily missed, if not for the tightness around her mouth. a lifetime of enslavement and torture, he'd said, and isn't this marriage only another means of binding himself to that destiny? ]
Was this in the princely handbook they gave you at birth? [ her mouth threatens to twitch, though it quickly rights itself. around his own, her fingers offer a soft squeeze in time with each step he leads her into. ] It's stuffy and traditional, so I'm assuming it must be meant for royals.
[ and that only means it has the unintended effect of standing for everything she isn't. everything an orphan never had time, or reason, to bother learning. everything they would expect to see from her in the ballroom, queenly and pristine, when she has never fit either of those descriptions. the faint, barely-there twinkle in her eye is his only warning before she kicks off her shoes and lets them slide beneath a table, and purposefully yanks him toward her. to try to get him to stumble, yes — but to draw him closer, more than that. ]
We'll make our own dance. There's going to be plenty of time for stuffy and traditional in the future.
no subject
[ it would if it wasn't so frighteningly, comically accurate. the monster feels at least slightly sated for now, always lurking beneath the surface but less an aggressive force than an ever-present irritation. his very blood seems to pulse in his veins with his close proximity to alina, his body humming a dissonant tune of perverse pleasure. it stains the way he knows he would have enjoyed this once, and he wishes fervently that he could go back to that.
but he doesn't miss the bitterness in her tone either, reminding him that he's not the only one at odds with their arrangement. ]
Mm, it was. Also in the handbook was how to smile beatifically while sneaking away from your own parties.
[ it isn't lost on him that this must seem absurd to alina. an orphan from a place like keramzin wouldn't be concerned about ballroom dances and beatific smiles. not coming from a place of poverty. not during a civil war that was so desperate for soldiers that boys and girls were drafted alike. nikolai is used to the pomp and ridiculous circumstance of royalty, but when alina casts her shoes off — gleaming, gilded things, and he assumes largely uncomfortable — his expression sharpens into a mischievous smile, because it's exactly what he would do.
he stumbles right into her, bracing his hands around her waist, a breath cascading over her cheek. ] Well, then. It's only fair that I get to discard something, too.
[ he gladly strips off his sash and his decorated jacket, tossing it onto the same table, then bows primly to her before taking her hand and pulling her in just as she had moments ago. his gloved fingers move along her hair, tucking a lock gently behind her ear and admiring the golden sunburst earring hanging there. ]
Very on the nose. [ he grins, clasping her hand and drawing her in by her waist, setting off toward the stacks of the library. he stops at the section populated by military strategy, lifting her hand high to twirl her around. ] I never gave you the tour, did I? This is where I used to read for hours and hours because the work my tutors gave me was never challenging enough. Then around twelve years old I used to pretend to be in the library for hours and hours when really I was sneaking away from the palace to visit my dearest Dominik. Saints, the things we used to make explode together.
[ he whisks her off to another section, briefly letting go of her waist to run his fingertips along a section of gilded spines. ] This is where I learned to make a bomb, a miniature aircraft, and a little duck that could flap its mechanical wings and float on the water. It was darling. One of my finest inventions to this day. [ his arm slides around her waist as he dips her low enough that she gets a view of the vaulted ceiling. he comes down with her, their noses brushing and his hair falling across his forehead. ] You can assume that everything else that happened here fell into the category of misbehavior.
no subject
it's another piece of nikolai she stows away, placing it between her ribs for safekeeping. because she knows how precious they are, these sides of himself that can't be learned by cracking open the spine of a tome chronicling the lives of royalty. and, with a glimmer of what's perhaps childish, foolish hope, she lets herself consider if this is an invitation to know him when he has every reason to continue to shut her out.
for that reason, she ignores the bittersweet pang that goes through her when he mentions dominik. even bastard princes are born to bear loneliness and ridicule; it warms her to know he had found a home in another person as she and mal had, but she can't help the envy that rears its head, that wonders if he'll ever find her worthy of that same love. if he'll ever speak of her with the same sweet, wistful remembrance.
she hides it with an arch of her eyebrow. ]
Because it wasn't challenging enough? You're getting better at being subtle about your boasting.
[ her eyes flutter back open, then, just in time to catch the graze of nikolai's fingers along fanciful spines. her accompanying smile is a tentative thing that needs nurturing, as if her muscles have forgotten the shape of mirth on her mouth. it blooms only when he lowers her to the floor, bright as if she's taken the sun and placed it there, with a squeal of a laugh that tumbles out of her before she can choke it down.
her hair spills onto the floor like a dusting of comets as her fingers unfurl, slow, to swipe aside the strands that invade his vision. they're as unruly as nikolai's childhood was, it seems, for how easily they drape back into his line of sight — but her smile only softens as she cradles his cheek with one hand. it's surreal, to see the emerald on her hand — for display, a statement of their engagement in its own right — shine on her finger, the band of it pressing against his skin.
and here she is, wondering if she's even allowed to kiss the man she's agreed to marry. she nuzzles her nose to his, warring with herself before she tilts her head to brush her lips to his, feather-light. ]
They're going to write books about us, one day. I can only hope they won't end with you dropping me on my head on the night of our engagement.
[ a mumble against his mouth in her reluctance to part from him, confident as she is that he won't let her fall, no matter how wry her tone is. still, her arms wind around his neck, pulling him even further down with her until they really just might risk tumbling onto the floor. ]
Are you really going to let me just imagine what other kinds of misbehavior you got up to? Because it won't be very flattering, I can tell you that much.
no subject
this is what he's always wanted, this moment, this assurance that he won't have to perform for the rest of his life, that he can simply be himself with his bride. gazing into alina's eyes sends a steady ache to his heart, and for a few foolish moments, he latches onto the hope that maybe it can be like this. maybe they can find their way back to each other. maybe he won't lose himself to this monster. maybe he can just want her and not wonder if it's really him or the darkness bleeding through.
he lets go of her hand to brace himself against a shelf when she pulls them down further, and he can't help it when his mouth slides onto hers, remembering the taste of brandy and sweet apple jam like musical notes from another life, another story. one that isn't his to keep. he sweeps her upright, his hand cupping her cheek before he pushes her against the shelf and kisses her again, suddenly breathless, suddenly aching to be near her. several long moments pass before he breaks the kiss, drawing in a deep breath as he tries to steady himself. what was she saying? ]
Honestly — [ he tries for a smile, resting his forehead to hers as he briefly shuts his eyes. ] There was a lot of dropping things from high places. A lot of taking expensive things apart to see how they worked and then making them better — although my mother never really agreed, but she's not one for taste. Dominik's family were common folk, so that's where I learned how to milk a goat, use a plow, and drink moonshine. Those were all counted as troublesome things, but I loved every moment.
[ maybe if he pretends long enough that things are normal then they'll start to seem that way, but he already knows that's a lie. he gasps sharply as his hand suddenly throbs, glancing down to glimpse dark veins spidering along the exposed flesh between the cuff of his sleeve and his glove. his talons suddenly dig into alina's dress, and he snatches his hand away before they can find flesh.
he rips his glove off and grips his wrist, turning away as he wills the throbbing to cease, his fingers nearly black. he screws his eyes shut as his arm shakes, a frustrated breath whizzing between his teeth as he concentrates, finding his focus and forcing the monster back inside of himself. the claws finally retract, leaving his hand stiff and aching, and then he sags against a bookshelf, trying to catch his breath.
of course it would be like this. nikolai is reminded once again of the very real possibility that he might never be able to be close to alina without this happening. ]
Are you hurt?
no subject
the darkling might have chosen destruction as his fate, but destruction has chosen her. something in her chest shatters all over again — until the shards have lodged between her ribcage, punctured her lungs, and turned every breath painful. a hurt of a different breed than he expects from her, that can't be inflicted from razor-edged talons. truthfully, she doesn't initially feel the caress of air against her skin. she blames it on the shock that comes with reeling, from being dipped into the warmth of his affection only to face the cold dread of reality — and the loneliness she is beginning to fear will plague the years they share.
gooseflesh climbs her ribcage, unmarred as she had known she would find it. a faith she doubts nikolai is keen to share. she smooths a hand over the dip of her waist as though it will erase the ghosting touch of shadow-stained claws, or how fervently she wishes those hands would still linger no matter which shape they take. ]
No. And I know you're never going to hurt me, or anyone else. [ no one but himself. how long can one person punish themselves, how long can two people punish each other, before they tire of it? her conviction is as iron-clad as any grisha steel, but she isn't so naive as to believe it will convince him. ] I know you don't believe that. I know you can't believe in my belief in you, but I know your strength. I've seen it plenty of times.
[ it's the truth. nikolai shouldn't have to master the art of avoiding bloodshed, but the degree with which he has repressed the monster is — impressive. impressive, and unfathomably horrifying when she considers the potential consequences of that practice. she doesn't give him the time or the opportunity to retract his hand from her grasping; it can only end in another rejection she will swallow and shoulder, but she kneads her fingertips into his wrist, regardless, to alleviate some of the rigid tension in his muscles before she settles it over the tattered fabric of her gown.
it doesn't seem wise to point out the corsetry on it had been suffocating her, anyway, or that it's ridiculous that he would ask after her safety when she's fed this disease. and so she says nothing of the sort, coaxing his fingertips to graze that unblemished skin to prove her point instead. her palm presses over the back of his hand, trapping it there, lest he thinks to yank it away out of instinctual fear. ]
See? You haven't done anything to hurt me, and you won't.
no subject
You don't know that. [ the monster would never kill her. that has been his one and only assurance. but hurting her is another story, one he can't be sure of. ] You don't know, Alina. Even I don't know how many people I might've killed while I was gone.
[ it weighs on him constantly, the not knowing. not being sure what memory goes with what. whether the taste of blood in his mouth is human or not. there are months of memories stacked impossibly high, all of them fragmented, the disjointed parts of a puzzle that he doesn't feel any closer to solving despite the hours he spends trying to piece them together. there's shame and frustration in his eyes when he looks up at her touch, the slightest resistance before he allows her to take his hand.
and he closes his eyes again when his darkened fingertips graze the flesh exposed from the torn fabric of her gown, heat pulling through him, his breath stuttering in his lungs. she seems to know exactly what he wants to do — pull away as if he's been burned — because she holds fast, pressing her hand to his. ]
Let me go.
[ but he comes closer, his hand digging into the shelf beside her head. the monster wants to be free, and the wood splinters suddenly beneath his grip. he drops his head to her shoulder, his teeth grit, the antlers at her neck biting into his hair. ]
I want you. I want you so much, Alina, but I — [ he catches himself, trying to focus, trying to separate his thoughts from the darkness. ] I don't know what parts are me and what parts are the monster.
no subject
she doesn't think she could grant him his freedom even if he begged for that mercy, even if he groveled and pleaded and fled from her, and that — that is her own worst impulse, her worst desire, preyed upon by darkness that has lodged its thorns in her skin. what she knows it must feed upon to sustain itself, to torment her, just as she believes it has latched onto nikolai's craving and transformed it into this miserable, misshapen thing he can scarcely recognize. ]
He made you do those things. He turned you into a weapon and set you loose. [ and nikolai had compared her to that same master. the repulsion churns in her stomach, exacerbated by her own fear that he just might be right. that she has ruined him, when she had only intended to spare him that fate as a puppet to aleksander's violent whims. ] Don't tell me what I know, Nikolai. I know you, and I know this —
[ there's too much of him for her to hold. it makes her feel so terribly small, powerless, in the face of his terror and conflict. one hand winds itself around the nape of his neck to pull her into the crook of her throat as the other flattens against his chest, fanning out to capture the thud of his heart. ]
And I know it can't be anything but good, blackened or not. Stop insisting I should be afraid of you. Nothing about you is ever going to frighten me.
[ not like it should. not like he wants it to. perhaps, if she understood it less — if that same fear did not resonate inside of her, nesting in her ribcage — she might. as it stands, she only winds her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and shudders out a breath. ]
Do you think I don't know what that's like? Every terrible thought you've ever had, every impulse you can't control, every desire you don't want to admit to — the darkness only amplifies it until you start questioning who you really are. [ her thirst for power chief among them, she thinks. ] But I'm still who I've always been, and you're still Nikolai. I believe in that.
no subject
he wishes he could feel that now instead of the sunless gloom that lurks within him, the raw desire that would make him do anything to have her. all he has left to fight this are his memories and his own fortitude, and both of those as of late have felt shaky at best. the darkling may have glaring flaws in the logic of his plans, but this punishment, this retribution of being taken apart piece by piece until nikolai can't even trust his own thoughts — it's nothing short of cruel brilliance. ]
That's just the thing, Alina. [ it takes a great deal of effort to lift his head, to pull away from the warmth of the crook of her shoulder. he wants to hide against her, to stay near to her and close his eyes and pretend just for a moment that they're still the young couple in love, sneaking away from their own party for a moment to themselves. ] Are we still who we've always been? Can you really look inside yourself and feel the same trust in your own will that you've always had?
[ he can't pull his gaze away, his brow tense, his jaw so tight that he thinks he could crack his own teeth right now. this is a hopeless fairy tale, and the pages of the book are already torn in his hands. ]
Do you think you'll always be able to control your impulses? Do you think I will? His darkness is in both of us. I believe in your goodness. I told you that will never change. But it's not just you in there, and it's not just me in here. [ he clasps his hand over hers, the sound of his own heart hammering in his ears. ] Neither of us can be trusted to do the right thing for this country. For the people. Would you let me die if it meant saving Ravka? I couldn't if it was you. I already know the monster would never allow that to happen and I'm losing the strength to stand against it. Saints, Alina, I'm not fit to be king, and if you can't answer yes then you're not fit to be queen, either.
[ slowly, he uncurls his fingers from around hers, an ache in his chest as he draws away and stoops to retrieve his fallen glove, pulling it back onto his hand. this feels impossible. who else can take the throne but them? he's spent sleepless nights trying to think of a viable solution and come up empty each time. crossing the room, he reaches for his jacket and pulls it back over his shoulders. ]
You can't go back out with your dress like that. I'll tell the guests you retired early. [ he fixes his sash across his chest, feeling more like a fraud than he's ever felt in his life, and pushes his tousled hair back into something vaguely resembling dignity. shame burns in his chest both at what he is and how he's treating her. ] I doubt you wanted to fake any more smiles tonight, anyway.
no subject
as he prepares to leave her with this memory: the old, tired sight of him walking away from her. of all he's new talents, she thinks that may very well be his greatest. i've seen what you truly are, and i've never turned away. can he say the same? her fingers pierce into her palms where they've knotted into fists, barely containing the adrenaline that quakes through her bones. she trembles with it, that urge to shatter something — anything — as he has broken her with cruel, cutting precision.
anything that might distract from being cleaved open. to have her heart pour out onto the floor, and to have it be found lacking. unwanted. she chokes on a sob before she can deny him the honor of hearing it. she has shed too many tears for him, too many times. better to build her walls and bury the carcass of the girl she is — when she had known how to open herself to pain, when she hadn't been sharp, brutal edges to defend herself — until there's nothing but rotting memories for him to find, the next time those walls crumble. ]
Don't. [ she has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from becoming pitiful. don't leave. don't walk away from me again. she spits it as if it's venom settling in her mouth, instead, to keep that plea at bay. she clings to it, that sudden fury, as if it might detract from the waver in her voice or the burning in her eyes. the way she can barely grit a word out between gasping breaths, or the hand at her chest, like the pressure of it may stop her from crumpling forward. ] Don't try to tell me how I feel about my own damn country. I've given up everything for Ravka. The only thing left to give was my happiness, and now I've even sacrificed that.
[ there are so many truths she could use to topple him. i regret it. i regret choosing you. they would sting, rub salt into every insecurity she knows him to possess. and yet it's a half-lie she worries he'll see through, transparent to the very end. ]
There's only one person in this room facing a lifetime of enslavement and torment at the other's hands, and it isn't you, Nikolai. You're not the one who has to marry someone who likes to pretend they could ever love you. Because that's what you do. You toy with me and make me believe it's true and then you push me away. The worst part is that you don't even realize you're doing it. You're so blinded by your own pain that you refuse to see mine. Or maybe you just like punishing us both.
[ her voice feels scraped raw from shouting at him. from the brittleness of it in her throat, strangling her with every word. she swipes at her eyes, furious to find that they come away damp, and sucks in a sharp breath. when she speaks, the icy, quiet chill of her voice might be a great deal worse than the burst of anger. ]
I could have loved you for a very long time, if only you had let me. Saints know I've tried. But you — you already sound like you've given up. [ let me go, he'd demanded. she wonders if, perhaps, she should have listened from the very start. if she should have worked harder to carve him out of her heart. ] I'm done fighting for someone who doesn't think I'm worth the same.
When you're miserable and alone, remember that you're the one who did this to us. You can't blame the monster for that. Not this time.
[ she moves past him, then, to head for the door — without the shoes that lay nearby, a casualty of this particular war. because there's nothing left for her to say, and certainly there's nothing left for him to say that she would want to hear. at least, this way, she won't be forced to watch him walk away from her. ]
no subject
alina comes closer and he remains turned away because he doesn’t want her to see the way he shuts his eyes tight as if that can offer him some sort of protection against her words. he doesn’t want her to hear how taut his breath is or see the sudden shake in his fingertips. this isn’t becoming of a king, but more than that, it isn’t becoming of him. he’s supposed to be stronger than this. he’s the one who never shows the toll that anything takes on him. it’s his one constant, the one surety he can offer to those who’ve given him the grace of putting their faith in him.
and it’s cracking now. he knows that alina has given everything. he knows that ravka has bled her dry just as it’s done to him, only much faster. but it’s when she says those words, a lifetime of enslavement and torment, it takes him longer than a moment to realize she isn’t talking about the darkling.
that’s what makes him reach out and catch her wrist. he doesn’t pull her close, he doesn’t force her to face him. he just holds on with his heart in his mouth as he tries desperately not to choke on it. ]
This isn’t what I wanted for you. None of this is what I wanted for you.
[ now he sees that he’d been so foolish to propose to her to begin with. a chance at a happy almost-love might have been the most ridiculous fantasy he’s ever had. it could never have been in the cards, and perhaps that was the moment that damned her to traverse this thankless road with him. he doesn’t cry, but there’s an overwhelming amount of emotion in his voice, like everything he’s been holding back has risen to the surface and battered his walls and he no longer has any defenses against feeling it. ]
I’m not him. Alina — I’m not. I never want to do that to you.
[ the horror of trying to convince himself of this is nearly too much to bear. perhaps this was the plan all long. this is the culmination of merging with the monster, the final nail driven into his frenzied, fragmented mind. saints, he wants to cry, but he can’t. maybe he’s forgotten how. ]
I know I can love you. I’ve known from the very beginning, even when you loved someone else. What I’m doing isn’t pretending. It’s the ugly side of self preservation. [ it’s shameful. dishonorable. it’s him reaching a breaking point and trying desperately not to let go. ] I won’t ask you to love me or even to forgive me. I just want you to promise that you’ll stay true to your word. That when this is all over, you’ll leave me. Not because I want you to go, but because you deserve a chance to find your own happiness away from all of this. I chose this life. I always knew I’d come second and third and dead last to what Ravka needs. You didn’t.
[ he doesn’t feel himself move, but he’s suddenly at her back, his face pressed into the trailing stardust of her hair, his arms wrapped tight around her waist. he can’t bear this. he can’t. ]
Stay with me a little longer. Please. Just not forever. Promise me. I have to believe that there’s an end to this for you.
no subject
Maybe I already do love you, broken parts and all. Maybe leaving you would tear me apart for good.
[ it's cowardly, confessing it to endless rows of dusty shelves when nikolai is right there. but more than that, it's terrifying for what it invites. to love him is to grant him power over her. to love him is to hand him the weapon and show him where to aim to destroy her, once and for all, in his bid for self-preservation. to love him is a bloodier war than what waits outside their door, but saints — the truth of it wracks through her. and for a moment, she considers that maybe she isn't alone in that. that maybe his desire to liberate her isn't born from guilt and guilt alone.
maybe it's her lonely mind grasping at that delusion for comfort. maybe it's only her weakness, melting her resolve every time he opens the door to let her in, but she needs to be certain. her fingers find his at her waist, cupping the back of his hand as her head tilts back into the perch of his shoulder. at least the only casualty in this particular war will be her heart if she's terribly, terribly wrong. ]
And I think, if you're willing to let me go — [ even though ravka needs this union. even though he is placing her happiness above its needs. even though that willingness to let her go only makes her that much certain that she's too far gone to leave, to forget what it was ever like to love him. ] — then maybe you already love me, too.
[ she can't say maybe that's what i deserve. she isn't deserving of any love — not mal's, not ravka's, not nikolai's — or any happiness born from it, but perhaps it's never been about what they deserve. ]
I'm going to ask you to make me a promise instead. Give me a real chance to be happy with you. Stop making our choices for us. Stop pushing me away every time you're afraid. Promise that we'll be partners like we should be. Trust me when I say I'll be strong for us and for Ravka when you can't be.
And when neither of us can be strong, trust that our friends will be. Trust that they won't let us lose sight of what's important. We aren't alone in this fight, Nikolai. Even when there are days where it feels like we are.
[ it's too tight, the despairing grip of her hand around his that is already bracing herself for rejection. her voice fractures with it, despite her stubborn determination to get through to him. ]
I need you to understand. I don't want a chance at happiness away from this. I want you.
no subject
alina does not share those same qualms, because now the space between them is heavy with want and broken honesty. she verbalizes everything that he's wished for, everything he feels, everything that he can't say aloud because it's never mattered if he loved someone. it hadn't mattered with dominik — his parents still sent him away, the war still claimed his life — and now he's wondering how it can possibly matter here, with alina, when everything they're facing is so much bigger than the reckless movements of his heart.
her words ring true. he wouldn't send her away if he cared so little. having her here works to ravka's advantage, but he can't be sure how much more of this he can stomach. he makes difficult decisions every day, but involving matters of the heart brings a different sort of agony, one he's already had his fill of and more. ]
And if it's not enough? [ his arms tighten around her, eyes closed as he buries his face into the curve of her neck. she smells sweetly of some fragrance dabbed across her pulse, lilac and honey, a touch of warm amber. ] If love isn't enough for us?
[ if he turns more monster than man, if he can't control this, if he ends up becoming a danger that alina has to put down — all of these he leaves unsaid but they fill the room anyway, and that doesn't even touch on how he feels as though he scarcely has the luxury of love. love isn't going to protect the people. love isn't going to save ravka. and yet he aches with his entire being to give her what she's asking for, because even if it feels like too much in this moment, he knows it doesn't even begin to cover what she deserves.
his shoulders drop around a beleaguered sigh, his hand slipping out from under hers only to cover it himself. ]
Your optimism is reckless but heartwarming. I do wonder where you picked up that particular habit from.
[ he pulls back, spinning her once as if they're still in a dance. then he takes off his sash and drapes it over her shoulder, drawing it across her chest to pin over the tear at her waist, the golden fabric gleaming in the lamplight. ]
I don't have an answer for you. I want to say yes. [ he keeps his eyes down, adjusting the sash before stepping back to survey his work. he quickly retrieves her shoes and kneels to slip them onto her feet, then looks up at her. ] But come back to our party with me so I can ask you for a proper dance. Not so everyone can see how happy we are, but because I don't want this night to end just yet.
no subject
Then at least we'll know that we tried. [ at least she will never doubt that she had clawed and struggled and bled for a love that deserves no less than someone to fight for it. even if it culminates in her destruction, perhaps it's a love worthy ruining herself for, if only to avoid living with her regrets for centuries. ] At least I won't wonder what we could have been if I had stayed.
[ the edge to her laugh is strained and quiet, a bubbling hiccup of a sound she can't prepare for, as her fingertips glide over the smooth silk of his sash. not for the first time, she envies nikolai's ability to present himself as he wishes to be seen. in contrast, she's too aware of the sight she must be, swiping at red-rimmed eyes to cleanse any evidence that she could be anything less than an ideal candidate for queen. the delegates beyond the doors of their library will be able to scent any sign of weakness like sharks pursuing blood in the water.
the last of what she needs — what ravka needs — is to pick apart their engagement to find fault with it, and wonder if the stability and morale it offers is an illusion. she tries to steady her breath, having come this close to losing him in one night, and idly sweeps her fingers through the glittering gold of his hair. ]
I learned from the best. [ no one risks crashing and burning quite like nikolai lantsov. if they can change the course of ravka's future, she can cling to her hope that they can pave their own way to another destination. she smiles, a subdued and harmlessly teasing sheen to it. ] I'll just be annoyingly stubborn about it until you say yes. I've learned that from you, too.
[ carefully, she slips her aching feet into the treacherous confines of her shoes. before he can raise himself to his feet, she grasps at the heavy fabric around her legs, moving it aside to gingerly settle into his lap, twining her arms around his neck. ]
You're going to have to carry me back. These shoes are a special kind of torture. Or — [ it's wishful thinking, but she murmurs it against his cheek, pressing her lips to the sloping bone. ] — maybe we can just hope that they're drunk enough that they won't even notice we're missing.
no subject
And after all the time I spent fixing your dress, now you don't want to go back?
[ soft lips brush his cheek, and he turns into them, catching her mouth in a gentle kiss as his hand trails down her collar, past the stag's antlers and down to the center of her chest. nothing about any of this has been wise, and sometimes he wonders what would have been if he'd never come back at all, if he'd lost himself completely to the monster and nikolai lantsov ceased to exist. would ravka be better off without his endless ambition and relentless drive for change? would someone else have stepped up to fill his absence better than he ever could?
he tires of the questions and the constant wondering. his mind has always worked like a ceaselessly hyperactive machine, and for the most part he's comfortable with it, but then there are moments like these that he wishes he could just stop. stop thinking. stop wondering. stop obsessively picking apart his failures. when he kisses alina it feels like a reprieve, however unwise and fleeting, but he chases after the feeling regardless, his hand roaming to pull at the sash he just placed on her minutes ago. now it's just in the way. ]
Are you saying we should go missing like a pair of misbehaving rogues? With the way you keep trying to get out of things, I'd say you were born to be my queen.
[ he pulls her close, his back coming to rest against a shelf as he ends up on the floor again. saints, he shouldn't, but there isn't a moment that goes by that he doesn't want her, no matter what he says. his hand cradles her cheek, kissing her languidly, his head resting against a collection of leather spines. the silken fabric pools between them when he finally gets the sash off, and he pauses mid-kiss, his eyes opening to suddenly gaze into hers. ]
Don't go tomorrow. Don't go to him. Alina, I — [ he swallows, his hand sliding softly into her hair. ] I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. If you want to be partners in this, then let's start here. Don't go off alone. When we face him, it'll be together.
no subject
[ his mouth muffles her scoff, but it can't quite silence her mouthy behavior. no matter how distracted she sounds while pressing into his embrace, pressing into him as though even the smallest distance between them is too much to bear. and, in truth, it is; she's too familiar with his pattern of retreating from her to allow him an opportunity to run, caged beneath the long line of her legs cinching tighter around his hips. she's too familiar with the longing ache of missing him as if they're too ghosts passing by one another to let him go this time. ]
I've already shared you with them tonight. It's my turn to have you to myself.
[ there are too many stares piercing into their backs, making her too aware of doubters and dissenters waiting for them to falter; there are too many whispers flitting from ear to ear, and too many smiles alight with expectations she feels forced to meet. for all that it's their betrothal, it has equally belonged to ravka tonight — theirs to celebrate, and theirs to scorn. but these quiet moments, the gentle cradle of his hands, unhurried kisses that steal the last of her air — they belong solely to her, intimate and sacred and hers. free from an outsider's judgment, uninterrupted by pointless flatteries she's learned to tune out, and unhindered by every political issue ravka has felt the need to bring to their attention tonight. returning with him only provide her limited time at his side before someone tugs either of them away for a so-called pressing matter.
at least this is a memory they can claim for themselves.
if only for an hour, she can pretend this is all they are: a misbehaving boy and a rebellious girl in over their heads, hiding away from their own party. she aches to hold on to it, but nikolai's plea washes over her like an icy river that drags her away from the comfortable warmth of his embrace. her throat is already forming a noise of protest before she can silence it, choking out a breath that spills over his lips. she tilts her head back into the soft brush of his fingers to drink him in — the openness in his eyes, lips that have turned kiss-swollen — and wonders how he could ever expect that she could find the willpower to leave him now. ]
Even if you have to live with this? [ she drags his hand away from her sternum and lifts it to her mouth, brushing her lips to each leather-clad fingertip and sealing it with a nip of her teeth. he's already declared as much to her tonight, but nikolai's desire to risk his chance at freedom to ensure her own is too much for her heart to comprehend when there's no guarantee they'll find another means to access the information they need. ] I won't go. I won't. But I promised you that I would find a way to make things right, Nikolai. What if I can't? What if I fail and that that never happens?
[ what if you hate me for that? ]
no subject
[ nikolai is used to the scrutiny, the comments whispered behind his back, the weight of hundreds of stares each with their own expectations and preconceived notions. it's quite another thing to be thrust into the role with little training, and a grisha queen certainly has tongues flapping. there will come a time when alina has no choice but to traverse the treachery of public events, but tonight she does have a choice, and nikolai doesn't mind being it.
the reality that he might have to live with this for the rest of his life is a thought he's already spent countless sleepless nights turning over in his mind, but he doesn't let it show on his face. he keeps that tucked somewhere below his heart with the rest of his insecurities that need not see the light of day. this is a curse, a punishment doled out by a very powerful grisha, and it wouldn't be much of a punishment if it was easily broken. he knows this. he knows they might never break it. he knows there's a good chance he will devolve into madness and have to be put down, but tonight he doesn't air out those concerns. not when he plainly sees that alina needs the same reassurance that she's granted him.
there's a glimmer of a smile on his lips when he tucks her hair behind her ear and traces the curve of her jaw with a gloved fingertip, soft leather instead of the rough tread of his own fingers. ]
Failure is simply adventure by another name. [ there's only the slightest trace of tension in his gaze, otherwise looking serene. ] And if I have to live with this, then I'll do just that. I excel at most things and I don't see why this should be an exception.
[ spoken with a confidence he doesn't feel, but there's little he despises more than showing weakness when he truly feels it. he draws her in carefully, lifting his mouth to gently brush a kiss to her forehead. ]
You didn't do this to me, Alina. He did. [ he feels the monster stirring again, and he closes his eyes to face the darkness. ] You did what you needed to do in the moment. Trust me when I say you have far too many pressures to withstand in the future for you to give yourself any more. It's not your job to save me. I need you to be the queen that Ravka needs, no matter what else happens. That's your priority. It's what my mother and father were always missing, same as the Lantsovs that came before them. But not us.
[ he settles his hands at her waist, his smile growing because he can't help but think of how achingly lovely she looks. ] Moya tsaritsa. We won't miss.
no subject
or maybe it's the appearance of his smile — a rare and mythical sight, these days, when they have so few reasons to smile — that dispels her fear and stills her tongue and all of the self-punishing statements she wants to use to flagellate herself: he did this to you because of me. i don't know if i can be the queen ravka needs without you. nikolai has been a constant presence at her back, lifting her when she stumbles, guiding her when she comes to a crossroads and finds herself utterly lost. the only companion she has that fully comprehends what it's like to live with that fear of failure and duty dangling over them like a sword above their heads — waiting to drop at any moment.
she doesn't know if she possesses the knowledge to hold ravka together, should they lose him, and the thought of undoing every step forward he has taken to usher in a new era is as daunting as facing the darkling. as far as alina is concerned, nikolai is the very embodiment of ravka. but she can't bear to be the reason the expression on his face disappears and turns haunted, and so she traces the dimples of his smile with slow, careful reverence and hopes he can feel the gratitude that bleeds from her when she slides her mouth over his palm. ]
I don't think I'm ever going to get used to being called that.
[ her nose scrunches as if to ward off the little flutter of warmth that passes through her upon hearing it, or the glow that flushes through her skin. perhaps the issue should be that she enjoys it too much. ]
As long as you don't regret choosing me, I can live with all of that. Even if I know there are going to be days where you'll drive me completely mad. [ her fingers wind through the silken sash draped between them, looping it around his neck — and tugging, in a silent command to draw him into her. the touch of her kiss is teasingly, fleetingly soft. ] You really have no idea how much I've missed being driven mad by you.