Do I believe in God? Does he believe in me?

When you finally scrape yourself up and off your bed, the night begins to return to you in flashes, little pin pricks of memory. You remember your friends' laughter, the shots of kvas and, and...Aleksander. His green sweater, his eyes as he'd laughed at your drunken state.

His...compliment.

And he'd called you something in Old Ravkan. Mil...mil...but it never comes and you're left to ponder the fact that Aleksander Morozova was checking out your chest.

It had to be a fluke. You aren't unattractive, but there's no way Aleksander would seek you out above every other gorgeous, willing woman traveling through the halls of the university. Maybe he'd just been alarmed, he'd never seen you in something so revealing before.

Saints, what a night.

You wash the remnants of your drunken mistakes off in the hot press of the shower water and focus your energy on your reading for Monday.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

Monday comes rapidly and you're suddenly left with the realization that you're going to have to be alone with Aleksander today. He prefers to workshop student essays in private, giving constructive feed back in a safe space. And you're scheduled first, right after class.

You barely look up as you take your seat, pulling out your poetry anthology and setting up to take notes. When you do finally raise your head Aleksander is already watching you, something unreadable in his gaze, something almost dangerous. It alarms you, leaves you feeling the need to gasp, so you look away, pretending to check your notes.

"All right. Let's begin." He commences class, clapping his hands once. "Who wants to tell me what they think the rose represents in Mina Loy's "Sea-Rose?"

This one is easy, so you sit back and let the boy sitting to your left answer. Aleksander smiles and nods at him encouragingly.

"So we've established the rose is a woman. Then what are we to do with that first stanza?"

You raise your hand.

"To me, this is a political poem. The "harsh rose, meager and sparse" takes on societal perception of women. If you're too harsh, too outspoken, you're useless to patriarchal society. I think that's what she's saying here."

Aleksander nods, biting his lip. You watch the movement closely, memorizing the white of his teeth peeking through his plush mouth. Then the moment is over and he's walking back towards the whiteboard.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

Class ends, and you wait in your seat for the other students to file out, mentally trying to prepare to be in close proximity to Aleksander.

"We still on for our meeting? Or are you here to break my heart?" He jokes as he gathers his things, coming to stand in front of your desk.

"We're on, though I'm quite popular today so I don't know for how long." You tease.

"Oh I'm sure you are everyday." He eyes you, eyebrow raised slightly.

You chuckle, moving to stand and follow him to his office.

Aleksander's office is like that of any great academic. That is to say, a mess. Papers are strewn in haphazard piles across his desk and floor, books sit precariously on shelves as if they are only waiting to be told to fall off. Aleksander smiles at you almost sheepishly as you navigate the chaos, stopping to clear off a plush leather chair for you as he goes to take his own behind the sturdy oak desk across from you.

You sit on the chair and take out your paper, knowing Aleksander prefers to edit papers when they're printed. It's cute, the way he struggles with technology, and you almost want to say you forgot to make copies just to see his nose wrinkle at the thought of using your laptop.

"Shall we?" He asks, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Sure." You agree and pass the paper over.

He reads your paper slowly as you sit, his intentional analysis making you squirm. Your writing feels like a part of you, like something intimate that came from a deep spot at your center. Aleskander's eyes are on it now, but you don't mind, not when it's from him.

"Hmm..." He mumbles, fingers dancing across the arm of his chair.

"Good or bad?" You question, unable to keep it in any longer.

"Excellent." He chuckles at your squirming. "Relax, milaya, you've done well. I expected nothing less."

Milaya, that's what he'd called you the other night, you suddenly recall. Your eyes widen but before you can question him he's continuing.

"The way that you bring out the longing in the poem is masterful. You explore Prufrock's voice closely, that's what I was looking for. You do it so well I can only wonder what's got you thinking so much about hidden desire?" His eyes are molten as they meet yours, like chocolate that's melted on your fingers after you've held it too long.

Saints, you want to hold him too long.

You don't know what to say, whether to let the truth fall from your lips or to laugh it off like what happened over the weekend meant nothing. The truth it, the memory comes back to you all the time, unavoidable.

"What does milaya mean?" You ask instead, mind turning over too much to respond to the question.

Aleksander smiles then, full and bright and you can't help but think you've revealed an answer you aren't aware of yet.

"What, didn't pay attention in your Old Ravkan lessons?" He teases.

"Saint, they were three years ago, I'm not sure I can summon much more than a few lines of Oretsev." You admit sheepishly.

"I can't blame you. It never hurts to review, however." Is the only answer you get.

Aleksander lets it drop and continues to mark up your paper, his broad scrawl visible from your vantage point.

When he'd finished with you, you gather your things to leave for the day, but his voice stops you.

"Any plans for this weekend?"

"Nothing quite as interesting as the last." You chuckle softly.

"Did you get home all right?" He asks softly, brows pulled down in concern.

When he does risk a glance in your direction he observes the restlessness in your eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to realise you are bored. He can’t help but think of you attending one of his own balls at the Grand Palace in Os Alta. He wonders whether you would find more enjoyment among his court. 

Aleksander finds you intriguing. 

Ever since you had admitted that your mother thought you were a changeling child, he’s been entertaining the possibility that you might be Fae. 

He knows you have been contemplating what he told you, about the possibility of two humans conceiving a Fae child. Though Aleksander doesn’t believe that was the case for you. He suspects that your father was Fae, or at least had some Fae blood in him. 

He finds himself wondering about how you know so much about the Fae - especially the rules and tricks his kind use against humans. Perhaps your father had taught you, before he died.

As his mind wanders, he imagines what your Fae form might look like. Whether you would have thick curled horns like Zoya, or delicate pointed ears like himself. Whether your teeth would sharpen, or if your eyes might change colour. 

Living in the human realm for your entire life, you have been deprived of the magic that lingers in the soil of Aleksander’s kingdom. The same magic that provides Fae food with its luxurious taste that drives humans to addiction, as well as connecting every Fae to the making at the heart of the world. 

Whilst you seem healthy enough, he can’t stop himself from thinking of the toll such a disconnect from the Fae might have taken on you. 

Without thinking, he moves towards you, leaving Ivan and Fedyor at the side of the room. The crowd parts for him easily, lords and ladies averting their eyes as he passes them. A few people stare openly, watching as he walks across the ballroom. 

He’s wearing one of his most formal keftas, black with shimmering silver threads woven amongst the dark embroidery. This morning Genya had tailored his features to appear more human-like, but the nobles around him still recognise Aleksander as something not quite normal. 

Before he can reach you, someone stops at your side. Whilst the man doesn’t turn to address you, Aleksander can see your mouth moving as you take a sip of your wine. There’s a minute wrinkle to your nose as you swallow the dark liquid and it appears you’re as fond of the royal vintage as Aleksander is. 

He might stand out amongst the humans, but Aleksander has always been rather gifted at blending into the shadows. As a result, he finds it easy enough to stroll lightly around the table you’re standing in front of and lean casually against a marble pillar nearby. The perfect spot to overhear your conversation under the guise of watching the crowd of dancers gathered in the ballroom. 

“I assume you have something for me,” you say quietly to the man beside you. 

“Not much, the usual trivial gossip, childish whispering really.” 

“Dimitri, I’ve been dealing with the rumour mill for years. Whatever you’re trying to protect me from, I assure you, I can handle it.” 

The man - Dimitri - sighs quietly and the two of you are silent for a long moment. 

“They think you’re involved with Lord Kirigan.” 

Aleksander hones in on the conversation immediately at the sound of the name he’s been using among the human court, to seem approachable without surrendering his true name. 

“Involved?” you repeat. 

“That you’re warming his bed,” Dimitri elaborates. 

“Oh.” 

Genya has a particular talent for collecting gossip and Aleksander had been made aware of these rumours only yesterday. He’s impressed that you seem to have your own system in place to remain informed of the rumours involving yourself. 

“You rarely address him during social functions aside from basic pleasantries,” Dimitri explains. “They think you’re hiding something.” 

“And yet if I spend any amount of time with him, then they will all think I’m conspiring with the Fae,” you remark with a humourless edge to your tone. 

“Well, you can’t blame them, given the rumours about your…”

There’s a sharpness in your eyes that has Dimitri’s words faltering and a shiver runs down Aleksander’s spine at the sight of you looking so commanding with a mere glance. The thought passes through his mind before he can stop it, you would make a formidable Queen. 

“Do you have anything else to say?” 

Dimitri looks down sheepishly for a moment. 

“I think you already know the rest. Kirigan accepted Rathbone’s invitation to Lichen Manor, though no one knows if he’s planning to join in on the hunting season.” 

“Not on Rathbone’s land, but he might accept someone else’s invitation.” Aleksander is intrigued by your causally confident answer, and luckily Dimitri seems equally curious for an explanation which you promptly provide. “Rathbone usually hunts deer on his land, and Kirigan won’t kill a deer, they’re practically sacred in East Ravka.”  

The nobles in this country always refer to Aleksander’s kingdom as the Fae Kingdom, refusing to acknowledge the historic connection between the two lands. To them, the human kingdom is the true Ravka. It’s clear you don’t share their views. 

He’s once again surprised that you know about Fae customs. Aleksander’s grandfather had created the first white stag many centuries ago, and since then his family has safeguarded the species. 

In the springtime, small white fawns can often be seen wobbling about the grounds of the Grand Palace as they take their first steps and Aleksander briefly wonders if you would like to see the deer for yourself one day. 

“I heard someone mention he intends to visit Hawthorne House while in the country.” 

Aleksander knows that Hawthorne is your childhood home, the family estate that your cousin will inherit when he is of age. 

“Mother will be pleased,” you remark.  

“Apparently she invited him.” 

“She’s most likely looking for an excuse to host a ball.” 

“You didn’t know?” 

A small sigh shifts at your shoulders. 

“No. We haven’t spoken for several weeks.” 

“Will you be spending your summer at Hawthorne?” 

“I suppose. It’s what I usually do, though if Mother is planning a ball I might make myself scarce.” 

There’s a small hum of acknowledgement from your informant. 

“Speaking of, I’d better move on.” 

“Thank you, Dimitri.” 

He nods politely and steps away from you without a word. 

Aleksander watches your expression change now that you are alone; exhaustion and worry touches your features as you pour another glass of wine. 

He decides to step out of the shadows, moving around the table and through a handful of people, to appear at your side. 

“Your highness,” you greet him with a polite bow. 

The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smile as he inclines his head in acknowledgement. 

“Good evening, my lady. How are you enjoying the festivities?” 

He watches your expression falter slightly, that intelligent glimmer sparkling in your eyes as you attempt to work your way around his question. He knows you aren’t enjoying yourself but you won’t admit it. However, the Fae consider it impolite to lie, especially to someone in the nobility, or royalty like Aleksander. 

“Your pianist is very talented.”

He smiles with a nod of appreciation before he glances over at Marie as she sits at the piano placed in the centre of the king’s musicians, her fingers moving delicately over the ivory.

The quickest way to appease Aleksander is to compliment his people, and you appear to have noticed this. It both infuriates and enamours him. To feel so seen by a stranger is unnerving, but Aleksander can see an equal amount of you. 

He watches as you take a sip of your wine, and once again you appear to be as unimpressed by the taste as he was earlier. 

His thoughts move to the small basket that sits on a side table in the guest rooms he has been occupying whilst staying at the human palace. The basket which is filled with Fae food, in case of an emergency or a bout of homesickness from one of the younger Faefolk in Aleksander’s entourage. 

Now he imagines taking a luscious red apple, cutting a slice with his knife and holding the portion of fruit to your lips. The juice shimmering on your lips and the gleam in your eyes as you take a bite. The way your lashes might flutter as the pleasure sweeps through you. After all, you may have some Fae in you, but you’re still human. For now. 

He wonders how you might sound afterwards, whether your words would wracked with need or perhaps a dreamy sigh, as you thank him. A shiver runs down his spine at the thought of you offering such power to him. 

Aleksander clears his throat, attempting to discard the distracting nature of his thoughts of you. Unfortunately, the noise attracts your attention prompting you to eye him expectantly and he finds himself at a loss for words. 

“I was considering stepping out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air,” he says with a small nod towards the french doors on the far side of the ballroom. “Would  you care to join me?” 

Being seen alone with you would do little to dispel the rumours surrounding the two of you, however, Aleksander cannot find it in himself to care for the opinion of the human nobility. He knows you would face more scrutiny than he ever would for such a thing, but he hopes he can one day convince you of how little these people matter. 

“I’d love to,” you say softly. The breath in Aleksander’s throat catches at the honesty in your words and his eyes remain locked on yours as he offers you his hand. 

When you take his hand with a small smile, he finds himself wishing you weren’t wearing gloves tonight. However, the intricate white lace of your gloves does allow him to feel the warmth of your skin and it looks far better on you than the silk often favoured by the ladies of the human court.

Delicate frills encircle your wrists, allowing him to admire the bare skin of your forearms, glowing under the light of the ballroom as he leads you towards the terrace. 

The cool evening air brings some clarity to Aleksander’s thoughts and he puts a respectful amount of distance between the two of you as he stands by your side in front of the stone wall that surrounds the terrace. 

Aleksander has always felt more comfortable during the night and it seems you favour the stillness too, though he will admit that his assumption is based on how alluring you look in the moonlight. 

Heavy black clouds gather ahead and Aleksander can taste rain in the air. A downpour is about to begin but he cannot find it in himself to draw you back into the light and heat of the ballroom, especially when you look so soothed by his quiet company - even as you engage in small talk with one another. 

“I hear you’re planning a tour of East Ravka on your return to your kingdom,” you remark lightly. 

He nods.

“As much as I intend to enjoy the summer here in West Ravka, I find myself longing to reacquaint myself with my country after such an absence.” 

“It is a good thing for a king. To love your country and people so much.”

“As an expression of goodwill, I extended an invitation to your king though he regretfully cannot join me for the journey.” 

“His health is of utmost importance at the moment,” you reply smoothly. Not a lie, though Aleksander can see that you want to soften the rejection. He knows why the human king does not wish to visit the Fae Kingdom, but he will accept your attempt at excusing your king’s superstition. 

“Of course.” 

He hesitates for a moment. He wants to study your reaction to what he is about to say. 

“He informed me that I could extend my invitation to anyone else in his court.”

As expected, you turn your head to face him. In the distance, thunder rumbles lowly. 

“Who do you plan to invite?” you ask quietly. 

He steps closer, watching as your gaze flickers from his eyes down to his lips. 

“There is only one person who I believe will appreciate my kingdom to the extent it deserves.” 

He is close enough to smell your perfume and he is thoroughly tempted to duck his head down and trace his nose over the hollow of your throat where he knows the scent will be the strongest. 

Then a raindrop falls on his head. Another falls on your face, tracing down your neck. Soon the rain is falling hurriedly and your lips part in surprise as the chill rises to your skin.

Aleksander relishes in the sweet scent of rain and he smiles at the refreshing sensation of rainwater soaking through his kefta. But he knows humans aren’t particularly fond of rain. 

“Perhaps we should return inside?” he suggests. 

He watches in awe as you shake your head, a wide smile illuminating your face. 

Aleksander stares as you tilt your head back, providing him with an exquisite view of your neck, bared so beautifully, and his eyes roam over the deep neckline of your dress as droplets of rainwater roll down your exposed skin. 

Saints, he should look away. 

He wants to ruin you. 

As your eyes flutter open, still heavy-lidded to protect yourself from the rain, your gaze meets his and Aleksander is certain his heart stops as you smile at him. He steps closer, his gaze acting as his hands wish to, scrambling over your form as the fabric of your dress clings even closer to your skin. 

Something in your own eyes darkens and Aleksander wants to devour your lips with a heated kiss and consume each and every moan he can wring from you. Instead, he traces his knuckles faintly over your cheek, following the path of a droplet as it runs down to your neck. 

His touch lingers against your collarbone, swiping his thumb over the water collected there by your chest. He can see the rapid movement of your breathing as your eyes remain fixed on him and the heat of your gaze warms his entire body, flooding down to the hardness growing beneath his trousers. 

He wants to take your hand and press it against the bulge there. He wants to see your lace-clad fingers roam over him. 

When he smooths his fingers down the length of your bodice, ignoring the swell of your breasts in favour of tracing a path down to your stomach, he sees you gasp silently. Lips parted, you stare wide eyed, and Aleksander wonders whether you have ever laid with someone. 

Fae do not wait for marriage and many engage in revelries that would cause a permanent scandal in the human realm. He wonders how flustered you would be, if you saw how brazenly the members of Aleksander’s court touch one another in public. 

A smirk curls at the corner of Aleksander’s mouth as he observes your sudden fixation on his lips. Surely you wouldn’t object to indulging in a kiss? Not when you look so willing. 

Just as Aleksander begins to lean in, you step backwards. 

“You’re right. We should return to the ballroom.”

He nods, though he doesn’t make an effort to move yet. 

“Not in this state. Might I suggest the door to the left?”

He nods in the direction of the door which will lead to a hopefully deserted hallway. Returning to the ballroom together, soaked through, will only lead to more rumours and Aleksander doesn’t want you to feel ashamed by what has just occurred between the two of you. 

He smiles softly when you nod in agreement and he follows you through the doorway and into the quiet hallway. Sounds from the ballroom are muffled but Aleksander can hear a waltz playing and people dancing to the tune. 

He watches as you remove your gloves, attempting to wring out the poor scraps of fabric. A shiver shakes your body and Aleksander notices the goosebumps on your skin as a few stray raindrops linger there.

Plucking out his handkerchief, he is pleased to find the fabric has remained dry enough to wipe the water from your face which he does so with a careful murmur, 

“Here. Allow me.”

There is no response from you as he continues to dry your neck, sweeping over your collarbones and dipping down momentarily to your cleavage. Without the all-encompassing patter of the rain, he can hear how your breathing shifts. He takes mental notes of the areas that make you inhale sharply or sigh softly. 

Once he is done, he hands you the handkerchief to dry any spots he may have missed. 

“Keep it,” he insists softly. 

The only form of thanks you offer him is a small nod of appreciation, but your lack of verbal thanks doesn’t vex him as it used to. Now, he wants to see how far he can push you before you thank him and is pleased every time you fail to fall into his trap because that alone means he must try harder at the next opportunity. 

He takes your hand, now bare as he had wished for earlier in the evening, and lifts it to his lips before he gifts you with a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He selects his next words carefully, hoping to leave a lasting impression on you. 

“I hope you have a pleasurable evening, little blossom.” 

He smiles as you blink dazedly at him, inclining his head before he releases your hand and heads down the hallway towards his rooms to dry off. 

-

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If Poseidon can do it, what is to stop the rest from claiming fragments of your time? There are a dozen major gods in the pantheon, plus countless minor deities and spirits. If they could rally the energy to make their voices heard from across the Styx and up to you, there is no telling how often you would be haunted, nor how long it would take until you cave to their demands and change your course.

You do not wish to change your course, however. This is your war, bloody and brilliant as it is. No one made a world that would be safe for you. Not even your mother, who fought to keep you hidden until the very day she died. You will make the world that they cannot, and it will be wonderful, and all those children who grow up magical will never fear those who do not understand them.

Alina is alive, of this you are now certain. David knew it, too, or he wouldn’t have run. They must know. Aleksander’s visions are strong enough that he is certain as well. He seems to visit her every day. Almost every time you stop by his study, his eyes are shut tight as he whispers things to her that you cannot hear.

At first, you encouraged the visions to continue. This is the best way to gather intelligence on the movement of Alina’s followers, how many they are and what strength they possess. As the days go on, however, you start to regret how cavalier you were in addressing the visions. It is not a foreign idea for any Hellenid to experience jealousy; in fact, it’s practically a treasured trait amongst its heroes and gods, but that does not mean you have to like it.

Alina, after all, is something young and new and interesting. She defied Aleksander. She wields power with a hand that grows more capable by the day. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that she reminds you of yourself.

Is that really such a terrible thing to admit? The more you think about it, the more your thoughts settle on the truth. You met Aleksander when he still had something to hide from you:  namely, the fact that he was the same Black Heretic who created the Shadow Fold. In that vein, he had an advantage over you, that of a secret well kept. Both of you were more powerful than any around you, and both of you had a type of power that no one else had ever used in recorded history. Alina summons the sun whereas you summon magic, but it is the same thing in the end.

Even Alina’s method of meeting Aleksander for the first time has much in common with yours. You’d met Aleksander when you were both trying to keep a low profile from otkazat’sya soldiers who wanted Grisha dead. Alina was nearly murdered by distrustful Fjerdans on her way to the Little Palace. In fact, foiling one of those attempts to take her life was how you ended up on Aleksander’s radar the second time around.

Aleksander is manipulating Alina at this very moment, all in the interest of regaining strength and control over Ravka. Did he manipulate you, then? Yes. The question is if he is still doing it.

You sit alone in your study, attempting to focus on reports detailing Alina’s potential location without much success. There is a dusty mirror propped up against the opposite wall, and your eyes flicker to it. You wear a different face now than you did all those years ago, Ravkan instead of Hellan, but it is still you, just as Aleksander is still himself. Can he really change all that much? Can you?

You blink and there is someone standing behind you. You flinch in your seat and whirl around to see an apparition of a woman. She is only half formed now, but growing strength by the second, still creating limbs and clothing out of a shower of golden sparks. She catches you looking and grins, the expression sharp as a blade.

“I learned that trick from my husband,” she says, “he used it to see another woman, if you’ll believe that. I gave him everything, and he still wandered every chance he got.”

A memory flits across your mind, a story your mother had shared with you when you were small. Zeus had sired the hero Perseus by visiting a woman in the form of a twist of golden light. If this woman is Zeus’ husband, then that means this is Hera. Another goddess. Another Hellenid who should be dead but isn’t.

This time, instead of bowing, you keep your eyes locked on hers. “Lady Hera. I thought I told all of you to leave me be.”

Hera spreads her arms as if expecting an embrace. “I am not here to talk you out of your conquest, child. I wish to offer advice.”

Your jaw clenches. “I don’t want it.”

Her eyes shutter, expression cold. “Of course you do. I have seen a thousand unions fail, including my own. Do you think I don’t see it? You doubt him. You tell yourself that the two of you are the only ones that matter, but you’re not the one he’s speaking to right now. That pesky Sun Saint of yours has a way of intruding.”

You scoff. “If you had one chance to come back from the dead and you used it to offer me relationship advice, I’ll offer you some advice as well. Save your strength for when it’s important.”

Hera stalks forward, slamming her hand down onto the desk in front of you. Papers scatter to the ground, which makes you lurch backwards despite your best attempts to maintain a normal demeanor. Hera is a ghost. She should not be able to impact your physical world, but the notes tumbling to the floor beg to differ.

“There is more to existence than constant war,” she says through gritted teeth, “I know my domain. I know what being alone can do to heroes. All of them had a partner, or have you forgotten their history? Sometimes a lover can save your life. Sometimes they can drive you mad, or slit your throat while you sleep. How well do you know this shadow of yours? Enough to guarantee that he will not attempt to murder you again?”

You stand in a rush. “He has changed. I have forgiven him.”

“For what crime?” Hera asks, syllables slow and precise. Her eyes glitter, and you remember why the sons of Zeus suffered so in their path to glory. Hera knows enough of torment to ruin your life, and the lives of every soul to ever cross your path again. Her reach knows no bounds. “Did he ever tell you what he wanted to do? Did you ever ask?”

“No,” you whisper. The syllable is torn from your throat, a betrayal of your vocal chords. You had not meant to answer, but her gaze was so intense that you could not help it. Hera is truth, in a way, the demand of knowledge. Although she could do nothing to stop Zeus, she watched from the shadows and exacted her revenge in a cruel and calculated manner. If she wanted you to speak, you would have no choice but to do it.

Hera inclines her head in victory. “No,” she repeats, “you did not. Think on that, little witch, before you let him lead you forward in war. Think about who he will want at his side when this is over. Kings only choose one queen.”

This time, you are left conscious as Hera disappears. You reach out a hand as if to stop her from going, but the room is empty in a second and you are left standing there alone, heart thundering in your chest. The papers are still on the ground even after she left. This is no vision, then. She was actually here.

You hear footsteps in the hall outside and moments later, Aleksander is pausing in the door, mouth already set in a smile from something that had happened already, presumably his conversation with Alina. He starts to speak, but his aura of happiness bleeds from him the moment he sees the look on your face.

“What is it?” He asks, entering your study and quickly shutting the door behind him.

You shake your head once, a violent sideways slash. “Nothing.”

Aleksander frowns. “Are you sure? You look unwell.”

“We both have secrets, then,” you pronounce as delicately as you can.

This time, he cannot brush aside your tone. “Y/N, what is the matter?”

You let him cross the room, you let him stop by your side, you allow him to take your hand and look beseechingly at you. “Did you just speak to Alina?” You ask.

He nods. “Yes, I think she’s nearby. There are things in her room with a Ravkan seal, they must have been sourced locally.”

You choke out a laugh. “You were in her private quarters.”

He has the grace to look ashamed. “I cannot pick where the vision takes me, only when I go to it. You know that.”

You cock your head to the side. “Do I know that? It is what you tell me, yes, but I have no other proof of it.”

Aleksander looks legitimately hurt. “I thought you trusted me, my love. I thought we were past this.”

“We were,” you agree, “but I’ve been thinking. You never told me why you wanted to kill me, you know. Not really. Not in a way that mattered. I was so caught up in getting you back that I didn’t look. I didn’t want to look.”

You pause expectantly, waiting for an answer. Aleksander swallows hard, glancing everywhere in the room but you. Perhaps Hera was right to raise your suspicions. Perhaps you can become just like her someday, checking the face of every woman to pass you by, unable to brush off any interaction as mere triviality. You can use your centuries to grow embittered and afraid, forsaking love for heartless strength. You could let him destroy you.

At last, he takes a deep breath, and answers you. “I was afraid. I had never felt anything half as strong as what I felt for you, and it terrified me. My mother raised me to have no weakness, to never let anyone have a hold on me. That’s how you lose, you know. You love someone and they leave you. They die or they break your heart. I knew that having you taken from me would kill me, and so I sought to remove that part of myself before it could affect me any more than it already had.”

Now that he’s started speaking, the words spill out of him, unable to be contained. You wonder how long he’s held this truth inside, how many times he has repeated it to himself, incapable of mustering up the strength to admit it all to you.

“I spoke this fear aloud once to one of my generals. It was late at night and I was afraid of losing control. That was the conversation you overheard. As I lay awake later, I realized how foolish it was to think such a thing, and I woke up determined to do right by you. That next day, though, you set out on a mission with some of the other scouts, and when they came back, they told me– they told me you were dead.”

His voice breaks off on the last sentence, choked by the memory of that torment. His expression is dark, eyes clouded with a grief that consumed him whole. “I mourned for years. I was never the same. They told me I had become a monster. I faked my death not long after that. They never trusted me again, not in that form, said I had lost my mind. I think they were right. I was nothing without you.”

Aleksander looks up at you again, and you’re shocked by the intensity of the truth written on his face. “I love you, Y/N. I always will. My Hecari. I have done things I regret, and I have been ashamed of them. So long as you are with me, though, I will not let it consume me.”

He stands before you, still as death, waiting for your judgment. You reach your arms forward and embrace him. It is something you have done a thousand times, but somehow now it is worth much more, charged with the pain and fear of centuries of misunderstandings. You cannot see Hera now, in fact you have no idea if she is even here at all, but you still send out a silent thought to her anyway:  you cannot have me yet.

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Someone shifts by your side, and one glimpse of your lover’s face is all you need to know that this is no dream. For all your nightmare’s best attempts, they cannot perfectly replicate his image. Perhaps it is because he is not of their kind, the man you love, but a monster of his own creation. Your people and your spells can only do so much. They cannot fully recreate something of the Small Science, something like him. You would know. Absence made you try.

Aleksander opens his eyes slowly, dark pupils scanning the room until they land on you. Every time he wakes, you can see him start to tense until he sees you again. That is what you get for running so many times, you suppose, it makes him too knowledgeable of how easy it is to lose you.

You were never able to stay away forever, though. The longest the two of you were apart was centuries, and although those cut like a poisoned blade, they ended. You made your way to the Little Palace under the guise of Y/N Stassov, First Army cartographer and good friend of Alina Starkov, and from there on out, you were under his watch again.

In all honesty, some part of you had known from the moment your paths crossed the second time that you would not be able to leave him again without revealing yourself. Sure, your face had changed since you were the Hecari he knew in the past, but he was Aleksander and you were Y/N and you would never allow anything to part you for long. He had made mistakes, and you had tricked yourself into thinking that anyone with as many centuries under your belts as either of you could be perfectly blameless, but you were still the same couple you had always been.

In the end, the result is plain. You showed your hand and the two of you reconciled. Sure, part of that may have had to do with Alina Starkov attempting to murder you whereas Aleksander saved your life, but sometimes love needs a slight bit of motivation to pick up the pace.

The two of you are on much more solid footing now, though. If anything, you will always be united in your wrath, your protective spirit. Aleksander watches out for his Grisha, his people, and you mourn your Hellenids, your kin who have already slipped beneath the sands of time. There is no one like the two of you, and there never will be. Alina can try, but she is young, foolish, full of hopes that have yet to die. Only you and Aleksander understand how time dulls any blade. Only you and Aleksander will ever be able to complete each other.

That does not stop this whole situation from feeling somewhat impossible. You spent centuries running from him, after all, and suddenly waking up in the morning to find him sleeping next to you feels unusual. Good, but unusual. It’s what you’ve secretly been missing since the very moment you left him, but still something you never thought you would experience again.

This change in your day-to-day life could explain why you woke up so disoriented, but in truth, you fear that it might be more than that. It has been getting more difficult to tell what is real and what is fiction. Reality blends into myth into memory. What happens here and now is only a slim shade of an idea when compared to the vastness of past experience, both yours and that of your people, the Hellenids.

You had assumed that the whispering of your ghosts would trickle off into ash and nothingness when the Shadow Fold engulfed you whole, but no. If anything, it just made it worse. You were hesitating on the banks of the River Styx, so close to crossing over into the Underworld, and then Aleksander pulled you back from death and kept you there. You cannot tread that closely to your end without bringing a little part of it back with you.

You are not the only changed one. Aleksander, too, is not the same man as he was when he set out on that sandskiff. As you look at him now, you watch the early light of dawn play on the dark slices in his face, the scars from his time in the Shadow Fold after Alina Starkov abandoned both of you to die.

It had taken every ounce of your combined abilities to make it out, but both of you are changed forever now. You cannot go a moment of your day without hearing the whispering of your ancestors increased tenfold. Aleksander used merzost and is haunted by shadowy demons of his own creation.

You both had dark, deep wounds when you emerged from the Unsea, but when yours disappeared after your natural healing had run its course, Aleksander’s injuries stayed the same. You can sense how they hurt him constantly, even as he tries to hide the full extent of it from you in an attempt to maintain strength. You know him well enough to both guess that he would try to put on a brave face, and can read his body language enough to recognize the stiff movements for what they hide.

His physical appearance matters not to you. He is still yours, the man you loved centuries ago and the one you do now. If the shadows that usually billow inside of him have now decided to carve out a more visible place for themselves, so be it. You only wish that he would not have to suffer so in the process.

That is why the two of you have been scouring the Ravkan countryside in search of Grisha. The practitioners of the Small Science have been left in upheaval after the ill-fated attempt to take back control from the Lantsov king. There are few things in life you despise more than a failing, useless, greedy monarch, and not a day goes by in which you regret that the otkazat’sya fool was not already dead.

He does, however, provide you with a good opportunity to build your ranks again as the elder Lantsov son cracks down on Grisha. You and Aleksander launch venture after venture to save Heartrenders and Healers, Summoners and Durasts and everyone you can find. They’re all terribly grateful to not be dead, which only gives you more allies in this fight.

Of course this will end in a fight, how could it not? You have seen plots like this play out before. Every story runs the same course, even if the players themselves do not realize it until the end. To build a war, you must have soldiers who will die for you. Aleksander will sacrifice himself to save you, but he is one man. You want hundreds.

Until then, you have moments like this, slow glimpses of what could be a far more peaceful future if this all plays out the way you wish it. For now, you are alone with the man you love, and for this brief instance, there is nothing in this world that can bring you down.

Aleksander leans up slowly, carefully, disguising his slow hiss of pain with a question directed to you. “Did you sleep well?”

The question isn’t just a pleasant nothingness. You’ve been having nightmares as of late, snippets of what could either be memories or prophecy. If this keeps up, your mind will start to shatter. You can only hope that you’ll be able to stop that before it happens. Madness and witches do not well mix.

You sigh. “As well as could be expected. I’m still on edge from yesterday.”

Yesterday had almost gone quite badly. A group of two dozen or so Grisha had been chained in a long line and forced into the Shadow Fold at gunpoint by cowardly First Army soldiers. By the time you and Aleksander had gotten wind of what had happened, the volcra had arrived at the scene as well. 

You had fought them off, but such close proximity to the beasts had made you uneasy. Everything reminds you of what it had been like in the Shadow Fold when Alina’s light had left the two of you, how the darkness had come swooping in and left you bloody.

Aleksander had called for you to leave them, but you had insisted on saving who you could. You were jittery for the rest of the day, he could tell, but you had sworn you were fine. Perhaps he can see through you a little too well just like you with him.

Aleksander arches a brow now, likely thinking along the same lines. “So will you listen to me next time, my love? Will you let them go when it hurts you, or at least try not to disguise it from me?”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” you say as innocently as you can, “I will stop disguising my torments from you when you stop trying to pretend that those scars don’t hurt as much as they do.”

Aleksander smiles even as a fresh bout of pain turns the expression into a wince. “You drive a difficult bargain.”

“I’m known for being difficult,” you grin.

“Perhaps,” he admits, “but I like that best about you.”

It is easy, on mornings like this, to pretend that all might be well, that the two of you are not fighting a war that could be lost over something as simple as one Sun Summoner somewhere you cannot find. You have no idea if Alina Starkov has even survived, but if she did, you hope that for all the peace you wish to find with Aleksander, she will have none of it with Mal.

You and Aleksander leave your temporary shelter some time later that morning, leaving no trace that you’d been there except shadows in the corners of the rooms that fester slightly more than before. You’d heard rumors that the First Army outpost here was planning on making an example of some more Grisha near the boundary of the Shadow Fold, so that is where the two of you will be stopping first.

As dusk settles upon the area, you and Aleksander arrive upon the scene, lingering back so as not to draw unwanted attention. The two of you are technically still believed to be dead, although you doubt any smattering of soldiers could actually do so much as harm a hair on your heads. You keep your hoods up anyway. It would not do to be revealed now, not before your plan can fully come to fruition.

You narrow your eyes, straining to pick out the details in the dark night. The soldiers have put Grisha in cages, their hands bound so as to not use their abilities. The sight makes your stomach turn. Those blessed with magic should not have to die just because others are jealous of their power.

As your gaze roves from face to face, you see only weariness, fear, desolation. Aleksander had built a marvel of a world at the Little Palace, a place where all the Grisha could practice their gifts in safety. Alina claims she wants to make a better world for the Grisha, but look what she’s done. She ruined the best thing Ravkan Grisha had at peace.

You’ve almost finished scouring the captive Grisha when you notice one particular face stand out amongst the rest. It’s one you recognize, actually. It’s one you’ve been hoping to find for a while, both you and Aleksander.

You suck in a breath. “That’s– That’s Genya.”

Aleksander’s eyes harden. “It is.”

One stray glance his way and you already can guess at what he’s thinking. “We need to get her. Even if it costs us the rest. Genya can find David for us.”

Aleksander inclines his head once. “And David can fix me.”

You make a tsking sound in the back of your throat. “Men fix toys, not gods.”

He looks amused at that. “We are not gods, Y/N.”

“No,” you decide, “but we are the closest anyone will ever get to seeing them.”

Aleksander laughs, evidently pleased. “I missed your ferocity, my little soldier.”

You look at him askance. “You made me a member of your personal guard within two days of meeting me again, even before you knew it was me. I don’t know why you’re acting like this is the first time you’ve seen my ferocity in a while.”

You can just see the shadow of his smile under his hood. “And yet I still didn’t see enough of it. You left, as you might recall.”

“Yes,” you admit in a whisper, “but I came back.”

He takes your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “I know. You always do.”

It is a statement spoken in complete calm, no trace of malice or accusation. In your eyes, it is the final proof that he has forgiven you, just as you have in turn forgiven him. Like calls to like. The two of you were never meant to be separate for long. 

Aleksander turns his gaze towards the captive Grisha once more. The First Army soldiers are watching the Shadow Fold rumble ever closer, and you can feel the terror of the Grisha prick upon your skin like needles.

“Shall we deliver them from harm, then? Shall we take back what is ours?” He asks.

You nod once. This is it, then. From this point forward, there is no going back. Everything in the past was temporary, a step in the right direction without making enough of a scene to commit to your cause. When you save these Grisha, you’ll have enough to start making real changes, to find the people you truly need and hunt down those who have betrayed you. The war will be reborn.

.Aleksander raises his arms in time with yours. Shadow monsters of merzost stalk out of the Shadow Fold, sending the First Army fleeing. Those that run are only met with spells of your creation, which pierce through their hearts like daggers. In her cage, Genya Safin fearfully raises her head, expression changing from immediate terror to slow, dense horror. She knows what the dying soldiers do not:  this is only the beginning.

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In fact, you’ll be starting on that today. Although neither you nor Aleksander will truly know if Alina Starkov is alive until you lay eyes on her, the odds of her survival seem to be growing by the hour. Genya Safin hasn’t given up hope, you can tell that from one look at her. Then again, Genya believes a lot of things, and you’ve had reason to doubt where her true loyalties lie every day since you rescued her from the First Army. Genya says she believes Alina dead, but she says whatever will get her away from you whenever your paths cross.

Genya is lying to you, most likely. You can see it in her eyes whenever she looks at you or Aleksander, how the only thing she can identify in either of you is some horror beyond her comprehension. She’s not wrong to worry; you do want to kill her friends, if they’re still alive, and you will hurt her if she betrays you in anything other than thought. This is how change is made. Does the farmer think of the feelings of the stalks of wheat as he prowls through his fields with a scythe? No, only of the children he will feed with his bountiful crop.

So your motivations are different from hers, so you’ve had centuries longer than her to learn the consequences of letting your goals slip away from you. If you let the enemy get even one tenuous foothold over you, they’ll use it to choke you out. You want to shake her by the shoulders until she understands that. 

This is what happened to the Hellenids, can’t she see? A race of people blessed by your gods, and the rest of the world hunted them to extinction. There is no such thing as peaceful coexistence when the otkazat’sya hate Grisha to the point of burning them alive as witches. Either you establish yourself as enough of a threat that they dare not kill you, or you roll over and let them slaughter you in droves.

Genya does not comprehend the full extent of what generations of hatred can do to what seems like a prosperous society, however, and so she holds her breath and walks with light footsteps around you as if that will make the threat of your presence any less severe. It’s funny, the two of you talked quite frequently when you were still Y/N Stassov, former mapmaker and then-star oprichnik, but you suppose your transition from being Alina’s good friend to wanting her dead may have burned a bridge or two. In your defense, Alina stabbed you first.

Genya’s a false lead on information on Alina, then, and by extension, so is David. You found him not long after you saved her, and although you’re fairly certain that she’s been feeding him rumors on how you and Aleksander are utter monsters, he’s still here within the bounds of your camp, so there’s not a whole lot they can do to damage your movement. Not yet, at least.

What motivates you to believe that Alina may still be alive comes from Aleksander himself. He’s been having visions lately, brief snippets of scenes that solidified into real experiences. He sees her, he tells you. He sees her in places she should not be, with people he does not recognize. He could be mad, or, far better, David’s connection could still be fragile and present. She could actually be there.

The first thought you had upon hearing of his visions is that you wish your mother was still alive. It is something you have repeated to yourself several hundred times since she was murdered, but it remains true nonetheless. Hecate was a gifted witch, and who better than the goddess of magic to help you understand the relationship between Aleksander’s visions and the truth of what is happening to Alina at this very moment?

You have no doubt that were she here, Hecate would be able to reforge the connection in a heartbeat, strengthen the visions until Aleksander could appear by her side whenever he pleased. However, your mother is a ghost to you now, out of your reach until you cross the Styx for good and choose death over life once and for all. The only one who can help you with magic is yourself.

You do your best to confirm Aleksander’s rumors, but seeing as you are not the one with the stag’s connection, you can only pick up when his mind is briefly torn between locations, not what he’s seeing nor if they are real. The only thing you can do is seek out the other end of the connection. You have to find Alina.

Aleksander took a while to accept this when you first brought up the idea to him. He argued that both of you going on a wild goose chase to hunt down the Sun Summoner would risk the safety of your recovered Grisha. The answer is that only one of you can go, and seeing as Aleksander is the one who has known these Grisha the longest, you suggested that he stay here while you seek out Alina.

He had not liked that either. Whenever the two of you part ways, you have a habit of running away from him for anywhere between weeks to centuries. You had laughed when he mentioned that, and swore that you no longer wanted to be separated. Loneliness doesn’t suit you, nor him. At the end of the day, he agreed to let you go, but only after making you swear that you would hurry back as soon as possible.

Your scouting trip begins the next morning at dawn. Aleksander’s vision involved glimpses of the sea and churning waves, so you travel to the coast, borrow a boat from a First Army shipyard, and take off. You begin a tracking spell to scour the open seas for Alina’s craft. You watch ribbons of emerald magic soar from the bow of your ship, scattering in all directions in search of the Sun Summoner. Hopefully, they’ll get back to you soon, and then you can report back to Aleksander with the truth of her health or a dead body. Either works for you, you just need certainty.

As you travel farther from the Ravkan shore, however, the skies begin to darken, the wind kicking up with an almost unusual speed. Storms aren’t uncommon on the sea, but it is strange how soon this one descends upon you. You’ve had your fair share of seafaring time in all your centuries, having spent a good few years charting destinations from nation to nation as you reinvented life after life. You’ve seen storms. This one is unnatural.

Lightning flashes, a wave crashes over the railing of your ship and suddenly, you are not alone. The sky lightens enough for you to make out a silhouette standing on the deck, a figure where there had been empty wood before. You raise your hands in preparation to cast a spell as you realize just what it is.

There is a man on the ship. A man, but somehow not, translucent like a spray of water frozen in a human form. He looks at you, and you realize with a shuddering breath that you know him. This is Poseidon, god of the sea, and he died decades before your mother.

Yet here he stands before you now, perhaps not in corporeal flesh but still here, a spirit attached to a physical form. This should not be possible, but your eyes do not deceive you.

You incline your head quickly. “Lord Poseidon.” It may have been years since you have greeted a god, but that does not mean they will be any less willing to overlook the normal respects paid to immortals.

Eyes still fixed on the boards of your ship, you flinch when you hear him speak. It is his voice, the memory of it still lingers in your head even if distorted through water and sea foam. It rattles against your temples, trying to force its way into your mind like a spell. “Rise, child.”

You hesitantly raise your gaze, but Poseidon remains there nonetheless, refusing to vanish like a mirage into the waves around you. “How are you here?” You gasp out.

His gaze hardens. Poseidon was one of the eldest gods; you had forgotten what it was like to be so close to that much power. In one flash of his eyes, you can feel a tidal wave building strong enough to wipe out a city, an earthquake capable of cleaving the very ground in two. “You wished us gone forever, did you not? We have been trying to reach you for quite some time, daughter of Hecate. You refuse to listen to us.”

You shake your head slowly. “I mourned you. All of you. I prayed for you to come back, and you did not answer me then. I am making a new world, one that will not kill its heroes like it murdered you. Why would any of you have a problem with that?”

Poseidon stalks forward, dark brows furrowing. His visage is stony, as if cut from the very abyss of the ocean itself. He frightened you as a child, you remember hiding behind your mother whenever he came to pay a visit. He still has that effect on you now, but this time, you keep your back straight and eyes locked on his.

“You go about this the wrong way,” he spits. “You make a monster of yourself. All of the Hellenids are kept in place by you. Our memory rests on your shoulders. We wanted a hero, daughter of Hecate, someone to finally bury our legacy with all the glory we deserve. You are letting that son of darkness twist your mind.”

Your hands curl into fists by your sides. “You have no right to question my judgment. You died, all of you, because you stuck to the old ways. Maybe I’ve changed, but it’s what’s keeping me alive. If you wanted a better hero, you should have survived long enough to keep them safe.”

Posideon glares, great and terrible god. “You would do well to heed our warnings, Hecari. Even ghosts have power. Remember this.”

He raises his arm, and the entire sea comes to life around him. You watch with horrified eyes as the waves grow at a breakneck pace, reaching up so high you think they might drench the sun itself. All at once, they come crashing down towards you, an entire sea of water plummeting right on top of your ship. Your eyes close just before the water hits you, and the darkness swallows you whole.

It takes a while to open your eyes. Consciousness comes back slowly, running out before you like an athlete in a contest. You realize that you are lying down, and when you are able to carefully raise your eyelids, you recognize the scene around you as your room in Aleksander’s base. You have no memory of making it back from your ship to this place. In fact, you have no memory of surviving Poseidon’s message.

You look to your side and see Aleksander seated there, hands clasped as if in a prayer. You want to tell him that it is not worth the effort, but he seems too relieved that you’re alive to care about the nuances of trying to properly reach the gods.

He reaches out to take your hand. “How do you feel?”

You swallow to clear your salt-dry throat before speaking. “Fine. What happened?”

Aleksander sighs. “That’s exactly what I would like to know. My scouts found your ship a matter of hours after you took off. They say you were lying on the deck, completely unconscious and unresponsive to their attempts to wake you. They thought you dead. So did I.”

You can imagine that scene quite well. Aleksander in his study, already worrying about whether or not you would come back to him, only for his scouts to race in with a story of finding your fallen body. It would not go over well for anyone involved.

“So they brought me back, then,” you murmur, “that does clear a few things up.”

His grip tightens on your hand, but he forces himself to relax. “What did you see out there? Did she do this to you?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. No, not Alina. It was–” Your voice cuts off painfully, and it takes a few moments to regain your strength enough to continue. “I saw him. I saw Posideon. He spoke to me.”

Aleksander’s brow furrows. “Impossible. Your gods are dead. They cannot reach us.”

You let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I know. That’s what I thought all this time, but I know what I saw. He was there, Aleksander. He was there, and he warned me that if I stuck to this path, I would risk the wrath of the gods.”

Aleksander seems just as confused as you are. “Why would he care? He abandoned you in death.”

“The Hellenids are a dead race,” you answer him. “They get their strength from memory, their power from their permanence in the cultural consciousness. If I ruin their legacy by making the streets run red with otkazat’sya blood, their image is tainted. That impacts how they live out their afterlife in the Underworld. It permanently alters their spirits.”

Aleksander’s voice is a low growl. “They shouldn’t have died, then.”

A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “That’s what I told him, actually, but he didn’t take to that all too well.”

Aleksander glances at your interlocked hands, then back at you. “Forget him. If all Poseidon can do is issue threats from the Underworld, there is nothing he can do to stop you. We are remaking the world, my love. We are changing the progression of fate. We are better than your gods.”

“That we are,” you decide. “He can only offer advice. We will keep going. If he tried to stop me, it means Alina truly is somewhere out there and he was trying to hide her existence from me. We can train our troops, pursue your visions. Has David made any progress?”

Something dark flashes across Aleksander’s face, and you frown. “Has something happened?”

“David’s gone,” Aleksander mutters through gritted teeth, “He waited until you had left and tried to run. Genya led him out.”

Your eyes briefly flicker shut with disappointment. Genya had been smart to wait until she sensed a weakness to launch her escape. If both you and Aleksander had been present, there was no chance she could leave; there would always be at least one of you close by to keep an eye on them. With you gone and Aleksander subsequently distracted, of course she would seize the opportunity to make a move. 

You just regret that David was lost in the process. Although the Durast’s attempts at limiting the extent of Aleksander’s pain had been minimal at best, he was still a brilliant man, and you can only assume that he’s now in the hands of the enemy. You can tell by the newly darkened black lines cracked into Aleksander’s hands, as well as the faint residue of blood on the front of his kefta, that Genya has been subsequently punished.

Punishment will not bring David back, however, nor will it stop the rest of your rescued Grisha from noticing that perhaps the sense of loyalty amongst your soldiers is not at its strongest. Hope is a dangerous thing during a war, you’ve learned, too little of it could cause a hundred men to lose to as few as ten. You need your troops to rally their spirits, to believe in their leaders more than ever before.

You and Aleksander launch a few new assaults on First Army men, bringing in even more refugee Grisha than before. The numbers swell, the attitude at your base improves. That's all you can do for now. It takes everything in you to keep it together. You saw Posideon. You saw Poseidon. He should be dead. He is dead. Yet he appeared to you anyway, and with a warning no less. The gods do not like to be ignored. This is not something that you can shake all that easily.

Yet shake it you must. Your war is picking up steam now, a fierce wildfire unable to be put out. There is no stopping this, only shaping it, and you refuse to call it all off now. If you could not save your people, at least you can save Aleksander’s. The Grisha deserve a world that will protect them. If you must snuff out some of the nonbelievers, well, every war has its costs. This is yours.

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—

Chained in a small room, where the damp walls lingered of last night’s rain, loud sounds of hustles during the day from the streets below and sound at night, the only source of light being the sun through the high awing window during the day and the dim streetlight during the night. It was certainly not the experience y/n would’ve thought of receiving after returning home for the first time in several years.

All those inconveniences were far too distant for y/n to wrap her head around as she sat in that room, a hostage or a leverage is what it felt like by the means of it. She was excluded from the politics and every crime they indulged with at ketterdam by her brother Kaz. Not meant for you. She remembered his words exactly when years ago he sent her off to little palace, you’re grisha. You belong here.

For a while she had hated Kaz for sending her away, she’d only ever known her home to be ketterdam. However criminal, rough or shabby it may be the streets and the clubs were the only home she knew at that time. Y/n was Kaz’s responsibility, never had there been a incident where his sister’s life was in-convinced or nearly but he did not want to wait for such to arise. The bastard of the barrel had many enemies he could not let his sister get in the middle of a crossfire. He did what he had felt right at that time, over the years y/n got over being sent away across the fold. She understood her brother’s position and ketterdam’s circumstances. Kaz never mentioned it but y/n had known he truly cared for her, she would write him and the crows letters time to time. Leaving out a certain details, keeping some.

With time y/n had found a home at the little palace like she had back in ketterdam. It wasn’t the place or four walls that make a place a home, it’s the people. Y/n had found a handful of people and also a certain someone. At first it was secret glances, coming across one another in libraries, the slight nods of acknowledgement led to sharing books after a while, which led to clandestine meetings and one thing after another requited lovers. A term so heavy in the beginning, all while y/n tried to convince herself it isn’t more than a summer fling—yet Aleksander was a passionate, intense lover. Y/n would wrestle in her mind on exactly what they were however their relationship wasn’t ever a grey area to Aleksander. He’d find himself smiling when he was with her, her ever so familiar embrace, after all these years the one person he felt like not hiding from. After he told her everything to his surprise she did not turn away, she looked at him the same.

It was a foreign reaction to him, showing his true self and remain the same in someone’s eyes. After years and years of slanders and hatred on your name you believe yourself to be ignorant to them however a little bit of hope lingers…maybe someone might accept you. Someone who’d see you past what your hands had done, Aleksander had found that someone in y/n.

Leading out his hand for y/n to take he helped her get off her saddle on the horse “My love” he spoke smiling and held her close as he guided her into the meadow, they’d ridden quite farther into the sunset from little palace to get to the place Aleksander had arranged for them.

“Can you now at least tell me what is it you’ve planned?” Y/n said clinging ahead of his arm tilting her head.

“You are just about to see it, be patient!” Aleksander exclaimed intertwining her fingers with his as he walked with her, the meadow led to a small mat amongst the short of the grass and a tiny basket that overlooked the sunset.

“Aleksander…” Y/n gasped softly and looked back at him “You did this?” She asked quite puzzled, he was a hugely passionate and dedicated loved yet big romantic gestures weren’t exactly his thing.

“Of course!” He replied with a grin, he was quite proud with himself that she liked it enough given it took him a lot of thinking behind this.

“Did you perhaps take a few suggestions from Ivan?” Y/n asked as they sat by the mat together, she was quick to join the dots.

“Hmm? Not sure what gave you that idea my love…” his voice trailed off, she was partially right. A conversation with Ivan did lead to this but the initiative was his own.

“Right…” She spoke raising a brow at him as he confessed eventually.

“Alright alright…I did have a conversation with Ivan about this I just wanted you to-“

“Well I love it.” y/n spoke interrupting him mid sentence “Truly, I do. It’s the gesture the counts after all.”

Aleksander couldn’t help but mirror her smile, she simply had that effect. He pulled her close to him by her waist and she settled herself by his lap wrapping her arms around his neck “Though I wonder how you know I asked Ivan?” Aleksander asked her securing his arms around her.

“Well if you must know I’m a part of the gossip-about-the-husbands council with Fedyor—well I’m an exception but I hear things” she giggled finishing her sentences, which left Aleksander amused if she talked about him in certain conversations.

“Would you like to change that?” He asked fixing the loose strand of her hair by tucking it behind her ear affectionately.

“Why would I want that? I very much so enjoy the council!” She replied shrugging with a chuckle.

“That is not what I meant…” his voice trailed off “I meant would you like to stop being an exception at your precious council?”

For a moment Y/n was taken aback thinking if he was actually hinting what she thought he was “As in…marriage?” She asked.

“Yes.” He replied. “Marry me.” Aleksander said and he sounded so sure y/n just stared at him blankly “I mean it. Marry me, y/n brekker. I have forever with you and I just don’t want to let go off any of it..” he said, the forever was something they’d talked about prior when Aleksander told her about what he had one. There was a way for her to live out his days the same as him and she had agreed to that. “Wear my colour, take my name, we’ll get your brother from ketterdam-your friends…it’d be so grand. I want that for us.”

“Aleksander…” y/n exhaled holding the side of his face gently as he put his hand on top of hers “I want to marry you. I do. It’s not even a massive step now that we have forever with one another…I just don’t want us to rush it.”

“It isn’t rushing it I’ve known you for four winters now and I have thought about it my love—you are the one. I don’t want to spend one more winter or summer or any season or any day where you’re not mine.” Aleksander replied firmly as she shrugged leaning to the side out of his arms, exhaling as she let herself lay by the mat.

“No that is not what I meant…I am yours. Forever yours. I don’t mind marrying you either I’d be more than elated to get married just tomorrow in a nightgown. But I would like for us to be…this. Whatever this is for a little while. We have each other forever, in that fraction four winters isn’t much of time.” She continued as Aleksander leaned forward to her face as she lied on the mat but he had his arm supporting his head so he could see her face and be close at the same time “Think about it…many years from today when we would talk about our first meetings—the sentences that begin with ‘before our marriage’ this is that phase. I simply want to cherish it just a bit longer!”

Aleksander couldn’t help but smile widely as she explained that, she had such a beautiful thought behind their forever. “You are a hopeless romantic aren't you?” He spoke placing a soft peck on her lips.

“Could you blame a girl?”

“I gather you are right…we could wait-it’s not as if I am dying to be a topic of conversation at the husband’s council nor am I ever leaving you” He joked corking a brow.

“Never?” Y/n questioned attempting to tease him.

“Even if the saints come down themselves.” He assured her firmly.

“I will hold you to that” She spoke as he replied her with a kiss on the lips as it lingered lower to her neck, his beard tickling her there causing her to bust into laughter such joyous times and promises.

Thinking about it now y/n couldn’t help but be enraged ‘never’ and to assume his never would’ve included him not dying on her. She knew she would get out of whatever place she was at right now, she knew Kaz would get her. Her brother always did. She had unwavering faith in him but with everything that happened in a span of mere days everything was so difficult to process, get over. She hadn’t told Kaz about her relationship with Aleksander, in her letters she would leave that out. Now there wasn’t a point telling him either ways Aleksander had left her, he had died. Kaz had y/n return with him to ketterdam the moment they’d realised what the sun summoner was in for. Kaz was not to leave his sister amongst the radius of someone like that, had only he know. Y/n did not know what things would escalate to when she got on that ship. By the time she got out, the general was announced dead, the crows set route for ketterdam and there she was. The weight of the chains, cuts on her face, the punches and wound by the rough hands of pekka’s men hurt her far less than the painful reality of Aleksander leaving her. It was excruciating and it was unfair.

—

“And?” Kaz spoke raising a brow as Jesper hurried inside, he Jesper and Inej along himself look for y/n almost all of ketterdam.

“No trace of her.” Jesper said catching her breath and so did Inej as she shook her head.

“It is difficult to check all places within ketterdam with the patrol out for us but so far she isn’t anywhere.” Inej added. “She hasn’t been to the city in years, even with your relation there aren’t many who would recognise her—this has to be leverage scenario”

“Pekka.” Kaz spoke through gritted teeth, the only person who could be so resourceful as to kidnap the only other brekker he could get his hands on “He has all the people who could identify y/n for him, he has the men, the place—the reason.”

“We will find her.” Inej said trying to reassure him, for most matters Kaz did have his people go to extreme lengths for money but nobody had ever seen Kaz do so for his own blood. It was different, Kaz was hurried and tense and even more so stressed. Anyone would be Inej didn’t even have to put herself in his shoes this time.

“The heartrender. Find one.” Kaz reminded them with more instructions for next meet and the look out for y/n before they parted ways.

—

HIIII let me know if you want to be tagged in this <33

Drink water best friend 🕺

Candles flicker around you, illuminating your dark corner of the library as moonlight seeps in through the large glass windows of the Little Palace. There's no one else there but you, providing the silence you always craved during the days when every part of the Little Palace is filled to the brim with Grisha, all of which argue with each other the second they get the chance to. You're particularly glad that it's your brother who has to deal with them and not you. When you reach a particularly interesting part of the book you're reading, the library doors slide open, barely making a sound. The only giveaway to knowing that someone else was coming in was the sound of footsteps - heavy ones, followed by significantly lighter ones. You cast your gaze up, eyes catching the people approaching. "Brother," you say, feigning a smile. "What do you need this time?" Your brother, more commonly known as the Darkling, strides over, standing straight before you. "Sister," he says, voice tight. "I need you to teach our Sun Summoner about Grisha history - it seems that she's not as caught up as we need her to be." Your eyes dart over to the figure next to your brother. You haven't personally met the Sun Summoner before, she had only just arrived a few days ago, but you've seen her from a distance and heard her name in the Grisha gossip during the day. She's around your age (or, at least, how old you look) with long brown hair and sunken brown eyes. Her skin is sallow as if she hasn't eaten and slept enough, and she seems absolutely drained but there's something about her that draws your attention, though you're not sure what, "At this time?" you ask. "It's almost midnight." Your brother's grey eyes darken - it isn't a request, it's an order. Unfortunately for him, you don't take orders. "I'll do it in the morning," you negotiate. "She looks like she's about to drop down dead and I was about to head to bed." You stand from your chair, rising to the same height as the Darkling, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. This is how things always went and, luckily for you, you always have a knack for winning - a knack for winning arguments, which is why your more diplomatic brother took charge. "Fine," he says, relenting. Then, he looks to the Sun Summoner and gives her a glimpse of a smile. "Alina, this is my sister, y/n. As you might have guessed, she'll be teaching you Grisha history. Y/n, this is Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner." I gathered that, you think, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Alina manages to smile at you, tugging at the sleeves of her blue kefta. "I must get going," your brother says. "Goodnight, Alina. Goodnight, y/n." Then, he turns on his heel and makes his way out of the large library. There's a moment of silence before Alina speaks. "I didn't realise the Darkling has a sister," she says, voice smooth like honey. "No one does," you say, tucking your book back into the slot you keep it in. "I'm not really a point of interest. I got banned from assisting in anything; he's more diplomatic, but sometimes you need a good argument to get your point across. Honestly, I couldn't care less, and at least he gets the backlash for the Fold and not me." It's well-deserved, too. "But he didn't create it," Alina says, brows furrowing. "The Black Heretic did, centuries ago." It's a hard task keeping your mouth shut, but it's not the right time to say anything. Let her go to Bahgra, first, you decide. Then I can talk to Bahgra and decide the best way to go about this. "Can I give you a little advice?" Alina nods. "Don't trust anyone, not even yourself." "Not even you?" Alina's brow quirks. "Or your brother?" "Especially not us." From the glint in her eyes, you can tell she thinks that you're playing with her. You're not. You're far from doing that. "I'll walk you to your room," you say, "and I'll get Genya to fetch you in the morning." -- The next few days are spent doing as your brother demanded and helping Alina in her studies of past Grisha and Saints, of which she already knew a little bit from her

You hated that you'd been forced to take a name that wasn't yours. That you could never address the Darking as father. You hated that you could only conjure your shadows in the hidden depths of your room. Saints! You often wished you could Cut them where they stood. When they snickered as you left your lessons with Baghra. "Anything yet?" Cynthia would ask, a mocking grin on her lips. You'd only force a smile. "Not quite. The Darkling hasn't been wrong about anyone before. We shouldn't start distrust now."

I could ruin you all, you'd thought over and over again. I could be the ruin of everything if I wished.

You didn't want that. You wanted peace. You wanted a home where you didn't have to hide who you were.

You knew you couldn't get that at Little Palace with your father. Each time you brought it up, he told you to wait.

You were tired of waiting.

Since you were thirteen, you often dreamed of getting a horse from the stables and running until your father came, telling you that you could use the Small Science all you wished if you just returned with him. You weren't sure why you hadn't.

The fear of drüskelle? The fear of the Darkling refusing to search? Or the Shu Han that would cut you open and pry into your core to discover the secrets you hid?

You could dream all you wished.

It never changed the fact that you were far too cowardly.

So you waited as long as your father wished. You waited until you could wipe the sneers and smirks off their face.

The time came with Baghra.

Her steps were quick, the door opening and closing before you could blink. Where music had once wafted into the room, it was now quiet. Baghra only moves to your closet. "Come now, child. We don't have much time,"

You stood from your padded seat, smoothing your shirt with nervous hands. "What are you doing here?"

Baghra grabbed your boots and cloak. She moved to the vanity, throwing jewelry, hairpins, and the brush into a bag. "You must go. Leave with the Sun Summoner. I've spared you enough time to leave before the Darkling notices you've gone,"

"Why would I leave?"

It was something you constantly asked yourself. Even if you were tormented and treated lesser, you were safe. You just had to bide your time. You had to wait until Alina was ready. Until you, your father, and Alina could destroy the Shadow Fold. Then, Shadow Summoners wouldn't be feared.

She places her hands on your shoulders. "I should've got you out sooner. I should've sent you away when he learned of your existence. I should've sent a warning to your mother," Baghra shakes her head. Remorse and anger swirl in her eyes. "You and the girl have to hurry. He's found the stag. None of you will be safe,"

Delight welled in you. "He found the stag? That's amazing news, Baghra! All he needs to do is give it to Alina and we'll be closer to destroying the Fold—"

"You don't understand. I can't blame you for this. I thought we had more time. I thought the stag would stay hidden. Leave Little Palace behind, Y/n. Get a chance at freedom,"

Her claw-like grip tightens. "He never planned on destroying the Fold. He was going to use the both of you for more power. Why do you think he hid you? Why he refuses to let anyone know about the Small Science you practice?"

"To protect me—"

"To protect his way to power. If I'm wrong, nothing will come from this. If I'm right, then you'll be free. Go, Y/n. You don't have much time,"

Time seemed to freeze the moment you left your room. Candles still blazed, their pumpkin and vanilla scent hanging.

The bag of valuables and enough to get where you planned to go hit your side under your cloak. Baghra insisted you not tell her where you were going. She hadn't trusted her son not to get it out of her.

In a dark hallway, Alina waited. She lets out a sigh of relief, the tension creasing her forehead and eyes vanishing. "I was worried," She says. She grabs your hand, leaning you to the carriage she deemed worthy. "They'll come for us. We just need to be gone before they get started,"

"We'd need to get across the Fold. If we book passage, they won't expect it. They'll search on this side before they even consider one incompetent Grisha and one who just learned their powers made it. Have you ever been?" You hadn't. You could hardly remember a time you left Little Palace. You'd spent hours in the surrounding fields on the white mare you were gifted. All you needed was a horse. If you managed one, you were home free.

Alina watched as you climbed into the trunk. She followed. "I never made it across. Inside the Fold, yes," You remembered the whispers upon her arrival. The tales that had seemed far-fetched. It was more than a tight squeeze. Alina lied haphazardly on you, body digging painfully into yours. She whispered apologies, each met with an acceptance until you shushed her.

"Did you trust him?" You asked. You didn't understand the relationship between your father and Alina. You hadn't wanted to. Before, you'd just felt jealous and bitter. Alina wasn't much older than you. What did she have that you didn't? Dancing sunlight? You were both night and shadows. You were power.

"Yes," Alina sounded tired. Hurt. "I won't make that mistake again," You chewed on your lip. You were sick of the lies. "He's my father," Alina tenses wholly. She sucks in a breath. "I know. You — besides Baghra and my mother in her unmarked grave — are the only one who knows. If we survive this, I don't want it to be built on lies. I want— I want what Baghra said. I want to be free,"

Something flickers in Alina's eyes. "You're... You're a Shadow Summoner, aren't you?" For the first time in your life, you nodded. Your chest twisted painfully, heart slamming in your chest.

"We don't need him to destroy the Fold," Alina whispered. Your heart skipped as the carriage began to roll. "Just you and I,"

"Just you and I, Alina,"

It was both promise and a threat.

You and Alina were going to change the world.

Grisha and Otkazat'sya alike made efforts to befriend you, or to make themselves known to you at the very least; and though you knew some were genuinely curious and wished to form sincere bonds, you had simply had enough of it all.

The novelty of coming to the little palace, of trying new things and meeting new people, of discovering you were a grisha- and the sun summoner at that… well it had all worn off, very quickly.

You could see just how corrupt and competitive this environment was, and it made you long for the campsite you had once grumbled about. You had been hungry and dirty, cold to the bone most nights with the same clothes, and the same routine day in and day out.

It had been scary, you were nothing more than a mapmaker, unimportant and expendable to everyone you crossed paths with… everyone but one individual, that is.

Mal.

You furiously wiped at the tears building up in your eyes as you blindly turned this way and that in your bid to navigate the maze like structure of the palace, all without being spotted.

You missed him, more than words could describe. He’d been by your side for as long as you could remember. You’d give anything to have him with you now, with that dumb smile and the spark in his eye that never seemed to dim no matter the circumstance.

He’d know what to do, what to say, and even if he didn’t; yous would figure it out together, like you always had. You’d never felt more alone in your life.

You thought it was for the best, coming here… you’d gotten swept up in the whole idea of being the sun summoner and now that you had this life you wanted nothing more than to get out of it.

You felt stuck, trapped, lost…

Where could you go that they wouldn’t dare to follow, somewhere out of bounds, somewhere they wouldn’t think-

One place popped to mind. And it sent a spark of hope mixed with disdain. There was one person in this godforsaken place that people both feared and respected too much to bother; the Darkling.

Though you were loath to admit it, the current bane in your life may well be of use. They wouldn’t disturb him. Wouldn’t dare to intrude on him, and if they did, no one would dream of outstaying their welcome. You just had to find him.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you slow your breathing and strain your hearing, hoping beyond everything that you hadn’t just heard what you think you did.

However, your hopes were dashed moments later at the sound of swift muffled footsteps, that most certainly weren’t your own.

“My lady!?”

And with those two words spoken loudly in a deep timber, you were off like a shot, Darkling momentarily shoved to the back of your mind you wind yourself down corridor after corridor, up a few flights of stairs and past countless doors in a seemingly fruitless attempt to lose your pursuers.

Though not a few minutes later, you once again come to a halt hearing another voice, this one more feminine and much closer than the first. And a fair few more footsteps than before.

Upon realising that people were coming down the corridor towards you, you desperately reach of the door behind you, barely having half a mind to ensure you were as quiet as you could be in opening and closing the door behind you.

Eyes shut as you lean against the door and take in a deep breath, you take a few seconds to collect yourself. Willing your pounding heart to calm itself lest they hear you through the thick wood currently supporting you.

Leaning your head back, you lean it against the solid surface, taking comfort in the barrier shutting you away from the world.

You eyes flutter open after a minute, before widening at the sight before you. You could feel yourself blanching. Thinking it and experiencing it was two different things.

You’re greeted with the sight of none other than the Darkling stood before you, looking proud and regal in his ebony robes.

You stare at each other silently for what feels like an eternity, the sound of voices and footsteps coming and going as your hunting party pass without investigation.

Well you’d found him atleast, and managed to dodge the overbearing presence of those searching for you. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to celebrate this small victory.

You’re anxiety had spiked since the moment his eyes landed on you, and you were once again reminded of how powerful his presence truly was. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say.

Though this had been your aim, you couldn’t help but with that you had missed.

Here you now stood, effectively locked in a room with the personification of darkness himself. This man, though you were loath to admit it, had an effect on you. One that, quite frankly, scared you.

He invoked fear in so many, and you couldn’t help but be affected by the strength of his presence..

Attempting to distract yourself your eyes quickly scan your surroundings. You’d taken refuge in what appeared to be a private study.

You were surprised to see that for a room within the little palace, it wasn’t half as grand in size as the others. Shelves filled with dozens of books, scrolls and trinkets lined the left wall, whilst the right held a lit fireplace and a few pictures of distant lands you couldn’t pinpoint.

Other than the fireplace, the room had no light sources lit, however the late after noon sun spilled through the large bay window before you with the last of its strength.

A desk stood proudly at the centre of the room atop a dark red rug, a chair on either side and covered in organised piles of paper and what looked to be a map. Whilst behind it, stood the man who had haunted your dreams.

Seemingly done with the silence between yous, Aleksander is the first to break it.

“How rare it is for you to seek me out,” his eyes narrowed in your direction, though it wasn’t with bad intent, but rather the way one would look at a puzzle.

You could see his sharp mind working to put the pieces together as he leisurely made his way around the table between you both.

Your hackles raise at his approach, and you straighten yourself up.

“In fact,” he continues with a honeyed tone as he comes to a stop in front of the desk, leaning against the surface behind him as he crosses his arms over his chest, the picture of ease.

You likened him to a big cat, powerful and striking, so sure and languid in their confidence. You felt like a mouse under his piercing gaze.

“I do believe this is the first time you’ve done so, if my memory serves right… might I ask, what has brought this on?” His curiosity was evident in not only his tone but his expression. There was a softness to both, you notice.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t affected by this man, he was handsome, and charming, dangerously so. He was softly spoken, something you had quickly picked up and knew to be a tactic to lure people in to listen to him. To give a false sense of security you thought to yourself.

Mentally shaking yourself from your tangent, you lick your lips, a nervous habit, and offered honestly, “I just, wanted some peace…”

It wasn’t a lie; you wanted some space, you needed it. Since arriving at the little palace you had had an entourage of guards and grisha alike following you everywhere.

Some you knew merely wished to get to know you, to find out more about the sun summoner, but others you suspected had ulterior motives. And the guards, well… you knew many were allocated to you in order to spy and snoop.

The whole thing was exhausting, both physically and mentally and you had long since grown tired of it all. You’re broken once again from your reverie at the sound of a smooth voice luring your attention to the man before you.

“You sought me out, for peace?” You notice he sounded a little breathless, as though he couldn’t quite believe as to whether or not he had heard you correctly.

‘Ironically enough…’ you think silently to yourself.

Though out loud you found yourself half heartedly offering, “you seemed like my best bet.”

Huffing a laugh under his breath, you can’t help but notice the smile upon his face. You certainly seemed to have amused him that.

“You’re best bet…” he mumbled more to himself you thought, though not a second later, louder this time for you to hear, he added, “if you don’t mind me asking, what is it exactly your seeking peace from? Or should I ask, whom?”

As the question left his lips, you noticed how he leaned towards you slightly, eagerly awaiting your answer. You considered a sarcastic comment, though part of you encouraged holding your tongue.

You did come in here seeking sanctuary after all, and he was, very ironically enough, your best chance for a bit or peace and quiet.

Glancing back towards the door, you note the silence outside. The constant chatter and footsteps were long gone, it was almost as though you’d stepped into a different world for the time being.

Resigning yourself to playing nice, you instead offer, “a little bit of everything, truth be told.”

As you turn your gaze and attention back to the man before you, your stunned for a minute to see a warmth in his eyes as he gazed at you softly.

It was an understanding look, and for a second, you forgot just who you were standing across from.

“I see, well if that’s the case, you’re more than welcome to seek refuge in here, for as long as you’d like.”

Your ears peek at his words, and you kick yourself mentally for the relief and excitement that washed over you.

Before you could berate yourself, you focus on him once again as he pushes himself from the desk, coming to stand to his full height.

His arms fall from their place crossed over his chest, and he moves to pull out the chair beside him, motioning towards it as he does so.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” The smile on his face was genuine, though that didn’t stop you from narrowing your eyes in his direction.

You considered for a minute, that you may have given him an advantage in this game of cat and mouse between yous.

Picking up on your hesitance, unbeknownst you you, he racks his mind for some incentive, and not a second later a bulb lights within his mind.

Leaning against the chair, both nada on the back, he offers.

“Feel free to read any of the books on the shelves; you’ll find a variety of genres, from history, and languages, art and geography,”

As the words left his lips, your eyes flick towards the shelves you’d clocked earlier, the offer becoming more tempting by the minute. You loved reading, always had.

You loved story books especially, they offered a distraction in the world, however, you were also partial to anything that offered you an advantage; after all, knowledge is power.

You eye him suspiciously, and he only smirks at you in turn as he stands once again to his full height and makes his way back towards his chair.

“What’s mine is yours, I’m sure you’ll find something to suit your tastes.” Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the implication of is words. You were no fool, you knew what he wanted fro you, and you knew when to was between the lines.

Quickly wafting at the butterflies in your belly, you huff a humourless laugh, “we’ll see about that.”

His lips pull into a grin as he finally sits down, and you take this as your opportunity to eye the shelves.

You spot a book ominously titled; The Fold, and decide that that would have to do.

You felt like he was testing you, watching and waiting, and the thought unsettled you. Although you had walked into this situation, you didn’t like standing out in the open, especially with your back to him longer than needed. Even if he was sitting down.

Gently sliding the book from its slot, you turn to make your way to the chair he had pulled out for you, and you found relief in the observation that his attention was on some paperwork before him.

As long as it stayed there and not on you, you could handle this.

You sink comfortably into the chair, not looking at him as you do so; you came for peace, and peace you would have.

You cradle the leather bound book tenderly in your hands, fingers tracing over the cursive writing sprawled upon the front of the page; The Fold.

Nothing else, short and to the point you supposed.

Opening the book, you decided to try and lose yourself in the pages, and it wasn’t long before you did just that. It was more interesting than you had originally anticipated.

The first few chapter had offered somewhat of a history lesson on the fold itself, but the later chapters delved into the myths and legends of the Shadow Fold.

You were so entranced in the stories, that you didn’t even notice that you were being watched.

Across from you, Aleksander watched as you eyes the pages in awe, drinking in every detail on the pages before you.

At some point, you had tucked your legs beneath you, only then did he really notice that you hadn’t been wearing any shoes. You still held the book tenderly, close to you in a way that had him feeling envious of a book of all things.

He’d angled the chair in such a way that the firelight would offer you enough illumination to read, though that was something you’d also missed.

He’d never seen you like this, so relaxed and comfortable, especially in his presence, and he found himself wanting more of these moments.

Having you sitting in his private study with him, both of you doing your own thing, invoked feelings he couldn’t quite place. He only knew he wanted more.

You’d come to him seeking peace, and peace you’d have.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story, I hope you enjoyed!

Love,

Acatalepsy xx

@band--psycho

She leaves her quarters soon enough, turning up the fur-lined collar of her kefta to ward off the night chill. Few Grisha are out at such a late hour, and fewer still care to be caught by someone like Zoya, so her path is relatively uninterrupted.

Nikolai is waiting for her in the War Room as promised, leaning over the massive table in the center so he can stare at the diagrams littered across the surface. Ravka has been at war at all fronts, it seems, for far too long. Fjerda is the most aggressive foe by far, but anyone with half an inkling as to what’s going on would know that the Shu Han would snap at any Ravkan weakness if given the chance.

No wonder the Lantsov king looks so strained, Zoya thinks, he’s been burning the midnight oil for weeks in the hopes of finding a peaceful solution that will never come his way. Even now, when she knocks at the open door, the wrinkles in his brow refuse to leave upon sight of someone else intruding on his hour of study.

Nikolai still tries for a grin, though, same as he always does. “Wonderful to see you, Zoya. I hope I haven’t interrupted you from something too important.”

Zoya walks over to the scroll open before Nikolai, the latest intel as to the positions of Fjerdan troops. “Oh, just the usual stalking about and glaring at people. What’s gone wrong now?”

Nikolai laughs tiredly. “Always the pessimism. I suppose I’ll miss your giddy conversation over the next few weeks.”

Zoya’s head rises sharply. “You’re leaving for the front lines again?”

It feels like he just left. A king isn’t supposed to be so close to actual combat for fear of losing him, but Nikolai must spend half as many of his days off visiting with officers and troops as inside the gates of Os Alta.

“You’re leaving for the front lines,” Nikolai clarifies, “We’ve received word of a hostage situation. I had a spy coming back from Fjerda with some very important information on the state of enemy troops. Unfortunately, the Fjerdans also found out, and they’ve trapped our agent where our army can’t reach them.”

Zoya nods mechanically. “So you’re sending me to go into an obvious trap and get blown to bits so I can rescue this spy?”

Nikolai shakes his head. “I’m sending you because I know you’re not going to get blown to bits. I can’t guarantee that of anyone else. You know as well as I do that you’re the best there is, Zoya. If anyone can make it out, it’s you. Besides, as a precaution, you won’t be doing this alone.”

Zoya arches her brow. “Who’s going with me? A Heartrender, maybe?”

If she’s not kidding herself, Zoya swears that Nikolai almost smiles. “No, not a Heartrender. Actually, you know your partner quite well.”

Zoya narrows her eyes. “Who’s my partner, Nikolai?” Her tone is guarded, a warning sign to anyone who cares to hear it.

It is not Nikolai who answers her, however, it is a voice from the shadows behind her.

“That would be me.”

Zoya feels herself stiffen, and she slowly turns to face the Grisha waiting behind her. “Y/N L/N. What a pleasant surprise.”

True to her word, Y/N is waiting for her, looking most pleased with themselves. “Oh, I’ve never been known to be pleasant. You know that as well as I do, Zoya.”

Nikolai holds up a hand, although he’s smiling in earnest now. “There, there. Let’s not be too hasty with our expressions of malice. If you blow through all of your best insults now, you’ll have nothing to talk about on the journey over to the Fjerdan border.”

Zoya fixes him with her best grimace. “And you’re absolutely certain that the two of us being forced to work together is your best bet at rescuing your spy?”

Nikolai nods solemnly. “You two are the best Grisha I have. I trust you won’t let anything personal come in the way of this mission’s success?”

Zoya curtly affirms this sentence. Y/N just winks. This is going to be an insufferable couple of weeks.

As if able to read Zoya’s mind, Nikolai claps his hands together, straightening up from the table. “Well, I’m so glad we’ve been able to establish such strong mutual respect. How about I leave both of you to chat about mission specifics? I’ll take my leave to allow you some privacy, I think.”

Zoya glares at him. “I appreciate the effort, but seeing as I’m fairly sure you’re just going to listen in to our arguing from the other side of the door, you might as well just stay here.”

Nikolai grins shamelessly. “I’d never do such a thing. At least not after you’ve called me out on it, that is. See you two tomorrow?”

Zoya watches as the blond king leaves the room with spirits altogether far too high, then settles her dour stare on Y/N instead.

“I should call up a shield of air currents near the door,” she remarks, “I don’t particularly want to be overheard, as much as Nikolai claims otherwise.”

“No need,” Y/N says with a breezy grin, “I’ve already done it. I prefer to act instead of just talk.”

Zoya barely conceals an irritated groan. “Already, I can tell that we’re going to work together brilliantly. Just stay out of my way until this is over.”

Judging by Y/N’s slow grin, though, Zoya has a feeling that she won’t have as much luck with that. Indeed, from the very minute they leave Os Alta on the mission, they’re already at each other’s throats. Y/N and Zoya are both used to being the top of their field, and although it’s been easier to contain their animosity when they can avoid each other at the polar opposite sides of the Little Palace, they have no such freedom here.

The fact that they’re on such a doomed mission lends nothing but animosity between the two of them. Zoya wants Y/N to stop bothering her so they can get this done, Y/N wants Zoya to let them take the lead and not bicker at every turn. Neither of them could back down for a second, not without great personal strife, and so they go on exchanging bitter retorts and sharp criticism until they are sick of it, and even then, it’s never quite enough.

Zoya fully expects them to fight the entire mission, there and back, but as the days pass, tensions start to somewhat relax. They still trade prideful comments, of course, and call each other out on momentary lapses whenever applicable, but it’s not quite as harsh.

In fact, if Zoya weren’t losing her mind completely, she’d even go so far as to say that Y/N’s company is growing on her. Zoya has a habit of never building bridges long enough to burn them, what from her sharp tongue and hatred of toadying up to strangers. Unlike many of her other acquaintances, though, Y/N never gets offended at Zoya’s lack of cheer long enough to hate her. All of Zoya’s best barbs just bounce off of them without a second’s hesitation.

In truth, it’s almost refreshing. It’s not that Zoya actively seeks out companionship. Far from it, she rarely has enough free time to consider friendship as a source of thrill, but she can’t deny that this isn’t almost fun. She’s caught herself biting back a laugh at Y/N’s muttered sarcasm more than a few times, and the worst part of all is that she’s fairly certain that Y/N is aware of it as well.

Still, she’s not here to make jokes, she’s here to risk her life. Within about three or four days’ hurried travel, she and Y/N arrive at the last known location of Nikolai’s spy. At first, Zoya wasn’t sure how they could possibly find the spy without giving themselves away, but as they draw closer to their destination, their target becomes increasingly obvious.

It also becomes clear that this won’t be easy. There are dozens of Fjerdan soldiers combing the area in search of Ravkan soldiers, and Zoya and Y/N are quickly forced to dismount their horses lest they draw unwanted attention. They walk as hurriedly as they can, sticking to the protective cover of a scraggly forest nearby.

After one more night of searching, Zoya thinks they’ve found the spy at last. There’s a ruin of an old chapel in the thickest part of the woods, practically nothing more than stone waste. It looks as if it could be blown over with one strong breath, but seeing as there appear to be no discernable entrances in the midst of a great many rockslides, the Fjerdans can’t find a way outside without getting shot by the spy hiding inside.

Zoya and Y/N are watching it now from a vantage point on the other side of a rocky ravine. A great number of soldiers are milling about the perimeter of the place, but the nearest ones are getting picked off by bullets or the occasional rock, so they aren’t sticking all that close to it.

Y/N whistles under their breath. “The spy has done a good job of remaining uncaptured, but they don’t have much time left. At some point, they’re going to run out of ammunition, and then the Fjerdans will storm in and be done with them.”

Zoya’s lips thin. “And how much time do we have until then?”

Across the ravine, a group of about half a dozen soldiers try to climb up to reach a half-open window on one side of the chapel. They have to fall back quickly due to a hail of bullets, but only a few shots are fired before they abruptly cut off. Sensing a weakness, the soldiers press on, but are greeted by no more gunfire.

Zoya’s stomach drops. “Never mind. They’ve run out now.”

The Fjerdans appear to have reached the same conclusion, and are now racing towards the chapel in earnest. In minutes, they’ll be able to make their way inside, and the spy is so cut off that they couldn’t hope of escaping, not in the face of all these numbers.

Y/N squares their shoulders, and pushes the sleeves of their kefta away from their hands. Zoya stares at them incredulously. “What are you doing?”

Y/N looks back at her with something almost like a smile. “Getting the spy out. Only one of us needs to go in, you’re going to watch my back. See you in a minute.”

Before Zoya can cry out that this is a seriously terrible idea, Y/N is racing through the woods towards the ravine. Even in the midst of her horror, Zoya understands what Y/N wants from her, and summons up a strong wind to ferry them across the ravine, where they hit the ground on the other side with a run.

She has a clear line of vision of the soldiers, and is able to blow their guns out of their hands as best she can, but that doesn’t erase the fact that Y/N is running into a certain demise. Within a few moments, Y/N is heading inside, where they could only meet with dozens of soldiers eager for their death.

Across the clearing, Zoya spots a Fjerdan captain pull something from his belt. With a sickening lurch, she realizes that it’s a grenatye, and just as she’s reached this conclusion, the captain has pulled the pin and launched it at the chapel. It might take out some of his men, yes, but it’ll also rid the world of a high caliber Grisha and a Ravkan spy to boot.

A moment later, the chapel explodes with a deafening boom. Blinking dust from her eyes, Zoya can barely think of a thing above the ringing in her ears other than the fact that Y/N was in there, and now Y/N might be dead. Zoya has lost countless friends, but the only thought in her head is that she cannot– she must not– she will not possibly live with losing Y/N.

She’s across the ravine before she knows what’s happening, racing through the clouds of smoke and ash to reach the chapel. The doors are all bricked up with fallen stone, but she’s able to clear them away with her gifts. Zoya races through collapsed hallways, ducking under ceilings that have sloped to waist height.

At last, she starts to see the bodies. The first few she races by, as their uniforms clearly identify them to be Fjerdans, but as Zoya draws closer to the site of the grenatye explosion, they become less easily identifiable. Zoya stares at masses of blood and bone, praying that they would not be Y/N, wondering how she would know if they were.

Then, there, at the far end of a hallway– a bright speck of color, admittedly dulled by all the pulverized stone but there nonetheless. Zoya races over to it, pushing piles of rock off of what could only be a kefta. Y/N is motionless, and Zoya bites back a scream.

For the first time, Zoya wishes she were a Corporalki so she could restart Y/N’s heart or do something, anything, to make this better. Instead, all she can do is try to force air inside their lungs and wait. Pictures flash through her head:  returning to the Little Palace alone, having to live with Y/N’s death on her hands until the end of time. Zoya knows then and there that she could not bear it.

The fabric in front of her twitches, and belatedly Zoya realizes that Y/N has started to cough, likely the result of so much dust in their lungs. The moment Y/N opens their eyes, Zoya lunges forward, wrapping them in an embrace so strong that she might have injured them further. Zoya can’t find it in herself to care. Y/N is alive, and that’s all she needs.

Y/N lets out a wheezing laugh. “You know, I think the plan called for you to stay behind while I attacked the chapel.”

Zoya sighs. “Yes, and the plan also involved you not dying on me. Do you know how stupid that was? How utterly, inconcievably stupid it was to run at a building full of soldiers?”

“It might have been a little foolish,” Y/N concedes, “but I didn’t have to worry. I had you watching my back.”

Y/N’s looking at her with a quiet sort of smile, so unlike the usual harshness of their stares that it takes Zoya by surprise. They’re still so close together that they’re almost touching, Zoya realizes, but she doesn’t want to pull away in the slightest.

“Well,” she says quietly, “don’t do it again. Don’t you leave me, Y/N L/N.”

Y/N smile broadens. “I wouldn’t dare to dream of it.”

“Good,” Zoya says brusquely, “because we’ve still got a spy to find, and if you’re done trying to murder my nerves, I’d like to accomplish that as well.”

She stands up, extending a hand to Y/N to help them up. Y/N takes Zoya’s offer without another word, although they keep looking at her with an odd grin.

“What?” Zoya asks, suddenly self conscious.

“Nothing,” Y/N replies, “I just realized something.”

Zoya’s eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Y/N repeats, “I think I’ll tell you when we get back to the Little Palace. Now let’s go find our spy, shall we?”

It occurs to Zoya when they’re halfway down the ruined corridor that Y/N never let go of Zoya’s hand. Neither of them seem willing to let the other go, though, and so they continue on like that for some time:  two soldiers, two fighters, at last having found some sort of peace.

This is a nightmare, it must be. Or some form of divine punishment.

How else could you be here, centuries after someone slit your throat and he cut you in half, introduced by the king of Fjerda as his right hand, the man proudly naming each and every title you have been awarded over the years.

His gaze must feel like pure fire on your skin, burning itself into you as he takes you in fully.

You look like a vision, a bit older than the last time he has seen you, but he has aged as well. The scar on your throat where that man who's name he has forgotten centuries ago slit it must be gone by now, but you wear a thick black band around your neck, right where he remembers the blood rushing out of you.

The rest of your body is covered by a big white fur coat, your emblem, a big silver full moon, visible on the back.

He can feel the power radiating off of you and in his mind he repeats the titles your king has used to introduce you.

The witch of the blood moon.

Eishexe.

Guiding wave of Fjerda.

Daughter of the moon.

Queen of the Frost.

And of course your Ravkan name, The Saint of the full Moon.

All of these names are more than familiar to him but how could he have known that the woman hiding in the north, protected by all those titles, was you?

No matter how long he stares at you, your gaze never finds him, refusing to look even in his general direction, instead moving through the ballroom as you watch the other guests dance and celebrate the newly found peace between Ravka and Fjerda.

It all makes sense now He thinks as he watches the lights in the room reflect in your eyes, pride and relief clearly visible on your face.

The peace treaty is not a trap, put out by the Fjerdan crown to destroy Ravka and it's Grisha once and for all like he has expected. It's the result of centuries of work from you. His old friend from that tiny Grisha camp he had stayed in with his mother all those years ago has worked in the shadows of the north to build a place of peace and safety for Grisha, just like he has in Ravka.

A weird feeling of pride swells in his chest and he immediately tries to smother it, almost disturbed by the fact that he can still hold positive feelings like that for someone who tried to drown him to steal his bones.

But if he's honest with himself he can't even blame you, only himself. He shouldn't have told you about his amplification, especially not after he saw first hand how desperate you were to become stronger. You wanted to prove your worth to the others in the camp and that drove you crazy.

Now he feels the strength radiating off of you in powerful waves. You stand tall and proud, gaze cold and sharp and-

Your eyes finally meet his and the softness, the silent apology visible in your irises feels like suffocating in that lake all over again, the sensation only worsening, then turning into something else entirely when panic lights up in your gaze as you realize that he has been looking at you, that you're finally looking at each other again after an eternity of being apart.

Moving quickly you excuse yourself from the conversation between the two kings, neither of them truly noticing, before taking off your coat.

He did not expect a proud Grisha like you to get reduced to a simple fight, flight or freeze reaction as soon as your eyes meet, but he can't get his own limbs to move either so he can't truly blame you, can he?

The dress underneath is white like the coat, shimmering and sparkling like moonlight on the surface of a lake. It reminds him of the dress you wore in that last night. You look innocent, sweet, kind. He can feel his own heartbeat pumping in his ears.

Eyes dropping to the place where he knows he has cut you in half, his gaze finds another band of black fabric and he finally recognizes what he feels as the emotion pushes it's way into his heart, his lungs, his brain. He feels like a hunter. A hunter who has layed claim on his prey.

It only gets stronger when he watches you accept your first dance at the ball with some Ravkan Duke who's name he has never bothered to learn, possessiveness clawing at his ribcage like a wild, untamed beast as you gracefully dance with the man, movements elegant enough to almost distract Aleksander from the fact that you're very clearly trying to get away from him.

The room darkens a bit, something no one other than him picks up on but he's embarrassed none the less.

Saints, you're in the same room as him for 10 minutes and he's back to being Eryk, a stupid child who has no control over his own emotions.

His jar clenches and he forces his gaze to let go of you, eyes looking for something else to grab his attention, but in the back of his mind he knows his focus always stays with you.

Giving up a few minutes later after the song finally finishes to see who your next dance partner will be, his eyes meet yours once again from across the ballroom and he suddenly realizes with a jolt that there's also a part of him that's absolutely fucking terrified of you.

Eryk, that boy, is scared mindless by your presence, and looking into your eyes he knows that you're just as scared of him, your back straightening and muscles tensing like an animal ready to pounce as your hands slowly glide down to your stomach where he knows he split you open. Saints, how badly he wants to see if there's a scar. If there's still evidence of what he's done. Evidence he can see, touch, caress. If his shadows left an ink black scar on your skin just like you left an ice cold scar on his very soul that night.

The realisation seems to hit you in the same moment as it hits him, eyes widening a bit before you both suddenly jump into movement, walking towards each other from opposite sides of the room, unable to change course.

Hunters moving towards their prey.

You two are binary stars, tied to each other by a higher power. Perhaps Merzost, Aleksander thinks weakly as he pushes past one of his Grisha. Maybe my weakly practiced cut didn't kill her, maybe the shadows sank into her body, tainted her blood, cursed her bones.

It's not like it matters. You're here, alive, and you recognize him. Someone other than his mother has seen what he has seen. Someone understands, and while a part of him wishes Luda was in your place, he can't help but feel both vulnerable and like a violent, grotesque monster when he watches you carefully move past a servant.

Without his knowledge you have survived, maybe by getting healed by a Grisha from another community or through pure spite, and it has tethered you to him for eternity.

Connected through attempted murder. That sounds just gruesome and horrifying enough for it to fit to him, doesn't it.

Maybe this is what he deserves. Luda was too good for him. That's what Baghra always said, right? She's too kind, too soft, too weak.

But you. You got a compliment after he admitted that you tried to kill him. In his mother's eyes you were clever. Not clever enough to kill him but clever none the less.

You're the right hand of a king and manipulated a whole nation that hated you into doing exactly what you wanted, just like he did.

Yes. This is what he deserves.

When his gloveless hand finally meets yours it feels like your binary system collapses. No more pulling apart, no more orbiting each other, no more resisting the urge to crash and burn.

His mind rejoices when he feels the pull of your power, his amplification, now so rarely used that he sometimes forgets that he shouldn't touch other Grisha under any circumstances, more than eager to answer your familiar call.

But now something from you answers his call as well, a little bit of power flowing back into his body.

You're amplifying him. It's weak, much weaker than his amplification probably is for you, but it's noticeable. There's Merzost in your bones, somehow, and it's answering to him, mixing with the magic tied to his bones.

The give and recieve is addicting, an exchange that might not be equal but saints it's enough. For him it's enough. He feels like he could melt into you, eyes wide as he takes in your features. You mirror his wonder as you hold onto his hands tightly.

"I'm sorry that I tried to kill you to become stronger." You say, just loud enough to reach his ears over the music and the other guests, a calmness audible in your voice that you clearly don't feel, and a smirk paints itself onto the shadow summoners features. Before he can respond you speak again. "And thank you for trying to kill me quickly. The cut at my throat was so shallow it would've probably taken more than ten minutes for me to bleed out."

The smirk turns into a full on smile, he can't help himself. "I'm sorry for not finding you a different Amplifier, even after realizing how desperate you are for power."

He let's go of your hands, fingers moving up your arms slowly, carefully caressing you through the fabric of your dress until he finally cradles your face in both of his palms, the exchange of power starting again, magic humming through his bones.

Your own hands find his black kefta, fingers grasping the fabric like your life depends on it. Like the man in front of you isn't death personified but your own personal salvation.

Slowly bowing down he answers, volume barely above a whisper.

"I'll find you a new one. I don't know how you survived but I will make you pay for what you've done. I will make you mine, through and through, until evidence of me can be found in your bones. Just like you've wanted, right?"

He leans forward even further, almost touching your lips. "I'll make you even more powerful, the most powerful Tidemaker to ever exist in the history of both Fjerda and Ravka. And you will be mine. The starless saint and his saint of the full moon."

It's you who moves forward first, unable to hold onto your control for any longer, lips pressing against his as your hands find his hair, nails piercing into his scalp deeply enough to draw blood. Oh yes, he will claim your bones, and you will claim his. Just like the universe planned it all those years ago.

He is a star, and so are you. Centuries ago you came too close to each other, pulling each other off course and into each others orbits, and now you have collided.

There is no going back. The peace between Fjerda and Ravka has created a monster.

The dutchess and her husband are quite sweet to you and your team, and the mission is simple enough. Nobody gets hurt, and the travel back home to Os Alta is comfortable enough considering the cold, snowy weather.

It's easier for you to get over the circumstances than for the other three in your team, of course. If you're smart, you will be able to see and meet many new Darklings over the next few centuries while they won't get the chance, so you don't judge them for being in a worse mood than usual. They should be in the palace, celebrating the arrival of the new general and drinking alcohol until they can't stand on their own feet anymore, instead of a two days ride away from the party, grilling some skinny rabbits on a fire or trying to remove the deep, thick snow from the campsite.

When it's finally time to eat you fill the silence with a story about your time before you joined the Little Palace, twisting the tale a bit to make it seem like you were a teen during the events.

It's odd to lie about who you are, but you can't risk too many similarities between this life and your last, so you form a tale about escaping Ketterdam after realising that a local gang found out about your Grisha powers and started to target you.

You're still considered a newer recruit in the Little Palace, and you haven't been able to make many friends since you arrived as an adult and not as a child like the others. The Grisha listen to your words excitedly, eager to find out more about their mysterious companion, and you're happy to oblige, weaving an encouraging story about your childhood in Ketterdam, training yourself in secret, and finding the power to fight for your freedom after hearing so many tales of the heroism of the Second Army.

When you're finished, the fire is starting to die, darkness creeping in from the forrest, and one of your fellow soldiers stands up to get more wood. The dutchess and her husband thank you for joining the ravkan army, tears in the young womans eyes, clearly touched by your bravery, and your team leader – Inessa, an older heartrender – tightly hugs you a few minutes later, telling you how proud she is of you.

You don't feel bad for lying. It has to be done for your own savety, and it makes sense for you to open up to your teammates during your first longer mission. This was a calculated decision, and it has only lightened the mood a bit, lifting some of the sadness from your fellow soldiers' shoulders.

Well and you did almost get murdered an kidnapped a few times during your travels in Ketterdam during the fifty year break you spend away from the Little Palace after faking your death. You were just in your seventies during that time, not a teenager, but who cares about details like that?

After your little storytime at the fire you open up more and more during the last two days of your travels to Os Alta, playing the role of the young soldier who finally feels like the Little Palace might become a home, like the other Grisha might actually turn into one big family, and for a second you wish that was truly the case. That you're actually just some runaway from Ketterdam, not an almost a century old Grisha who doesn't know why time hasn't claimed your body yet.

During your trip back, your fellow soldiers also theorise a bit. What is the general gonna be like? How will he compare to General Golubev, the Heartrender who took on the position after the last Darkling left the Little Palace to find a wife and continue the Darkling-bloodline in savety?

You have to bite your tongue and remind yourself that you're no older than 23 to these people. To them you are too young to know the General. He left the Palace forty years ago. Even Inessa barely remembers him from her teens, only saying that he was a beautiful man and could be very scary.

Karina, an Inferni in your group, tries to dig deeper, asking how pretty he truly is in so many different ways that Inessa ends up threatening to stop her heart until she's unconcious, and the dutchess giggles so loudly at the interaction that you can't stop yourself from joining her.

The fifty years traveling have been lonely and cold and even your first years at the Little Palace have been filled with an odd distance between you and the other Grisha, but in those last two days everything feels like back when you truly were 23 and surrounded by friends.

Your heart hurts when you finally arrive in Os Alta and say goodbye to the dutchess and her husband, already missing the uncomfortable camps in the middle of the woods you had to stay in to make sure the drüskelle wouldn't be able to follow your tracks easily, but the pain quickly gets overshadowed by the excitement vibrating in the voices of your fellow soldiers.

It's time. Your mission is officially over. Now you will finally meet the new Darkling.

The five of you quickly step through the familiar hallways of the Little Palace, almost getting lost after realising that you won't have to debrief in the office General Golubev used during his time. You end up leading the group to the formerly empty rooms where the old Darkling stayed, explaining that you discovered the unused rooms during your first month at the palace while exploring the place.

You knock quickly on the heavy wooden doors before slipping to the back of the group, hiding behind the others. Eyes hovering over the Oprichniki guard while you wait for the General to call you in, you realize with a slight pang of pain that you don't recognize the guards. You used to be quite close to several of the Oprichniki in your old life, so close in fact that there were rumours of you joining before you noticed that you weren't aging like the others anymore and decided to fake your death. Seeing the people the General chose for his guard in their uniforms hurts a bit, it's undeniable. All of your friends are dead. All of them are dead, and you should be dead too, yet you stand here, in front of these doors, waiting to be let in by the son of the man you once loved.

Finally the deep voice of the General calls out through the door, and your heart starts to beat quicker at the familiarity. He sounds so much like his father.

How heartbreaking that must be for his mother, you think, slowly following the others into the war room where the man dressed in black waits for you.

The old General was confirmed dead five years ago. According to a letter sent by his wife, he fell asleep peacefully one night and never woke up. After that letter was made public, you returned to the Palace as a new Soldier, hoping that the hard work in the palace will fill your mind with something other than grief and heartbreak and now you're standing in the office you've spend so much time in in your old life. The same rooms where you have surrendered your body and soul to the father of the new general.

The guilt and shame die in your stomach the second you look up at the man dressed in black, eyes widening and eyebrows shooting up.

You don't dare to make a sound, instead just staring at the tall man in front of you as he addresses Inessa and listens to her report of the mission. When his eyes finally find yours you almost expect him to prove you wrong, to simply look you over once before continuing and demonstrating to you that he just looks eerily similar to his father, but as soon as his eyes find yours his words cut off and his face goes slack.

Yes, this is the man you gave your virginity to. That fucker faked his death too. He held a stupid funeral after you were confirmed dead, left the palace ten years later to hang out in the woods or whatever, faked his death 35 years later through a letter acting like he's his own wife, and now he's here acting like he's his own son.

You would start giggling like a crazy person if the whole situation wasn't so fucking bizarre and infuriating.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asks, completely ignoring the confused looks of the others in the room.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing here?"

You two stare at each other for a few seconds until Karina quietly coughs, probably to remind you two that others are in the room, and both of your heads snap over to her.

"Do you two know each other?" Inessa finally asks, and you almost jump to deny it, stopping yourself after realising how dumb of an idea that would be. You two clearly know each other.

"When I fled Ketterdam, I spent a few weeks with him and his mother before I came to the Little Palace." You explain without thinking, hoping that the tale you're weaving together makes at least a bit sense.

"I was wounded during my escape and exhausted, and while I travelled through Ravka, I was found by his mother, a healer. She took me in and let me stay with them for a few weeks before I continued to travel to the Little Palace. I didn't know that I was staying with the Darklings family."

The General looks at you for a few seconds, nodding very slowly like he's trying to make sure your words will enter his long term memory, before he looks back at the other Grisha, jaw clenching.

"I would like to have a conversation with my... my friend. Would you please come back later for the report? Perhaps tomorrow? You must all be terribly exhausted. Eat a meal and then return to your rooms. I will call for you when I find the time."

The four leave the room slowly, all of them pausing to stare at you as if you held back some incredibly important information and deeply betrayed the team, before the General stands up and opens the door again to send the Oprichniki outside away.

As soon as the door falls back into the lock, he storms into your direction, grabbing you by your shoulders and shaking you like a ragdoll.

"Stop! What are you doing?" you yell out, trying to slap his hands away and remove yourself from his ironlike grip. "Sasha!"

Finally, he lets you go, hands mowing to run through his hair and then over his beard.

"I held a funeral for you. I held a speech as well, talked about how much I regretted never asking you to join my personal guard."

His voice is cold and accusatory, as if you betrayed him deeply. In a way, you guess you did betray him, just a bit. "I looked for you for weeks after the Drüskelle attacked our camp. Weeks." he spits, and you can't stop yourself from folding your arms in front of your chest in defence.

"Well, you should've looked harder then! I was still in Ravka for two years after faking my death!" You're fuming now, the feeling of betrayal finally taking root in your heart as well. "And why do you act as if you're the only victim here? I grieved you when I found out you passed! Shit, I grieved when I heard you left the Little Palace to find a wife! Did you spend even a single second thinking of me after my disappearance? After my funeral?"

His hands ball up into fists, and his jaw clenches so tightly you almost worry if he's gonna break a tooth. The shadows in the war room grow longer, swallowing the sunlight bit by bit.

"Of course I grieved you. I loved you, you stupid fool. A mistake on my part, clearly, since it has now been revealed that I have fallen for lies and manipulation."

Scoffing angrily, you stomp your foot on the floor like a child, immediately regretting the action. "I did not lie to you! Not until I faked my death to protect myself!"

"Protect yourself from who?"

"From you! What was I supposed to do? Reveal myself as some immortal abomination of nature? Risk that you decide that I need to be killed?"

Now it's Aleksanders' turn to scoff, his eyebrows pulling together and turning his face into an angry grimace.

"Killed? Do you truly believe I would've killed you?"

"Of course I do! You would do anything, kill anyone, to make sure the Little Palace stays safe and secure. If the king found out I was immortal, it would've changed his opinion of Grisha overall. We would be classified as a risk to his rule again. Of course you would've killed me! So I did it for you, left that life behind, and continued with the next."

Aleksander stares at you for a few seconds, clearly trying to find some fault in your words, something to twist this whole conversation to make you seem like the villain, like he didn't do the exact same thing you did.

He turns his back to you, slowly walking over to the window to stare outside. "I don't even know why I listen to a liar like you. You have betrayed me, betrayed your fellow Grisha as well. How could I ever trust a single word coming from your mouth ever again?"

Saints, how you hate this overly dramatic side of his.

Slowly turning back towards you, he looks you up and down once more, his voice dripping in false pain, the underlying coldness betraying him. "Was I even the first to touch you? The first to lay claim on you? The first you surrendered your body to?"

You almost scream when the words finally sink in. "You don't get to make accusations like this! You have no right to question my honesty, least of all in a topic like this. And how hypocritical of you! I know this is my first time faking my death but how many times have you done this? How many centuries rest on your shoulders? How many people have you dragged to your bed? Because I know you were my first and last. If there is a harlot in this room it's not me!"

An exasperated expression finds its way onto his face, but he doesn't deny your accusation. Instead, he turns back to the window, taking a few deep breaths before he spins around, crossing the room in three long steps. His large hands grab your face harshly, pulling you toward him before his lips press against yours, beard scratching slightly against your skin.

The kiss is not soft, far from it, actually. It's all spit and teeth, clearly showing off how angry and out of practice you two are, like two instruments that play in different tempos.

After a few seconds however, you both start to slow down a bit, the kiss turning softer as you both fully realize that you both are alive, that you didn't loose each other to a Drüskelle attack or the cruel passing of time. You have found each other again, and while you don't know why you're not dead, why time didn't claim you, you decide that it doesn't matter. Not while you're in the arms of the man you've missed for half a century.

The why's and how's can be answered tomorrow, after he devoured you.

"There was no one after you." he speaks after breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing against yours while he lets you breathe for a bit.

"l will not lie to you, not any more than I already have. There have been people before you, but there was no one afterwards. Not while I stayed in the palace and not afterwards. I loved you - love you - too much to move on."

His hands softly caress your cheeks before he presses a kiss on your forehead, breathing in the smell of your hair before his forehead finds yours again. "I know it's probably not particularly obvious, but I'm so glad that you're alive. I'm so, so glad to see that you didn't die."

Aleksanders arm carefully wraps around your middle before he pulls you closer to him and lifts you into the air, his other hand moving your head to rest in the space between his neck and shoulder, carefully stroking over your hair.

You wrap your own arms around him, fingers digging into the back of his black kefta as tears begin to fill your eyes. His familiar smell enters your nose and lungs, it's warmth and familiarity making you feel vulnerable in his arms.

"Sasha," you whisper, your voice wavering a bit. He hushes you softly before he begins moving, carrying you in the direction of his bedroom. "Tomorrow, milaya. We will talk tomorrow. We will fight some more, scream at each other, throw inexcusable insults at each others heads, and then we will forgive. Tonight I just want to have you. Let me have you, hold you, touch you. That's all I want right now. Let me feel your living skin under my fingertips, my love."

He drops you carefully onto the familiar dark sheets, and as you look up at him, you're reminded of the dozens of times you've laid on these sheets before today.

Finally, you nod. "Tomorrow," you echo before grabbing Aleksanders shirt and pulling him back down to let your lips meet his once more.

—

Eyes moving to the clock on your desk, you realise with relief that your servants will come in around ten minutes, giving you some time to make sure your room looks like you spend the night here.

You beginn by moving your bed sheets around, before quickly skipping to the bowl you use to wash your face at night, dunking your hands into the cold water and scrubbing the bits of makeup the general missed off your face to make the water look more used. Grabbing a towel, you dry your skin and pull off your shoes, dropping them next to the bed.

At last you rip off your dress quickly, removing the many layers and leaving them on the floor before slipping into a simple robe and crawling into your bed, rolling yourself up in your blankets like a babe.

If you look pathetic enough, the servants will hopefully tell your parents that you're too exhausted from last nights celebration to eat with them. You will be allowed to spend the whole day up here in your room, waiting and preparing for the Darklings appearance.

You need this. You need the time to plan for the future, and you fear that you will loose this fire in you, this new awoken hope that you will find freedom, if you are forced to face your mother before you officially agree to work with the Shadow Summoner. That the guilt will swallow you whole and rip your strength away from you if you see her trusting, hopeful face before you officially agree to conspire with the grisha general against your own parents.

The reality of it all, of the fact that you are going to commit treason together with a descendant of the Black Heretic, hits you in the same moment the doors to your room swing open and your servants step in.

You do your absolute best to look as miserable and sick as humanly possible despite the realisation you just had, whining and complaining about the room being too bright, and everyone being too loud, until your servants finally give up.

"A princess should never be seen in such a state." One of the servants murmurs almost disappointed while she pulls the curtains in your room close. "Especially not by her betrothed. We will cover for you, your royal highness, and tell your mother that you got sick. I believe your brother is in the same state as you. Maybe that will distract her. Do you think you will be able to attend lunch?"

Shaking your head slowly, you watch as the other servants clean up the chaos you created, one of the girls leaving to get you a cup of tea. The mention of your brother makes you a bit sick. Nothing good ever happens when he's drunk, and you can only hope that your mother doesn't interpret your sudden illness as a sign that you're about to go down the same path that he has.

You're not the crown prince. She will not ignore your misbehaviour. No, she will try to get you back into shape to make sure you won't embarrass her.

A son can make as many mistakes as he wants. A daughter needs to be perfect.

"I think I won't even be able to come to dinner." You rasp, moving to bury your face in one of your many silk pillows. "I just want to be left alone today. No lessons, no visitors, no snacks or other meals. I want to see no one."

"Of course, your royal highness. We will make sure that no one disturbs you today." Another servant responds quietly.

You're in the middle of acting like you're falling asleep again when you suddenly remember something else. "I really can't stand all this noise... Lower the amount of guards around my quarters to a minimum for today, and don't bother coming back up to prepare me for bed tonight either. I will do it myself today."

A choir of "Of course, your royal highness." is the only answer you get before you sink back into your pillows and force yourself to slowly relax your muscles, refusing to move until the servant who got you tea returns with the steaming cup and all five women leave your quarters.

You stay on your bed like this for another few minutes until you finally feel safe enough to get up, taking a quick sip from your tea before quickly moving over to your desk.

It's too risky to write down notes, to put the information and ideas swirling around in your head on paper where other people can find them and figure out what you're doing, but you can at least sit at your desk and look at a few documents while you try to come up with a plan.

A safety net. That's what you need. And maybe the power of clairvoyance, just to make sure you don't end up making foolish mistakes like your bumbling idiot of a brother does, his mind too clouded by his own arrogance to see the effect his horrifying behavior has on others.

The most important question is why exactly the General wants to help you.

"It would give me a chance to make sure Ravka, my home, will be safe."

A sweet reason, sure. Honourable as well, and you don't doubt that that's probably part of his motivation, but the General doesn't seem stupid enough to commit treason for something like this. And how would stopping your marriage make Ravka a safer place?

You're the second born child of the king, sure, but you're also a woman. You wield no power. Why would a smart, ambitious man like the Darkling help you? Why not try to make your brother see that Grisha are people instead? That seems to be more effective. You don't understand how keeping you in the Grand Palace benefits him or the Second Army in any way.

There is no reason for him to help you, at least none that you can see.

"And what do you need to help me?"

"I will need you to fulfil your duty, moya tsarevna. You will have to pay a price in exchange for your freedom. You can not hesitate."

Biting down on your lower lip you shake your head weakly, forcing yourself to accept that you probably won't be able to uncover his real motive for helping you tonight. To many bits and pieces of information are missing for you to actually figure out his motive. You need to make plans for the possible failures ahead instead of wasting your time on a puzzle with missing parts.

Difficult, considering you don't know what the plan is yet, but sitting around and doing nothing would be stupid. And what if the Shadow Summoner decides that the risk of being executed for treason is too big for him? If he comes to the conclusion that helping you is not worth the effort? You need to prepare for that, too.

You have to come up with an idea of how to save yourself in Fjerda. How to be safe in the north or flee.

But flee to where? The wave of hopelessness that pushed you down before the whole thing with the General happened hits you once more, threatening to drown you if you don't come up with an idea quickly.

Ravka is not an option. Maybe the west, if you stay away from government officials and instead live life as a commoner, but even that would require a crossing of the fold and more luck than the saints are probably willing to give you.

Shu Han is not an option either. There is no way you could run from your future husbands home and then cross Ravka without being detected. Same problem with Kerch and the risk of being recognized there is even higher.

And successfully fleeing to Novyi Zem without being caught would require a miracle.

No, you can't make it to Fjerda. As soon as you're in the north, you're stuck in a place where you will never feel safe or happy.

A better option would be to fake your death before, during, or shortly after the wedding. Perhaps you could ally yourself with some Materialki and Corporalki as well, get them on board with faking your murder and getting you out of the castle. No one would look for you if all of Ravka thought their Princess was dead, after all.

Another problem you will have to keep in mind is the constant risk of being discovered if you choose to work with the Darkling. Sure, you will probably just get send off to Fjerda and cut off from your family forever, doomed to die in the north, away from your people and the ghosts and sins of your ancestors, but they will kill the General. They'll probably make you watch too, in hopes of teaching you a lesson.

You can't let that happen. Not to someone who has offered to safe you, even if he is only doing it to save his own skin in some way, or give himself more power, money, or whatever else he's after.

No. You have to plan to make sure you will both get out of the palace in case you get caught. But would he abandon the Grisha? Or would he prefer to go down kicking and screaming like a warrior instead of running like a child?

You know you prefer running, even if it means losing some of your pride and honour, because running means living and living means you can try again. You can fight another battle, attempt to make people see reason once more, and ensure that your ideas don't die with you.

The General doesn't seem like the type of person to share that mindset, though. He's a man through and through, and men like to do horrible and stupid things to force their opinions down other peoples throats. Like die the death of a martyr in hopes of someone else picking up the responsibility and finishing the fight for them.

If you want to save his life, you will probably have to kidnap him.

Groaning quietly you lean back in your chair and stare at the ceiling, trying to clear your mind a bit. There are so many variables in your future, so many what if's you have to prepare for, and you're still so exhausted from crying all night. Things have never been like this before. Most of your life you've played a side character to your brothers story, just like everyone has told you to do, as a woman, and second in the line of succession.

The most people ever say about you is that you're harmless, a delight to have around, and harmless delights simply don't go around scheming with the man everyone in Ravka, Fjerda and Shu Han is terrified of. They don't take fate into their own hands and fight back when people try to force a life they don't want onto them. All of this is new territory, and a part of you is mortified by the consequences of the possible failures ahead of you.

At least you managed to remove some of the guards from your wing of the palace without raising suspicion. Less trouble for the General to get to you. You've done something. A small first step taken before the real fight begins. It's an alright start for someone inexperienced.

You spend the rest of the day trying to do the impossible: Plan and prepare for the future. Predicting what will happen and how to react without losing track and getting confused with the dozens of what if's swirling around in your head like a vicious storm.

What will you do if your brother or mother find out?

What will you do if a servant notices what's going on?

What will you do if your betrothed realises what's happening? How could you protect the General from the wrath of a fjerdan royal? How could you protect yourself?

It's pitch black in your room when a knock finally frees you from your spiralling thoughts. For a few seconds you have trouble orienting yourself, confused about why it's so dark now, but before you get a chance to actually panic, another, louder knock on the door pulls you back to reality.

Quickly moving to light a small candle on your desk, you tighten the robe around your body and open the door to your quarters, motioning for the man waiting in front to step into your room. It's improper for anyone to see you in

The General is still fully dressed in his Kefta, his steps surprisingly light considering how heavy his boots look. He walks into your quarters slowly, gaze moving over your furniture and the small lonely candle on the table. your current state, especially a man, but it hardly matters considering what's ahead of you.

"Did I wake you, moya tsarevna?" He asks after you lock the door behind him, his voice calm and quiet as if he's trying to make sure that people passing your rooms won't hear his voice through the walls.

"Hmm? Oh, no. I was just thinking and lost track of the time."

"Thinking?"

He slowly turns back to you, one half of his face illuminated with the warm light of the candle while the other is hidden in the shadows. "I hope you didn't change your mind. It would be a shame for another strong woman like you to get lost in the north."

You can feel a muscle in your jaw tighten as you take his words in. He should wish for you to change your mind and leave him alone. This whole plan, whatever it may be, will probably be more dangerous to him than to you. Why isn't he hoping you changed your mind and accepted your fate?

"No, no. I didn't change my mind. I'm willing to do whatever you need me to."

Taking a deep breath, you step closer to the middle of the room, closer to him, your eyes moving to the calm, glowing candle flame. You can still feel his gaze burning on your skin.

"I was born in this palace. I learned how to speak and walk here. This is my home. Nobody, not even my horrible, despicable betrothed, should be able to drag me out of here." You declare calmly.

Your gaze finds his once more, his eyes somehow darker than the night sky outside, and you can feel your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms.

"My whole life I was taught that it's my duty to serve my country and my people. I can not do that when I'm in Fjerda. I can not protect or help anyone there. I have no power there. I need your help, General."

The storm of thoughts, of what-if's and why's, gets louder as you look at him, almost consuming you, but the visible pride in the Shadow Summoners eyes grounds you just enough, reassures you that things will be alright. He will keep his promise and make sure that you stay in the Grand Palace safe and sound until you die.

"Tell me what to do, Aleksander. I am willing to pay the price."

He smiles. There is nothing friendly or soft in the expression, only glee and satisfaction, but for some reason you're not as scared of him as you probably should be.

You're not a stupid girl that's falling for the lies of an older man. You know what you're getting into. You will be prepared for anything he might throw at you. This is your home after all, and while the General has experience with your father and the general politics of Ravka, with the complicated rules of war, he is definitely not familiar with the game you've been stuck playing.

He doesn't know your betrothed, barely cares for your mother, and has always been dismissive of your brother despite the fact that he will be on the throne in a few years. The only player he has ever paid attention to is you, and that's a recent development. He only cares now because he seems to believe you can give him something.

You know the rules better than he does, and if you don't pay attention to his plans and schemes, to his end goal, he will mess up and drag you both down. It's his job to manipulate and trick others and yours to clean and cover up. A perfect team.

"I'm glad to hear that you trust me, moya tsarevna. I promise I won't fail you."

He holds his hand out slowly, and for a few seconds you simply look at it. His hand is large, with long fingers and small scars covering the pale skin that shimmer in the weak light of the candle.

Taking his hand means treason. It means betraying your parents and, in the same breath, your country. It means making Fjerda your enemy. It means covering your hands with the blood that sticks to the Darklings hands. It means paying a price he refuses to name. It means trusting darkness itself.

This would be the riskiest, dumbest thing you've ever done. It would be like begging to be caught and punished by your parents. And what would your betrothed do if he found out his future wife conspired with the Darkling to escape him? He would kill you for that. Beat you until you're nothing but a bleeding lump of flesh on the floor with no one to grieve you left in the world after you betrayed everyone who loved you.

Somehow, you walk through the hallways quietly, making your way to the General’s door. The knock of your knuckles against the wood rings in your head, shaking you from some of the dissociation you’re experiencing.

His frown is deep as he opens the door, shadows gathered protectively around him, and the darkness frames his features as they soften in recognition. Then his eyes widen at the sight of your face and clothing, smeared with red. As you speak, your voice scrapes hoarsely in your throat.

“I didn’t know who else to go to.”

He steadies you against his chest as your knees buckle, still feeling unused to standing on two legs again. Even as you grasp onto the soft fabric of his night shirt, your fingers don’t quite feel real, you can see the colour of your knuckles change of you tighten your grip, but you still feel detached from it all.

Too wrapped up in your disjointed thoughts, you don’t notice the General’s eyes scouring over you, assessing for wounds, and attempting to find the source of the blood over your tattered clothing.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his hand reaching for your cheek.

Minutely, you shake your head, tilting your bloodied face away from his open palm to avoid staining his hands.

“It’s not my blood.”

After closing the door behind the two of you, he guides you over towards his bed, sitting you down carefully. The concept of a soft bed seems foreign to you, as if dirt and dried grass is the only place you should find peace lying on.

He regards you warily, even as he moves over to a small table at the side of the room. Picking up a porcelain jug, he pours a glass of water. The sound of rushing liquid rouses you a little, prompting you to speak.

“I was right. My theory about my amplifier.”

He turns, fixing his dark eyes on you. His eyes widen slightly as he realises what you mean, his gaze lowering to study the fox claw that is now a part of you. Then he slowly steps towards you.

“You mean to say that you…”

With shaking hands, you take the glass from him, eager to remove the taste of blood from your mouth. Feeling unused to gripping things with your hands, the glass almost slips through your fingers.

“Changed form. Yes.”

The cool water soothes the ache in your throat and removes some of the unpleasantness lingering on your tongue.

“I can fetch a healer for you.”

Shaking your head, you look down at the glass in your hands, observing the ripples over the surface of the water as you continue to shake slightly.

“I’m not hurt. I…”

Sighing, you take another drink before you place the glass down on his bedside cabinet.

“It went well, at first. It hurt, and it was strange, but I’ve never felt anything like it. To see the world from such an angle. New sights, smells, sounds.”

The memory of freedom, long blades of grass brushing against your fur as you ran through the fields, brings a small smile to your face, though it fades all to quickly as different memories return.

“But then I saw a rabbit.”

Understanding dawns on him and he steps closer as your voice wavers in distress.

“The fox’s instincts just took over. By the time I came back to myself, it was already dead. Half-eaten.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, carving a path over your bloodstained skin, leaving streaks over the dried red.

The cooks at the Sanctuary had served rabbit plenty of times before, and you had killed humans with your own hands. It wasn’t the death that had you so scared. It was the frightening lack of control. That for a moment, you had lost yourself. 

The fox has gone quiet in your mind, but you know he feels guilty for what happened. The bond between the two of you is fresh, and perhaps you had put too much pressure on yourselves by initiating the change so soon.

The General curls his fingers around yours, thumb smoothing over the fox’s claw embedded in your hand which pulls you back from your musings.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says in a low voice.  

Distantly, you manage a nod. When your fingers shake too much, hindering your efforts to undo the buttons of your shirt, the General reaches out, wrapping his fingers gently around your wrist.

Startled by the contact, you look up at him with wide eyes. He holds your gaze, unwavering as he guides your hand downwards to settle in your lap. Then he begins to unbutton your shirt.

“Would you like this off?” he asks you.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to answer him, but all you can muster is a nod. The weight of his gaze on your face encourages you to meet his eyes and give him another nod.

With your reassurance, he slides the bloodstained fabric from your shoulders, revealing your underwear. He tosses your shirt aside, away from where you might see it and be reminded of everything.

The wash basin he sets down beside you is filled with warm water and the cloth he wrings out is soft against your shivering skin.

At some point he must have rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the expanse of his forearms, veins prominent, lightly stained with the grey of lingering merzost.

Every touch is careful, even when removing the dried blood from your skin requires more force.  

He uses a nailbrush to scrub every last trace of the rabbit’s blood from your hands. The rough texture and firm touch of his hands brings you back to yourself, ridding the numbness from your skin.

The sweet scent of soap begins to finally wrangle its way through the clog of iron in your nostrils. He appears to notice you wrinkling your nose and moves to open his beside drawer. 

“Here.” He holds out a tiny vial and you frown at the sight of it. “Smelling salts. It should clear your nose.”

Tentatively, you take it from him. Almost absentmindedly, his fingers trace over your jawline with the delicacy of a butterfly’s wing, guiding your face towards the open vial as you inhale the sharp scent.

It buzzes through your nose, tingling at the back of your throat, but once you’ve taken a few breaths you begin to pick up on the other smells around you and realise how familiar the scent of the soap is. His scent. Up until this point, you hadn’t even realised he had a scent – not one so distinctive that you recognise it instantly.

He appears to notice the shift in your expression, tilting his head as he asks,

“Better?”

There’s a small frown drawing your brows together as you nod, eyes filled with a question as you hand the vial back to him.

He turns away, setting it back down on his bedside cabinet.

“The Fold has its own atmosphere,” he says lowly, and you hardly dare to breathe as you watch him. He doesn’t look at you but continues to speak. “A dry nothingness that sticks in your throat and the suffocating .”

Going into the Fold changes everyone. The first and only time you had entered the Fold was when you were nine years old, leaving your home of West Ravka to join the rest of the Grisha at the Little Palace.

“I wake sometimes, believing I’m still there in the darkness.”

He takes the vial between his fingers, spinning the glass over the old wood of the cabinet.

“This-” he lifts the vial lightly before he sets it down again “-acts as a reminder that I survived. Despite how… unforgiving the cost may be at times.”

With those last words, his mouth twists with a dark humour. Unsure of what to say, your voice is a mere whisper as you speak.

“General Kiri-”

“Aleksander,” he interrupts you.

He turns back around to face you fully.

“My name is Aleksander.” He looks down for a moment, rubbing each of his fingers with a towel before he adds, “I would like you to use it.”

Looking down, you trace your fingertip over the nail of your thumb, the memory of padded feet and claws ghosting at the edge of your mind.

“Thank you… Aleksander.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, the weight of it thickening between you both with some emotion you can’t identify. Then he steps towards the side of the room, opening up a cabinet and selecting a dark shirt with a loose string fastening at the neckline. 

“It will be easier the next time,” he assures you quietly, slipping your arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “Now that you know how to initiate the change, it will come naturally.”

“And if I lose myself again?”

“I shall be right by your side to bring you back.”

»»---------------------►

Sunlight wakes you, casting a soft warmth over your cheek. Humming softly, you shift closer to the warmth beside you. At the edge of your sleepy mind, the fox nuzzles apologetically at your consciousness.

It’s okay, you think quietly. We just need some practice.

The thought of fingers threading through red fur has you sighing, until your mind drifts and the owner of those fingers comes into focus. The General. Aleksander.

Blinking away your sleepiness, you take in your surroundings. Dark eyes meet yours, his hair ruffled boyishly, and his scars softened by the warmth of the morning light as he smiles at you.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

“Good morning,” you whisper shyly.

“Do you remember last night?” You nod. “How are you feeling?”

 “I’m alright.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if he is considering something. His arm stretches up over his head momentarily, before he bends the limb, tucking it under the back of his head.

“Would you be able to shift for me?”

Blinking at him rather sleepily, you frown.

“Now?”

He hums in confirmation. Feeling slightly embarrassed, you turn your face into the pillow you had been sleeping on. One of his pillows.

“It probably isn’t a pretty sight,” you mumble in protest.   

“I can close my eyes,” he suggests.

The smile returns to your face, hidden by his pillow.

“I’m only asking now because I don’t want you to be afraid of your ability, especially after what happened last night. Not to mention that you’re safer here than out in the woods.”

As you peek out from where your face has been pressed against his pillow, you notice Aleksander’s brows are furrowed slightly, as if he disapproves of you being out alone in the dark.

After holding his gaze for a long moment, you nod slowly before whispering,

“Okay.”

“Would you like me to close my eyes?” he asks. His tone is almost teasing, and amusement sparkles in his eyes, but you know he is being genuine.

When you nod in response he closes his eyes dutifully, allowing you the opportunity to call forth the fox without the pressure of him watching you.

Aleksander was right. It comes more naturally to you this time; the pain is minimised to a strange prickling sensation and your vision darkens momentarily. When your vision returns, you’re nudging your nose against his arm.

His lashes flutter delicately against his cheekbones as his eyes open, squinting slightly in the sunlight before his dark eyes fall onto you.

The chill of the morning air no longer bothers you, as your fur keeps you warm, but the fox’s instincts overrule your own shyness and soon you’re nuzzling yourself against Aleksander’s side.

He moves slowly but you’re not startled as he lowers his palm against your side, smoothing gently over the fur there. A small sound of contentment hums in your chest as you close your eyes, resting your chin and neck down over his ribs.  

Unlike the change you had initiated last night, both you and the fox seem more aligned with your thoughts and wants this morning. In this moment, all you want to do is rest quietly beside Aleksander as he continues to pet you tenderly.

As you open your eyes, you tilt your head slightly to watch his expression. Finding his gaze already on you isn’t a surprise. With infinite care, he traces his fingers over the top of your snout before his knuckles brush lightly against your ears.

In response to the ticklish sensation, you shake your head, flicking your ears with a small huff. He withdraws his touch quickly and you nudge his hand in reassurance that he hadn’t made you uncomfortable.

Licking tentatively at his fingers that hang mid-air, you manage to bring a smile to his face which encourages Aleksander to continue his petting.

“You’re quite remarkable, you know that?” he muses quietly with a small smile. Then he frowns. “Can you understand me like this?”

He breathes out a soft laugh at himself as you nod.

In the early morning sunlight, reclined against his pillows, Aleksander looks so much younger like this. It seems that your achievement has lifted his spirits dramatically.

He still looks tired and some of the veins in his neck and arms are stained a shadowed grey as the merzost feeds on his body, but there’s a lightness in his eyes as he looks down at you.

His fingers circle over a spot at the crown of your head, nestled between your ears, and an unintentional noise escapes from the back of your throat. A rather high-pitched whine for more attention.  

Aleksander’s eyes widen, amusement sparkling there as his lips twitch into a smile that widens when you retreat slightly, tucking your face into the space where his side meets the mattress. His chuckle has you burying yourself even further away from his sight, nosing your way underneath his bicep.

Unfortunately, he lifts his arm, removing your hiding space.

He repeats his previous motion, fingers rubbing at the top of your head, and you slump down defeatedly onto the mattress. Tucked against his body, you resign yourself to making more of those embarrassing noises as he pets you.

When his nails scrape lightly against a delightfully sensitive spot behind your ear, a particularly loud noise rumbles through your body. Aleksander makes a gentle shushing sound but when you lift your head you see the smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t want anyone to come in and see a fox in my bed,” he reasons quietly.

He frowns slightly as you stand up, bounding over his stomach and lowering yourself down from the bed. Claws clicking over wooden floorboards, you head towards the open door that leads to his bathroom.

In the privacy of the small room, you shift back into your human form. The process still feels uncomfortable, but once you’ve stretched your arms and legs a little the stiffness in your muscles eases.  

For a moment, you lean against the counter, fingers curling around the lip of the porcelain wash basin there as you stare into the mirror. Widened pupils stare back at you as you observe the wildness of your hair and flushed skin. Breathing out a small laugh of surprise, you smile widely at yourself.

As you move to shut the bathroom door behind you, Aleksander’s eyes meet yours. He seems momentarily surprised at the sight of you, his lips parted as his gaze traces over your features. He smiles softly and the fox in your mind licks at your thoughts affectionately as you admire the man in front of you, bathed in sunlight.

The smile on your face doesn’t fade and your eyes remain fixed on his, even as you close the door slowly. Leaning against the wall for a moment, you feel a rush of affection for Aleksander, the fox scampering happily amongst the giddiness you’re feeling.

This morning has been a turning point, you can feel it in your soul.

»»---------------------►

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