#gamoraing

He leans backward, crossing his arms. “I’m rather fond of this. One of the originals, you know.”

She looks over at last, raising one perfect eyebrow. “Are you getting sentimental?” 

"I’m allowed small things like that on occasion."

"You’re allowed just about anything, your majesty.”

She reminds him of his rank purposely but casually. The war had not made Zoya any less haughty, but it’s grounded her in ways. Her confidence is harsher and softer at the same time; she doesn’t look at everyone like they’re beneath her - some she even sees as equals. As King, he should once again he offended that she sees him as something of an equal, but Zoya was privy to things at Alina’s side he was not, so there is a part of that he can’t ever understand. Perhaps it’s deserving. 

"Oh stop sulking," Zoya says, rolling her eyes. She gives proper etiquette when due, but out here closed off, they are both on equal footing as leftover soldiers.

"I don’t sulk." He’s affronted. Or at least, that’s what he shows her.  

"You are. It really doesn’t suit you, scars and all."

In the span of the conversation, she’s moved over, lessened the distance and stands looking out over the balcony beside him. Nikolai flexes his fingers. “Doesn’t it? I feel that’s expected.”

"Coming from a pirate like you, that’s cute."

He laughs. It’s not quite a snort - he’s too dignified for that - but the sound is welcome anyway. Perhaps he gained more than he sought in coming out here. 

Zoya watches him carefully, and he offers her a questioning grin - something on his face? But the silence stretches thin, and he wonders if she’s been silenced by outside means. He’s never known the Squaller to keep her mouth shut when something is on her mind. But she uses her mouth for something else entirely. 

She kisses him. It takes a lot to catch the Sturmhond off guard, but at least he can safely say the shock doesn’t show in his face. 

When Zoya pulls back, she stiffens, as if she’s realized potential repercussions of her actions. 

If she’s surprised when he leans in to kiss her again, it’s nothing compared to his own surprise. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he lets himself go with the urge anyway. 

Her hand touches his arm, and he sweeps in closer, cupping her face. She responds in kind, and he can feel her hands worm their way to fist in his shirt. 

It’s careful placement. Zoya knows exactly what she’s doing. Her fingers tug just enough to get him to press in, to slide one hand behind her head. She’s warm, despite how cold it is, and she’s kissing him entirely of her own will. It makes him feel human.

She leans in further, and he ends up against the railing; but his balance is precise, and he uses the leverage to level himself out, to stop stooping his head as he kisses her.

Because he’s still kissing her. Her body presses into him, too perfectly fitted to be anything but calculated. He moves one hand to her waist - if she can plan out moves, so can he, and if the way she sighs into his mouth is any consolation, it was a right move. One she counters by kissing him harder, by using her teeth, and he’s five seconds from losing against her when she breaks away with a sharp breath, stepping from him in one fluid motion.

Nikolai blinks at her, faintly short of air and rumpled.

"I’ve always wanted to do that," Zoya says simply, straightening her gown at the same time. 

He turns his flirt back on. “You could have asked.” 

"Why would I need to?" she replies, just as easily, just as lightly. She runs her hand over his shirt, smoothing it over, before turning on her heels. She disappears back inside, rejoining the party without another word.

He watches her go and doesn’t try to stop her. He thinks about Alina’s words, her perhaps sarcastic suggestion that a Grisha queen could be found in Zoya. Nikolai laughed, at the time. But now he wonders.