#grishaverse asks

ooh okay so i think he'd definitely echo a lot of their father's beliefs and i think that would include him being INCREDIBLY insistent on knowing about natalya and dominik's relationship (which yknow... not romantic in the slightest for natalya and dominik but vasily and alexander or whatever his name was dont really care about that). i do think their mother having the affair with magnus opjer informs a lot of how natalya is treated especially in regards to dominik (because OBVIOUSLY boys and girls cant be friends with each other smh).

i think he would kind of view natalya as competition of sorts for their parents' affection so he would try to tell on natalya a lot (mostly when they were younger) to get affection points from their parents. also i think he'd be kind of run of the mill misogynist (he kind of already is in canon </3) so that'd end up directed at natalya a lot.

it probably comes from a place of like... "my parents' love is conditional so i'm going to suck up to them and putting my sister down makes me feel better" and then like the king genuinely does prefer him because a) he's like his actual biological son and not the product of an affair, and b) he conforms to what a "lantsov man" should be.

                                                          ***

In the past ‘Lantsov’  had been for daily use; it was a name that belonged to most of the people he knew, but when she said it, it was only ever for him. 

‘Nikolai’ was for when the world shrunk down to just them, the way her red lips pulled up when she whispered his name, her thumb brushing his cheek bone, a hushed reply to his calling of her name between reverent praises in the dark of the night. 

‘Kolya’ was teasing, she knew he hated it so it was always uttered to seek out a reaction. “ Kolya, guess who asked for my hand in marriage? Kolya, Kirigin asked me to accompany him to the theatre again today. I think he likes me, or it seemed like it when he put his hands on my waist.” Kolya always led to consequences but it was like she always purred afterwards, ‘ you’re too predictable Lantsov.’ He knew he was, but that never stopped him, the taste of her was too sweet to turn away from. 

In the past ‘ Nazyalensky’ had been for daily use; he'd called her that since they were children. One night, years later he would whisper into her hair that he had always liked the way it sounded, the gentle rise and fall of the syllables, how it demanded to be said slowly, demanded your time and respect for it could never be spoken with malice. She would smile, tracing the letters onto his chest, that’s exactly why she’d chosen it for herself. 

'Zoya' was rare; she liked to think she could recount every time it had ever been uttered, though he had said it far too many times for that to be true. Her family called her Zoya, it was always said with unspoken love but she’d never know that someone could say it with the same connotations without being one of her people. In truth, Zoya was only rare when it came from his lips, he was the only one who said it like that. Zoya was used when he needed her, when he couldn’t do without her. Zoya was his, as much as Nikolai was hers… at least that’s how it’d been before. 

                                                              ***

In the after, Zoya lived forever in his mind, a searing image in the dawn light, the brush of icy wind against his face. 

In the after, she forbade herself from thinking of Nikolai. She knew that what she’d given to him all those years ago would betray her if she did. 

The after was where they existed now, a queen posed across from a king on a chessboard. She had any and every move at her disposal and all he could do was react with the smallest steps. The power was in her hands, though they were in his home, he’d never felt more like an exposed nerve before her than he did now. It didn’t help that she was wearing her signature armor tonight. After years without seeing her, the perfectly cut lines of her dress, the red curve of her lips that he knew she’d reapplied in the car, pressing them together three times to get them just right, the little details threatened to torch him, he was always too flammable when it came to her. 

“Oh, Kolya ,” she sighed, crossing one leg over the other, her use of the diminutive threatened to undo him.

“Lantsov,” he corrected. “Why are you here, Nazyalensky?”

“Can’t I pop in for a visit?”

“Is it a friendly visit?” Even when they had been friends, nothing with her had ever been friendly. 

“Now, that’s entirely up to you,” she cooed. 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Nikolai mused, learning back in his seat. If she was going to toy with him, he may as well return the favour. She was quiet and so he continued, “how’s Kirigin?” 

“Emil is as handsome, rich and satisfying as ever.” Her grin was sharp, he could almost see the challenge but he was not the boy she once knew, he would not rise to take the bait. 

He pushed past the dig at him wrapped in a compliment to her husband. “Come now, Zoya. Your first visit after all these years can’t just be business related.” 

She sighed, those damned red lips pulling into a slight pout. If the sound of her name coming from his mouth phased her, she would never let it show. “You’re right. Genya,” she summoned and her sister who had been standing quietly at her side handed her a small, perfectly wrapped package complete with a bow on top. Zoya’s fingers trailed the length of the package, as if she were weighing her options, deciding where the queen would land. After a brief second, she held it out to Nikolai, seemingly having made up her mind.

He heard Vasily start forward, but he held up his hand and his eyes fixed on her. Tonight was not the night to let his brother loose, everything regarding the Grisha, regarding Zoya required a knowledge of the past, which his brother did not have. Nikolai reached out, his fingers brushing over hers as he took the box from her. The Grisha were clever and Zoya had the lethal combination of being the most clever and most ruthless of her sisters. Whatever was in this box was not good news. “Why,” he murmured, “did you bring me a box of sweets, Nazyalensky?” “You know better than anyone that just because something looks sweet doesn’t mean that it is.” “Are we trading lessons now? I’m afraid I have none to share. What is this?” “It’s something we’ve been working on, a little pick me up, if you will. I won’t bore you with the intricacies, though I imagine you know the rest.” “I don’t,” Nikolai ground out, carefully unwrapping the box. Inside was a set of brightly coloured strips, they looked like pieces of translucent paper. “You know we don’t like to get involved in concoctions like the Grisha.” “That’s interesting,” Zoya hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail to her chin. “I’ve been hearing some disconcerting whispers about how your family is planning on changing directions, though thanks to your assurances, I now know that can’t possibly be true.” Nikolai was concerned at how much she’d improved as an actress in their time apart, though this was pure mockery. There had been a time where they had taught each other everything they learned, but she had always loathed acting. She’d considered it a waste of time, why lie when you could cut harder with the truth? They’d been opposites in that way, though that no longer seemed to be the case now. How else had she changed since then? Would she still sigh if he whispered against her neck, would she pull at his hair if he refused to move his lips further than the corner of her mouth? He’d once seen an infinite number of futures for them and this reality had never been one. Nikolai wished he had seen it, maybe it would’ve made the end easier. “Is that all then?” “Nikolai,” she chided, shaking her head. “I wanted you to be the first to try it. Are we not trusting each other with the truth today? I’m trusting that you are telling me the truth and now it’s your turn to trust me. What’s a little trust exercise between friends, we are friends, aren’t we Kolya?” “Zoya--” Her blue eyes flashed, her tone lashed at him like a whip. “Aren’t we?” She let her eyes drift lazily over his form, but he knew she was calculating again, not actually looking. “Try it, Nikolai.” Zoya’s tone was honey sweet now, it was the voice she used to use to turn nos into yeses, it allowed no room for dissent. He was a fox backed into a corner and he had no way out of this trap. 

“Zoya,” Nikolai repeated, “Zoya, come on now, let’s talk about this.” He felt a prickle of fear down his spine. He did not fear her as everyone else did, he feared what she might do. The negotiator’s mein he donned did nothing, however. Her gaze was pure steel, and he felt the looks Genya and Vasily shot at him, he’ll say no. But no wasn’t an option. It never was. His hand floated over the box and he wished now more than ever that he could sense the magic that made them what they were. Would choosing one lead to a worse fate than if he’d chosen the next? Nikolai picked the indigo strip, his hand steady as he tried one last time to find a way to stop the madness. “Do it,” Zoya snapped, she’d never been the patient one. “Zoya, let me explain. After everything, at least give me the chance to explain.” “Nikolai,” it was Tolya, his voice low, urging him to reconsider. “What,” Zoya sniffed, “you’d like to get in on the fun too? There’s more than enough for all four of you to share.”

“Tamar,” he called, his eyes still trained on the woman across from him, “keep our brothers in place. None of you are to move.” “Nikolai,” Tolya tried again, “you don’t have to do this.” “Quiet,” Zoya snapped, pushing up from her chair. “Do it, Nikolai.” She perched herself on the arm of his chair, she was close enough to touch. The Saints were cruel enough to deprive him the chance to determine if this was a cunning illusion or the inarguable end to their story, if he could touch her maybe he’d glean the truth. Zoya leaned over him, picking the strip from his hands, the ends of her hair brushing his collarbone as she did. His breath had left him, he didn’t need it anymore, not when he was sure of his fate. She drew herself back up, her face mere inches away from his. “Open up,” she whispered, and Nikolai had one last second to hope that against all odds, perhaps she had not written for him to die today. If this was one of his last moments, as pathetic as he knew it was, at least he had looked into her eyes one last time. He parted his mouth slowly and she placed her index finger under his chin, her thumb running against his lower lip as she tilted his head back, coaxing him to open up wider. “Good boy,” she murmured, placing the strip on his tongue before getting up rather abruptly. Nikolai wondered why the Saints decided to take what was once the beautiful vessel for life and twist it into the beautiful vessel for death. Was everyone killed by what they loved most, or was he an exception? “The thing that makes these unique,” Zoya turned to the room at large, “is that they don’t sit peacefully on the tongues of liars and cheats. Unless one is virtuous, they’ll find themselves experiencing a different type of reaction, more like pain is being inflicted upon them rather than it being taken away.” 

Nikolai blinked once, then twice, her words were muffled, the sight of her was growing fuzzy. This was it then? He felt bile rise in his chest but when he swiped his hand across his mouth, all he saw was scarlet blood smeared across his skin. “Those who deal with us in good faith,” she continued as Nikolai struggled to maintain whatever composure he could. “Know the particular spell that will protect them from the less than savoury side effects. But of course you wouldn’t know, how could you, given that you don’t deal in the business of creation like we do.” He felt a cough rise in his chest, propelling him backwards as blood began seeping from between the fingers he’d clapped over his mouth. He wanted to scream, he couldn’t breathe, but no words could be heard, only the gurgling of blood in his chest as he tried to push air in and out of his lungs. “I wonder who it was then,” Zoya said, “who has been leaking our top secret project and selling it for profit under our noses for far more than we ever planned on selling them for. I wonder who, Kolya.” Nikolai tried to speak again, tried to call her name, he needed her, he needed Zoya, not whoever was standing in front of him now though he knew they were the same woman, he just wished they weren’t, not now at least. He lurched forward in his chair as another round of coughs racked his body, collapsing to the floor, unable to cushion his fall. He felt his body shake but he was already starting to feel a sense of detachment from his body, he barely registered his head hitting the leg of his chair as he convulsed. Was this what a lack of oxygen did to the brain? Or was Zoya’s magic just toying with him, giving him a brief sort of respite before it truly killed him? He was lying in a pool of his own blood, even in his haze he knew to roll to his side so he wouldn’t choke on it as it poured from his mouth. He tried to push himself off the ground but his arms and legs felt locked in place. “This hurts me, Kolya. It truly does,” her lips pulled down at the corners. “I thought we were friends and that friends could be trusted. Unfortunately I see that much has changed over the years, you are not who you once were.” Neither are you. Nikolai wanted to shout, but he felt whatever fight was left in him pull away from the words. Instead he felt his body continue to shake, teeth piercing the flesh of his cheeks. She crouched down to his level, pushing a loose strand of hair back from his forehead. “Nikolai, I trusted you.” He hated how he wanted to lean into the action, how the touch felt familiar, how he wondered for a second if there was an ounce of affection left in those eyes.