“That’s awfully pessimistic of you,” Nikolai said lightly, tell-tale fox grin pulling on the corners of his mouth. He knew the scales had never favored them, but they’d beat the odds before, hadn’t they? Defeated the Darkling - at least temporarily, he thought wryly -, and managed to keep the country from falling into complete chaos while dealing with the aftermath of the Black Heretic’s reign. He almost wanted to agree with her — and wouldn’t have blamed her if she had stayed in Ketterdam. Ravka had been at war for so long, after all. Saints, he wanted to ensure her that the reinforcement would show up soon and that they would turn the tide, but the king wasn’t sure if either of those things were true. “This won’t be how you’ll go,” he concluded, instead. He raised his gun, aimed and shot at an approaching enemy. “Because we’ve got something they don’t have.”
“i am awfully pessimistic,” pansy retorts, dodging a stray inferni bolt of fire carried wayward by the breeze. their squallers look overwhelmed, for a moment, pansy directs the bulk of her effort in stopping the hearts of the fjerdan soldiers encroaching that front. her limbs are aching and her vision is starting to go soft around the edges ― clear signs of exhaustion. the king himself looks disheveled, which is something of a novelty to see. pansy has never seen nikolai as anything less than composed. “you promise?” she asks, and there’s a smile behind her words. she’s not sure it’s true, and she knows nikolai can’t guarantee it either, but his attempt amuses her for the moment, reminds her that his unflinching, almost arrogant certainty is a source of morale. “and what would that be, hmm? you?” she’s grinning now, despite how tired she is. “you know i won’t argue that, your highness. it is a point against fjerda.”
