tags: dark!Genya, saint!Genya, character death, nichevo'ya tug of war, cannon divergent, body horror, descriptions of wounds, a small homage to Inigo Montoya
The nichevo'ya chitter with excitement, eager to throw off Kirigan's restraints. They fall on her like starving wolves. Their clicking morphs into rough snarls.
Buffeted by them, Genya tries to fight back. She lashes out with her elbows, tries to grip and push, but her hands catch air. The darkness swarms her. It turns solid in brief moments, and too quickly, knocks her to the ground.
Shadow claws rip through her skin and muscle, scraping wetly across bone. There's an all-consuming pain that flares through her every nerve. It makes her lungs wrench. She gasps between their high shrieks.
She is shredded.
Her kefta offers no protection.
Genya dies in the nichevo'ya attack.
Her blood pools and spreads across the dusty floorboards of the dilapidated manor. Between the slashes, her pale skin is as lovelier than ever.
Kirigan sighs heavily. “A waste of perfection, truly.”
Her hand lies against the floor, open palm upturned, ever-delicate fingertips reaching to snag the swirling shadows.
They chitter lowly now. Having grasped light and life, and extinguished it entirely, they still found themselves lacking. The curse persists because they are perpetually unbalanced from their unnatural creation.
Her heart beats sluggishly, pushing her life out of her.
Her fingers stretch, trying to capture it back. There's dwindling heat from her dripping blood sticking to her forearm and palm in a sad mockery.
Still, she grasps hold, and pulls.
Hanging in the doorway between life and death, her Small Science reaches out effortlessly across blood and broken flesh, the abandoned dust, and towards the shadows curling just in reach, because they too preferred the warmth.
Genya finds the shadow in the same way she can find light, shine, and colour. She finds it in the same, unthinking way that young Grisha children scream in pain and fear and split the ground or burst hearts. How they experience the joy in leaping without looking and the terror of falling, right before commanding the air to catch them.
She reaches out and finds it without the delight of a meadow of wildflowers enveloping her in every beautiful way it could.
The pain thrumming through her skips like skimmed stones and then recedes like the tide flowing out. She doesn't flinch for its return, trusting in the way it drains out of her, replaced by a searing that prickles her tongue.
Her heart thumps even slower, but it's a pounding drumbeat that pours strength back into her limbs.
Genya hovers in the doorway between life and death, and calls her Small Science back from the Making at the Heart of the World to create something new.
Before all of this, in the Queen's Dressing Room with her box of colours, she could bend any material and strip it down, to impart its qualities back into visuals. Beauty was merely a balance, a careful refinement, and her control was unrivalled. She had never sought to push her makings further, and even at the Queen's insistence, those uglier efforts were all undoable.
Now her Small Science takes and takes from the shadows, from the merzost within them, and subsumes it entirely. She does not hold back or try to split the shadow from its lumbering forms or slavering jaws.
Instead Genya closes her fist, binding it all together.
Her control is a steel vice around the fluxing darkness.
She uses it as a crutch.
Dragging her arms under her, bent forwards, she clambers back to her feet. She kicks off her remaining boot. The other is lost to some dark corner of the room.
Once more, her heart thumps.
The shadows twitch in response.
It's unnatural.
But it's no longer raw power.
There's a small awareness ringing in the far depths of her mind. A warning chime. She knows that with Morozova's amplifiers, it's merzost that binds their power back to a living Grisha and makes them strong. It was unthinkable, unachievable. Yet here she is, hovering on the cusp of death, more powerful than she had ever been with her own kestrel bones.
The new power flooding through her isn't instinctive, not like her Small Science.
It reacts.
She is the flame sparking tinder.
She fuses her reach through the shadows until every wavering inch is hers. When she pulls again, the darkness follows her, like puppetry on a wire. The nichevo'ya are not organic or inorganic but there's something there to wrap her power around.
They don't fight her.
They can't.
They're only shadows.
Genya takes more, and a new surge threatens to overwhelm her. She doesn't know what will happen if it sweeps her away, but even as she shakes hard enough to rattle her teeth inside her mouth, she holds fast in her determination not to drown.
A violent death. A resurrection. Power.
She hadn't been one to believe in miracles, but there is more keeping her upright and her heart barely beating than her sheer desire to live. It is a torrent of power trapped under her skin, shifting to heat when she can’t stem the flow of it, burning the smeared blood off.
It itches as it flakes off her arms and neck.
A sudden twist of embarrassment hits her stomach and she runs a hand tentatively down her injured forearm.
She had never worn an injury before, not one that bled and tore through her skin. Her Dekora Nevich was sharp-tipped in its own way, but she had only ever felt the caustic burn from the soaps to scrub it off. The gash there submits to her healing, allowing her to pull the wound closed, but try as she might, she can't wipe the scar away.
The mark persists on remaining there, blighting her otherwise lovely skin.
In her desperation, Genya throws herself into the wash of power, trying to Tailor herself as she had done her whole life.
The cracks along her broken body remain.
The scars along her throat and chest prickle.
There's a shifting mass growing within her eye socket, but she cannot replace her torn-out eye. It pulses when her true one blinks, seeing beyond the doorway at the churning-twisting-Making at the Heart of the World.
A hoarse scream escapes her.
The power coursing through her can't smooth the bumpy edges, but the roiling heat buzzing in her veins grows and shifts and then finally turns to a pale light that seeps out from her every scarred seam.
The shadows curl around themselves, trying to escape but unable to refuse the invisible threads that tie them to her.
Another loud ripping shriek tears through Genya's throat.
The nichevo'ya are snared fully. She twists her hand and they fall forward. The closest mass to her chirps lowly as it hunches down on some approximation of all fours. Its hulking mass ripples wildly, echoing her shivering, and then sinks into itself.
The rest give into her will slowly; claws raising and falling, legs shifting and unearthly noises bouncing around the almost empty room.
With a bloody-stained hand, she presses lightly against the closest shadow, and meets resistance. It bumps against her before flinching. Then she presses again with her bolstered Small Science. It's a coaxing, a gentle stroke, and in response it merely rumbles back.
The nichevo'ya are hers, not his. They might follow her to the ends of Ravka with a flick of her wrist.
Kirigan's jaw twitches. “It isn't possible…”
But she can read him just as well as the tsaritsa.
Behind the confusion of having his own nichevo'ya turned on him, Kirigan was mildly impressed. There had been a listlessness draped over him these last few weeks as he had licked his wounds, and raged over Alina's betrayal and the underhanded readiness of the First Army. The spark of finding something different had shaken off his malaise.
There's a tugging beyond the shadows that focuses Genya.
His glinting eyes narrow as he tries to force the shadow creatures back to him. The furrow etched into his brow vanishes as surprise takes over.
Finally, a drop of fear leeches into his uncertainty, turning his already pale skin sallow.
Creating the nichevo'ya cost Kirigan each time, but controlling them cost more. He couldn't fight her pull, because they were no longer just shadows.
Satisfied, Genya takes a step forward.
Her hoarse voice cracks when she speaks, “I did everything you asked. I wanted to.”
The accusation falls short, because it was only the truth; she had agreed to spy on the Queen for him. She had wanted to be different, to be special. Her ambition was no smaller than any other girl in the Little Palace dorms. She had wanted the pretty dresses, the tsaritsa's adoration, his approval, and the title of First Tailor.
All were things that had been dangled in front of her, and all for the task of doing what already came so easy to her.
But the white kefta and the tsar's clammy hands hadn't been part of that golden deal she had originally struck as a child. Her naive dreams hadn't survived in the midst of the court games and the jagged shards of broken expectations.
If I had known…
Kirigan's voice is measured and smooth, even as his eyes flick across the narrowing distance to the prowling nichevo'ya.
“What I wanted… was to give Grisha the protection they deserve. To bring an end to centuries of death, of being hunted. When you've lived as long as I have, you learn to fight with everything you have.”
He slumps forward like they might lean into each other having found their common ground once again, and the sadness and sympathy tugging at the corners of his wet eyes has Genya clenching her hands.
“I was the sacrifice you were willing to make.”
“There is always a cost. I can't change that. But I do respect it, and the weight of its burden.”
“And for what?” Genya demands back. “All that loyalty. All that perfection. For you to turn your back on me the moment I disagree? To turn your nichevo'ya on me?”
The harsh exhale sends air whistling out of the gashes in her throat, and she raises a hand to press the flesh back together. The cartilage grows quickly and the skin knits together over her new tendons. It comes so naturally, where she once had to work to direct the flow of her intentions to heal.
She tilts her head, testing the range of movement and feels the raised puckering of another corded scar that will not heal.
The shadow by her foot bends lower, snuffling at the floor.
“A betrayal can make one act rashly, but look at you, Genya. Isn't this a sign of greater things? You've surpassed what we thought a Tailor could do. You can command them, my nothing-creatures. You could use them to rip apart the Grand Palace. All that false finery. You of all people understand how perfection is possible. You could build something lasting for the next generation.”
Kirigan tilts his head, considering this new vision of the future. “You'll be their protection. And you'll come to know what it means to be responsible for their flaws, guard against their betrayals when they think they know better.”
Genya scoffs, and one of the nichevo'ya lunges out.
It clips Kirigan across the shoulder, and he staggers backwards.
“Genya, you don't want to do this. I have always been a friend to you. I offered you a way out, an immediate end to the tsar's actions when you came to me, but you refused to take it.”
His scarred face twists with annoyance.
Unwilling to give any ground to her or the nichevo'ya, he takes a small step forwards, still reaching out for her.
“You swore you wouldn't be weak. Well, you have more power now than you could ever have imagined. You could crush the First Army at Poliznaya with just one regiment of Etherialki. Will you? For yourself. For our dead lying on the docks at Kribisk. For the pyres along the Fjerdan border. For Alina. You think yourself loyal? You want to bring about true change in Ravka? Prove it.”
She takes a step closer too, and the shadows lick around her like heatless flames.
“Offer something worthwhile.”
She makes her request quietly, falling back into her old role of a sneaking mouse with little velvet ears considering all the crumbs of information laid out around her.
“I can offer you the King's death. You'll never have to fear him, or anyone else, ever again.” His palm tips up to her, as if he might close the distance between them and gently cup her cheek. “We'll do it together.”
Genya shakes her head slowly. “I've taken years off his life already. I want him to suffer. Anything else would be a mercy.”
“You can have the Queen's throne.” Kirigan tries again, painting a new picture of revenge and resolution. “The Tailor raised up to stitch Ravka back together. No one could refute this holiness. With my power, and you, a beloved, sainted beauty, we can rule together for the betterment of all Grisha.”
“I don't want to rule. They can keep their games and their gaudiness.”
His eyes flash dark with frustration, and the curve of his mouth slips down in contempt. “Ask me, and I'll provide it for you. You won't have to fight anymore. Once the Fold is mine, you can have whatever you want.”
She closes her remaining eye for a moment.
The Making at the Heart of the World blinds her memories, but they are rooted too deep within her to be burnt away by the power coursing through her. Those old wants. Those childish desires. The things kept from her with raps on her knuckles and pinches along her arms.
“Offer me my childhood.”
Kirigan's face twists in confusion at the bitterness in her low voice.
“Offer me a new kefta.” Genya drops her shoulder and lets the fabric slip down her chest.
There's holes running right through the corecloth where her nichevo'ya carved into her harder and faster than any steel bullet, but she doesn't feel the cold. She doesn't need its protection anymore. It's the principle of the matter. Her kefta was hers. She had earnt it with her blood, sweat, and tears.
He knew better than to ruin it.
With a strangled yelp, Kirigan rocks back as another nichevo'ya threatens to yank itself from his back.
The effort of holding it at bay leaves him breathless and hunched over. It was all taxing him. His distance from Alina stretching the amplifier bond between the bone remnants of Morozova's Stag. The toll of pushing the Fold's borders further out, metre by metre to swallow up Novokribirsk. Each and every nichevo'ya between Kribisk and this night. The merzost was up over his neck, and he was drowning in it
She could see his misery so clearly with her true eye.
He was lost within his own darkness.
Genya asks again, without hesitation. “Offer me a clean conscience, just like yours.”
The vlachka drops, and realisation spills across Kirigan's face.
He had already given her all of it.
“What do you want, Genya?” He asks wearily, as if it would cost him too much effort to consider the answer again, as if he was tired of playing games with her, as if this was to be a consolation prize rather than the marking of a partnership of equals.
“I want my body back.”
It's a hiccup of a wilting desire, and a useless one. She knows it, just as well as him. The blazing, bright power at the Making of the Heart of the World cannot deliver it to her, and neither can the raw and black clawing of mersozt.
Her sole amber eye stares Kirigan down.
Excited chittering fills the room as Genya raises her pale arms, cleansed of her own blood, and intact from dainty fingertips down to her healed shoulders.
Her moulded power rears up in a tidal wave, and her nichevo'ya surge forwards.
A list of fan fiction I’ve written for the Grishaverse! Rating is “Teen” unless otherwise noted. All book characterizations, mostly darklina.
Multichapter Complete
A Hundred Lifetimes Ago (Alina/the Darkling) (rating: M) (99k words): This fic explores the answers to three questions: What happened to Aleksander and Baghra in those years between Demon in the Wood and The Grisha Trilogy? How might the Darkling and Alina have pushed and pulled and eventually shaped each other if he had reacted to events at the Spinning Wheel differently? And, most importantly: after everything that was done to them, and everything they did to each other, what would it take for our Grisha trilogy immortals to be happy — or at least, have the potential to be?
This is a story of familial love and loss, and other types of love, and anger, and fear. It’s a story about what it means to be alone — and what it means to be together.
The Shadow of War (Alina Starkov/the Darkling, 135k words): Alina’s project in her last year of university has caught Ambassador Morozova’s attention. He convinces her to move to Ravka to bring solar energy to the villages; her role turns out to be much larger than that. Modern day AU and occasional retelling. Nothing Small about this Science.
The Wind and the Darkness (Zoya Nazyalensky, The Darkling): A triptych of scenes with Zoya & the Darkling set before, during, and after Shadow & Bone. Includes rumors, amplifiers, broken ribs, and Alina’s escape, all in the context of two egos large enough that one wonders they can fit in the same room.
Multichapter Incomplete
Mastering the Cut (Alina/the Darkling) (3/4 chapters): Dr. Morozova is a surgical prodigy and master of the cut. Dr. Starkov has the luck and misfortune of becoming his intern. Half crack.
One-shots
A Family Affair (Alina Starkov/Malyen Oretsev & the Darkling): Alina and Mal attend his family reunion. The Morozovas are also there. Features the Darkling’s Terrible Innuendos™. (tumblr)
Three's A Crowd (Alina Starkov/Malyen Oretsev & the Darkling): Immediately post-KoS. Alina and Mal's quiet night in Keramzin is interrupted by a newly not-dead visitor. They never made a very good trio. More of the Darkling’s Terrible Innuendos™.
Once Again, and Always (Alina Starkov/the Darkling): A bird falls in the darkness and becomes a husband. The Sun Summoner and the Darkling have worn a groove in the universe, and they get up once more to play their parts and say their lines. Deathless AU. (tumblr)
Legal Matters (Zoya/Nikolai) (rating: M): AU in which Nikolai & Zoya are lawyers who casually hook up. Mostly an excuse for banter. (tumblr)
Naming a King (the Darkling): Aleksander meets Alexander. Half a century-ish before Shadow & Bone. (tumblr)
Ficlets
Canon-compliant
Aleksander gets a goat * Mal & the Darkling do dinner * Nikolai + Genya in the bathroom * A young Darkling visits Fjerda
Alina and the Darkling rule forever AU Salvation * Yahrzeit * Kittens * Pink * Honey * Blame * Do not. Tempt. Me. * Apologies to William Carlos Williams * Enemy
Other
Ivan sides with Alina * Nikolina surprise * Alina as cryptographer * Zoya/Nikolai + honesty * Zoya/Nikolai + drinking * Zoya/Nikolai + bleeding * Alina/Darkling at the camera shop * The Sturmhond
Additional Tags: Amnesia, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, enemies to found family, grudgingly assimilating the villain into the found family, Moral Dilemmas, Moral Ambiguity, Philosophical Discussions, Narrative foils, Complicated Relationships, complicated feelings, Mistrust, Understanding, gets meta about the power of storytelling to shape perception of events, both within the fic itself and as commentary on the original books, pre-canon the Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Ensemble Cast, POV Alina Starkov, POV The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, no bashing of any character, Book 3: Ruin and Rising, show characters with book lore, Canon - Grishaverse (Book & TV Combination)
Summary: The consequences of merzost are unpredictable. In the ruins of a chapel that nearly killed them both, Alina took more than she expected: centuries upon centuries of his memory. The Darkling may not remember the Fold, but that doesn’t mean he can’t help her destroy it—if she’s willing to press her advantage.
Aleksander has lived for 100 years and never heard of this so-called saint, this Sankta Alina. There’s something off about it, something he can’t quite recall. He’s never put his trust in saints and he does not intend to start now.
But the better they get to know each other, the more complicated it becomes.
—
The Saint did not return for several days.
Aleksander looked for her, whenever the door swung open. But his twice-daily rations were delivered by the stony silence of his rotating guards. The girl was Tamar; he hadn’t yet decided which of the two boys was Tolya and which was Mal. It hardly mattered.
“What is she the Saint of, exactly?” he asked Mal-or-Tolya one day, at mealtime.
The boy dropped his food on the ground, inconveniently beyond his reach. “None of your concern.”
“Not the Patron Saint of Hospitality, then? Or of Manners?”
This earned him little more than a huff and a slammed door.
request: Hiii! I recently discovered your blog and I love everything you write, your Nikolai content deserves so much love (as does everything else)!But speaking of that cheeky bastard, would you be up for writing headcannons or in a style you’re comfortable with about Nikolai (Strumhond in this case) where reader is new to the job and packs light and forgets a coat, but Tamar tricks them into wearing Strumhond’s coat (being oblivious that it’s his) and Strumhond makes a sarcastic comment but in the end is fine with it? Don’t worry about if you’re busy - it just came to mind! ❤️
a/n: thank you sweet thing! i love my baby nikolai,,, this is so cute by the way i love the concept so much
warnings: cursing, suggestive comments
you could not have been so stupid.
it was your first week on this job. you were new to the crew of this ship, and you had done everything right up until that point. you wanted to make the best impression possible. strumhond’s crew was legendary. there wasn’t a single sailor on the seas that didn’t know his name.
and you, of all people, had been lucky enough to be chosen to help his crew. if you proved yourself, you hoped, you could get an actual permanent job with the crew.
but of course that wasn’t going to happen, because you were going to freeze your ass off before you even got the chance to do anything useful.
your inability to think ahead had caused you to forget to bring a warm coat. most days at sea were warm, sometimes too warm, with the sun hitting your face and body at every angle.
but there were days like this one where the winds were too rough and the air to cold, and every part of your body felt like it could fall off due to frost bite.
you searched the deck of the ship around you, hoping to find a spare coat, but mostly to make sure that the captain of the ship didn’t see you freezing in the corner.
you’d seen him a couple of times in the last couple of days. usually giving an order or messing around with the closest of his friends on the ship.
he was cute, you couldn’t deny it. at a distance there was nothing wrong. but closer up it was easier to see that there were parts of his face that seemed.. wrong. you’d been around long enough to know a tailored face when you saw one.
you tried not to linger on the reasonings for his tailored face, it wasn’t your business and it didn’t change his ability to lead a crew. despite that, you couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like for real. he had this royal presence to him.
even though he was a pirate, sorry, a privateer, he knew how to hold command. how to get people to listen when they didn’t want to. to make deals and compromises whenever a fight broke out. to leave both sides satisfied. he was like a prince at sea.
okay so maybe the prince had caught your attention more than you wanted to admit.
but it was hard not to be interested in him when every time he made eye contact with you it felt so intense that your knees felt weak.
the sudden gust of cold air snapped your thoughts back to the reality of your situation. your arms were wrapped around your body, as if this position could make the light jacket you had on suddenly sufficient against the cold.
you saw tamar walk onto the deck from below deck. she turned and saw you huddled near the wall. you gave her a sheepish and embarrassed grin. tamar had been the first person to speak to you and though you’d only known her a couple of days, you knew she was the kind of person one trusted.
she walked over to you with an amused smile. you could practically feel the teasing retort that was about to come out of her mouth.
“you look a little warm y/n, you sure you don’t want to take off your jacket.” she sarcastically said, her grin growing on her face.
you rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed huff, “if i die from hypothermia i’m going to make sure to haunt you.”
she let out a throaty laugh. “good, i happen to like your company. you can help me scare the shit out of tolya. he could use a ghost visit.”
the two of you shared a laugh and then you looked at her with slightly sweet puppy eyes. “tamar, please please tell me you have a coat. i stupidly forgot to pack one, trying to keep my bag light.”
she nodded her head at you, “yeah i’ve noticed.” she thought for a moment and then her face broke out into a mischievous smirk. “well i don’t have a coat to lend you but i know someone who has a spare.”
you nodded your head rapidly with enthusiasm. “saints, yes. i won’t get any work done today without a coat.”
she smirked at you and some part of your brain was telling you that her smirk had something hidden behind it. an extra plan. the look of many of the criminals you’d met during your time in ketterdam.
she linked her arm through yours and pulled you towards one end of the ship where a long brown coat was laid on top of the helm of the ship.
you looked at her sceptically, “who’s coat is this?”
she shrugged, grabbing the coat and easing it onto you. “think of it as a community jacket. we all like to share.”
you grinned and let yourself slip into the warmth of the cloth. you shuffled around a little and grabbed onto the ends of the sleeves since the coat was on the bigger side.
“i like it”
tamar smirked and motioned for you to spin, “it suits you. like it was made for you to use it.”
you narrowed your eyes and her words but before you could say anything she was walking back below deck.
the rest of the day went by without a hitch. the cold stopped bothering you and completing your daily task were actually easier. the coat smelled of the sea, the feeling of the sun, and an oddly familiar cologne that you couldn’t quite place.
it was too late before you realized how badly you’d fucked up.
you were on the right end of the ship, tying knots as the sunset around you. tamar was sat on a box talking while you worked quietly.
“nice coat y/n. i didn’t know we were at that level in our relationship just yet.” you heard a voice say from a couple feet away.
your head jerked upwards at the voice and you met the eyes of the one and only strumhond. he wore a smirk on his beautiful face and he was leaning against one of the beams of the ship.
you looked down at the coat you were wearing and had grown fond of throughout the day and your eyes went wide. you snapped your head to the girl sitting next to you, only to find her laughing silently into her hands. you threw her the most menacing glance you could manage before turning your attention back to your captain.
you got up and started wiggling out of the coat, “i am so so sorry. i was freezing and i under packed and i knew i wouldn’t get any work done today if i was cold so i asked tamar and she gave me this one and i never would have borrowed it had i known that-”
you paused your rambling and the sound of strumhond’s laugh. he took a couple steps forward so that he was closer to you and tamar.
“y/n, sweetheart, it’s really okay. we wouldn’t want you to freeze now would we tamar?” he shifted his attention to the girl next to you, throwing a teasing threat.
she hopped off the boxes she was sitting on and began walking away. “nope.” she said, popping the ‘p’, “we wouldn’t want that.” and then she was gone, leaving you and the privateer alone.
you gave him a small, embarrassed, smile. “i really am sorry. i wouldn’t have taken it.”
you finished taking it off and tried handing it back to him. he grabbed it and opened it up, an invitation to step in.
you looked at him curiously. “what are you doing?”
he nodded his head, motioning for you to step into the coat. “just use it. it’s cold. plus.” he paused and slipped the coat onto you, popping the collar. “it suits you.”
you blushed and turned to face him, suddenly aware of the closeness between the two of you.
he looked you up and down. “yeah,” he said in a breath, “it looks better on you.”
your breath hitched and your blush grew down onto your neck.
he leaned forward, his mouth closer to your ear.
“but it would look better on my floor.” he teased before walking away.
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Alina Starkov x Aleksander Morozova
Tagged: Canon Divergence
Summary: When one of Baghra's assassins tries to kill her after she runs away, Alina is forced to return to the Little Palace and reconcile with the Darkling in order to discover his true intentions.
|| this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written so if you have any tips on how I can improve my writing please feel free to tell me also request for future fics are open ||
btw: reader’s an Inferni and this doesn’t actually follow any plot points from the books/ part 1 is just fluff with a bit of kissing 🙃
ENJOY!
You were mere seconds from falling asleep right there, in the middle of a war room meeting. You usually love these types of meetings. Discussing strategy, war plans and studying maps are your area of expertise. But today the saints decided it was an amazing idea to make Vasily come up with another one of his so called “brilliant plans” to help win the war and present it in front of the whole council for approval. You didn’t understand why Nikolai would still let him be a part of anything at court since he was king and could easily exile that idiot with his parents but you guessed Nikolai did it for a reason he always does and you trust his judgment.
Recently there have been stronger fjerdan attacks on northern ravkan borders. More attacks meant more deaths, you couldn’t bear the idea of some of your friends laying in a pool of their own blood. Feeling slightly nauseous, you drove your thoughts to Aleksander. You couldn’t wait to get out of this place, fall sound asleep in his firmly protective and welcoming arms and forget about all your problems, even just for a couple of hours.. You were suddenly pulled out of your daydream by one of the councilmen mentioning your name.
“We can send y/n, from what I heard she’s a skilled spy and powerful Inferni I’m sure she’ll get us enough information to make the next move”
“Good then, we’ll send her tomorrow first thing in the morning,” said Nikolai
“Great so much for relaxing” you muttered
“What was that, Miss Ivanov?” asked Nikolai
“I was simply wondering what exactly my mission consisted of?” you lied, trying not to make it sound as if youhaven’t been listening for the past 30 minutes.
“You will be infiltrating one of the main Fjerdan bases, posing as one of them and getting as much information as you can get on their future plans. There have also been rumours of new fjerdan weaponry emerging in Chernast able to take out more than thirty grisha, that’s where we’ll be sending you. If you find any of those, burn them to the ground, understood?”
“Yes Moi Tsar” you nodded.
“Good, this meeting is over” declared the king.
You waited for everyone to leave until it was only you and your best friend.
“Nik why me, you know he won’t like it?” you whined slumping lazily on his expensive and very comfortable velvet chair.
“I’m sure The Darkling can handle his significant other being gone for two weeks”
“You know what I mean, if he finds out where I’m going he won’t let me leave”
“Ah, if he finds out,” Nikolai said with a pointed look.
“Fine but if something happens to me, he’ll have your head for it” you stated half jokingly, standing up to go back to your chambers where a certain shadow prince’s probably waiting for you.
“Then try to stay alive, I’d like to keep my beautiful head thank you very much”
“As much as I’d love to see that happen, I’ll try my best, goodbye Nik” you exclaimed, leaving the war room and heading to your room.
Opening the door, you noticed your room’s shadows slightly thicker. Used to your boyfriend’s antics, you rolled your eyes taking off your red and blue Kefta and flumped face down on your queen sized bed, letting out a long exhausted sigh.
“You know if you want to surprise me you ought to try harder, you’re losing your touch” you said smiling, slowly turning your head towards the corner of your room as a dark figure emerged from the shadows.
“Oh really? I for one thought it was a great attempt” he responded sarcastically, sitting down next to you. You chuckled and moved closer to lay your head on his lap, gazing into his striking grey eyes suddenly feeling more relaxed. He seemed to notice your tensed demeanour earlier, hopefully he didn’t think much of it.
“Long day?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
“You could say that” you said drifting your eyes away from his so he wouldn’t notice anything strange.
“Was the meeting that boring?” he asked humourly, shifting his legs slightly.
“They came up with a plan to help the war and they needed a skilled Inferni and spy. Thanks to my amazing reputation I got picked, I’ll be leaving for about two weeks. That reminds me I have to pack my bags,” you said getting up, walking towards your wardrobe, trying to look as if you’re rushing so he wouldn’t ask more questions about it, you hate lying to his face.
“You’re hiding something,” he said, grabbing your wrist firmly and spinning you around to look at him.
“Look, Aleksander, I’m not really allowed to talk about it, you already know too much but I promise I’ll be fine It's nothing I can’t handle. You’ve sent me on worst missions anyways, don’t worry.” you lied, locking eyes with him, trying to get him to believe you. He still looked sceptical but brushed it off.
“Ok, be careful.” he said, lifting your chin up with his hand and brushing his beautiful warm lips to yours. You took a step closer, closing the distance looking at them eagerly finally pressing your lips to his. Running your hands through is soft black hair and deepening the kiss, he lifted your hips locking your legs around his torso. For a moment you forgot all about your problems and melted into Aleksander’s warmth and smiled into the kiss. You missed this, spending time with him just the two of you enjoying each other’s presence. Suddenly, he pulled away despite your pouting and leaned his forehead on yours.
“You should probably rest, when are you leaving?” he whispered, still a bit out of breath.
“Tomorrow morning, can we continue now?” you groaned not wanting to stop, leaning back into the kiss. He drew back almost immediately. He carried you to your bed, laying you down and tucking you in like a child. You were too tired to protest.
“Sleep y/n unless you’d rather pass out in the middle of your job” he said, planting a kiss on your brow.
“Fine, but only because I'm actually tired” you yawned, pulling your covers tighter around you. He gave you a ghost of a smile and left closing the door behind him. You let your thoughts run wild until you slowly drifted off to sleep, you have extremely tiring days ahead of you.
