Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/Darkling x fem!sun summoner!princess! reader
Summary: The Sun Summoner turns out to be you - the princess of Ravka, who wants nothing to do with her powers or being a Saint. General Kirigan intends to change your mind about yourself and wipe out all your doubts.
Requested by: anonymous ; I hope you will like it!!! đ€đ€đ€đ€
Warning(s): uncertainty, shyness, self-doubt on 1000 level, suspecting manipulation
Taglist for Darkling: @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat @meadowshelby
Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~âąâ€â€â€âą~Main Masterlist
The first time you see General Kirigan is at your 20th birthday ball.
Or rather this is the first time you actually talk to him, rather than seeing him walk through the Grand Palace like one of his shadows or sneaking back to the Little Palace after returning from one of his campaigns.
"Moya tsarevna." He greets you. His tone of voice is⊠like you remember when he gave many speeches. Dark, silky, pleasant to listen to, you're sure many have fallen for him just because of the way he spoke to them. "Happy Birthday. May the saints watch over you."
He bows to you when it is his turn to approach your throne. Or rather, the small dais with the chair that your father so generously offered you for your birthday.
In any case, this gives you the perfect opportunity to take a good look at him. You find exactly what most people who have encountered him have described to you.
Self-possessed and mysterious, with eyes so dark and unreadable that they could be an extension of the fold his ancestor had created. Well-built, with sharp features, the embodiment of control and power. Even without his black kefta, you would know who was standing before you.
Sure, you'd had some impressions of him before. You had eyes like most people in the capital, and you'd seen how handsome he was. But he was also dangerously powerful.
The kind of man you ran from. The kind you should have run from.
But you don't.
"Thank you, General." You say as he steps closer to hand you his gift.
You smile politely, offering him your hand, on which he places a kiss. And in the moment when his lips meet your skin something changes.
A shiver runs down your palm, down your spine, and into your core. Something strange comes to life beneath your skin, some burning energy you've never felt before. You frown, quickly hiding your emotions behind a polite smile, not noticing the general's calm, collected facade momentarily break.
Your heart beats like crazy and your breath catches for a moment as the intense gaze of his eyes falls on you. And you see curiosity in them. Interest. In you.
"You would do us a great pleasure if you honoured us with your presence at the next Winter Fete." He adds, prolonging your conversation a bit.
Your heart immediately speeds up at the thought of participating in another farce for your father â the Tsar. You give him a polite smile, noticing from the corner of your eye the Kerch ambassador heading your way with his own wishes.
"I can't promise anything. I'm often away from the palace during this time, as you're well aware, General." You answer, referring to the numerous social activities your parents sent you to at that time.
"Anyway, I hope you will enjoy your gift and birthday. Once again, best wishes, moya tsarevna."
His watchful gaze leaves you only when another guest comes to wish you well. And even many hours later, when the ball is in full swing, you can't shake the feeling of being watchedâŠ
Little did you know that this little meeting between you would change your future by 180 degrees.
You lean against the wall, sipping champagne in celebration of your father's birthday. You hated all these formal gatherings. You planned to run away from here as fast as you could, to retreat back to your chambers or your private library; you weren't sure yet.
At least you had that intention until he walked up to you.
"Moya tsarevna." General Kirigan's voice echoes behind you as you eat the sweet treats the waiter brings. You quickly swallow the chocolate, momentarily lamenting the fact that you can't savour it properly, and turn to face the Black General. "Welcome back."
âGeneral.â You nod and offer him your hand with a soft smile. He takes his time, placing a kiss on your knucklesâalways gallant and considerate of you and your family. "I trust the Little Palace is in even better condition than when I left. I believe you have recently expanded the west wing for the little Grisha?"
You see the slight quiver of his eyebrows as he tries to keep his neutral face. But you could notice through this small gesture that he was shocked that you remembered something like that.
Most of your family, all of the royals, in fact, didn't put much stock in social matters, and certainly not in anything that concerned Grisha. As a princess with two brothers, you knew what it was like to feel excluded, less important. That's why you were sure to show support and attention to all those your father had come to despise and neglect.
"Indeed, Princess. It's kind of you to remember that. And to dedicate some of your resources to this cause. I can't express my gratitude enough."
"It's a pleasure to help a little for a great cause." You answer shyly, barely able to stand the intense gaze of his dark eyes.
You weren't intimidated by him; of course he was a dangerous, strong man, and you knew his capabilities perfectly well, but... you noticed more how breathtakingly handsome he was. Which was definitely not befitting a princess like you.
"Probably almost as much of a pleasure as seeing you here." You're glad you let Genya put a little more powder on you than usual. Maybe it at least covered your little blush. "We missed you at the Winter Fete. I was secretly hoping you'd comeâŠ"
"As charming as always." You comment nonchalantly, pretending his words didnât make the slightest impression on you. âThe orphans in Karemzin were waiting for my visit⊠or rather, for the gifts and money I was supposed to bring. I couldnât let them down, General Kirigan, could I?â
"Of course not. But I strongly believe the Grisha here would enjoy your presence as well... maybe a little more than the orphans of Karemzin." He says and leans towards you.
You hold your breath as he gently wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb â probably wiping away a remnant of the chocolate dessert you had eaten earlier. You don't know if it's from the suddenness of his action, the surprise, or the outrage at his audacity, but you stand there, frozen in place as he licks the chocolate off his finger, looking you straight in the eye. You clear your throat and turn your gaze away from him to the dancing couples in front of you, but he doesn't give up.
âI assure you, princess, there are only a few people in this court to whom I am so⊠charming so willingly.â He whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
Before you or the General can say anything more, one of your mother's ladies-in-waiting approaches you to take you back to the Queen, to fulfill her duty as a princess and stand beside her family as they toast another successful year of your father's rule.
Standing with a glass of champagne a comfortable distance from your parents' throne, your gaze wanders over the crowd. And you almost blush as you catch the eye of a certain general.
If you had known that your absence of several weeks, due to visiting orphanages and doing charity work, would make the Shadow Summoner so interested in you, you would have left sooner.
You're not entirely sure when his strange fascination with you began.
Not that you weren't flattered by that or not interested in him. It was obvious that he was undeniably handsome, that all the ladies-in-waiting were whispering about how attractive and magnetic the Second Army general was. But it wasn't his looks that attracted you to him, or at least you want to believe that.
No, it was something about the way he spoke, the way he made sure his Grisha were well cared for, the way he looked after each of his men no matter how useful they were to his army. He was gallant, charming, and cunning.
He knew the language of diplomacy as well as force and brutality, and while he was certainly much older than you (you couldn't quite remember when exactly he had succeeded his father in that position), you felt something for him that went beyond mild admiration. Something that was far from decent.
It made you wonder what had caused such a sudden change in him. What had caused him to go from indifference and ignorance towards you â something that so many did, considering you were just a princess â to actively seeking you out at parties, even asking for your presence at events he attended?
And that wasn't all. There were letters, too. At first, just informing you of certain actions of the Second Army, or your escort to certain parts of Ravka. Later, they turned into questions about your opinions on matters that concerned the court and Grisha, and later... less formal... the kind you wouldn't dare show your most trusted maids.
Not to mention the gifts. One moment you were missing your coat; the next day Genya brought you one specially made for you from the material that was used to make Grisha keftas. Did you lose your earrings? An hour later David â one of Kirigan's Grisha â gave you an entire collection of jewels that you adored and which were not necessarily Lantsov dynasty. Or the fact that ever since your birthday gala, it seemed like everywhere you went, you saw someone from his Oprichniki or the Grisha. It was, to say the least, odd.
In your thoughts about the general, you completely miss the moment when the suspicious man pushes through the crowd of people, reaches your father, and puts a dagger to his throat, especially since the man behind you turns out to be not a guard at all but an assassin. In an instant, you land with the trigger of the gun at your neck. Your eyes wander to your parents. Grisha and the soldiers of the Second Army push through the fleeing and screaming nobility, but all you can hear is the movement of the hand of the man holding you as he pulls the trigger.
You close your eyes, waiting for the bullet to pierce your throat, but all you feel is someone pulling on your arm. You open your eyes, meeting the dark, anger- and fear-clouded irises of the general, when suddenly, a beam of bright white light explodes around you, blinding everyone, including yourself.
The last thing you remember before you passed out from exhaustion were the dark eyes of General Kirigan, who had caught you at the last moment. And the screams of the people.
Sun Summoner.
You knelt by the fireplace in your chamber, your hands trembling in your lap. The events of the last hour flashed through your mind again.
Sun Summoner.
That's what Genya called you after you woke up. You shudder as you remember the look she gave you. Like you were their saviour. Like you were suddenly going to magically fix Ravka and unite the Grisha with its inhabitants. Bring peace to the world.
You dismissed the redhead under some pretext and locked yourself in your room, not wanting to see anyone. You knew you should be planning, immediately thinking of what to do next or plan your escape, but for a moment... for a moment you had to be alone with your thoughts.
You shift your gaze from the fire to your hands. Hands that killed Fjerda's soldiers, hands that were likely meant to bring even more suffering. Panicking, you notice they are beginning to glow again. You hold them tightly to your chest and repeat the mantra that has allowed you to suppress your abilities all these years.
Feel nothing. You can't fear. Fear will kill you. Fear will destroy you. They will cast you out. Once they know what a threat you are to them, how easily you let your control slip, they throw you out. You will be a Heretic, not a Saint. A threat. A plague. A bane.
A knock on the door tears you from your thoughts.
"Moya tsarevna?" You take a few deep breaths as General Kirigan's voice stops you from shaking. You bite your fist and let out a shaky breath to calm yourself down. Or at least pretend like nothing's wrong with you.
"I want to be alone." You respond, gathering all the strength you have to keep your voice from shaking.
The silence after your words allows you to believe for a moment that you have managed to drive him away for a while. Unfortunately, General Kirigan is anything but compliant.
"I'm back from meeting with your father - the Tsar. I have... some updates I need to give you, Princess." You bite your lip, weighing your options. You know he won't leave until he gives you the message. And you just want to be alone. "Please. It won't take long."
You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to maintain the last remnants of decency and composure. You wipe the tears from your cheeks, take a quick look at yourself in the mirror and fix your hair before you open the door to your room.
It always shocked you how the general managed to maintain his... flawless, intimidating appearance. Even today's attack hadn't ruffled the material of his kefta, and his hair was still in absurdly intact, perfect condition. He looked like he had just returned from Genya's magical appearance-enhancing services, not after a long, stressful day of searching for the remaining Fjerdans and dealing with your... predicament.
"Therefore, the Tsar and I have concluded that it would be best for you to spend some time in the Little Palace under my care." You catch the last sentence and almost blush when you realize you've been staring at him instead of listening. Your heart pounds as the meaning of his words sinks in. "Moya tsarevna?"
"I... I'm good here." You respond quickly, inwardly scolding yourself for your stupidity when he raises an eyebrow at you. "Besides, I don't need a training. I... I am not the Saint you are all waiting for. I mean... it was't me. It's not what you all think. If I really was... Then we would have known sooner. It must have been some kind of Fjerda trick. I... I can't be a Sun Summoner." You mumble in a desperate attempt to get out of this situation.
You couldn't be their saint and hero that you read about so many times in your books. It just wasn't you. You couldn't be.
You were a mere princess, a point in history that everyone would forget, supposed to fade safely into the memory of Ravka's history as another in a long list of female names that really meant nothing. And you were fine with that. You were fine within the safety of your chambers and library. You couldn't beâŠ
"May I?" You shiver as he suddenly takes a step towards you and enters your room.
The General takes your hand with incredible gentleness. He gently strokes your hand with the pad of his finger, as if trying to calm your furiously beating heart. You feel nervous, both at his closeness and at the thought that somehow he can assure himself that you are... the one he and his men have been searching for all these years.
But then, his dark eyes meet yours. And for a mere moment you let yourself get bogged down in his gaze, your worries and concerns fading into the background as a warm sense of safety suddenly washes over you.
The longer his skin touches yours, the more you feel confidence, peace, and power flowing into you, which in some strange, indefinable way wants to break through your skin, to sing a melody that will answer his call.
You sigh softly as he pierces your skin with his sharp ring. You try with all your might to keep your power from flowing out, but it proves to be an impossible task. Your powers scream in relief at his proximity. They pull you toward him, causing your room to illuminate with a strong, bright, golden streak of light that flows from you at his call.
You dare to look at him just once before closing your eyes. And when you do, a small, winning smile spreads across his face. In his dark as shadows eyes you see a glimmer of an emotion you don't recognize.
"Looks like you are much more than you claim to be, moya tsarevna."
You're incredibly scared by all of this. Because you know that the moment he finds out you have absolutely no control over your powers, he'll cast you out. Just like your parents did an hour ago when they found out you were a Grisha.
And then, you will be completely alone.
"I've suspected it since your 20th birthday, but now I'm absolutely certain. You're one of us. You're Grisha." You shake your head at his words, pulling your hand from his grip. He frowns as if your reaction was anything but what he expected from you.
"No, I⊠I don't⊠you don't understand⊠this isn't⊠I'm not who you want me to be. You want a hero. I'm not one, I⊠I'm just a princess. Nothing you could useâŠ"
"Heroes aren't born. They are made. Every bird needs a little training before it can spread its wings and fly properly. And with a power like yours⊠with a gift and a blessing like yours, you can't be anything less than great."
He interrupts you, his eyes betraying great agitation, and you shudder at the thought of how he'll want to use your powersâŠafter all, that's what got him interested in you, right? The possibilities that opened up for him with you by his side, the things he could do. You knew that was what he had been after from the start.
That's why it hurt even more. Again, it wasn't about you.
"And die in a great battle or be known for a glorious death like our saints? No. Thank you, General. I am fine here alone, I⊠I do not want these powers." You say, pulling away from him and keeping your hands close to your chest, as if you were able to hide what he already found out, what everyone in the Palace already found out.
"You are not alone. Never again. You are one of us. You may not want it now, but it is what it is. And that's how it will be." You nod, losing this fight for now.
You no longer had the strength to argue. He would have done what he thought was right anyway. All that was left for you to do was prove how wrong he was.
Besides, your foolish heart had to process the fact that the man before you had no interest in you at all. He only desired your powers in you. And nothing more.
It would be wise if your heart came to the same conclusion as your mind. But perhaps the look of compassion, admiration, and fascination that the Shadow General was giving you now drowned out everything else.
For the past weeks, you couldn't find your place. The Little Palace was... surprisingly more pleasant than the Grand Palace you grew up in, but the feeling of alienation and not belonging to this new community made you spend most of your time in a distant corner of the library, nose deep in a book, hoping that Ivan - the heartrender who was supposed to watch over you on the general's orders - wouldn't find you too soon.
Honestly, the man in the red kefta irritated you more than your family. Which was a huge accomplishment in your opinion.
Today was supposed to be no different than any other day. You were hiding in a corner of the library, wrapped in a blanket with your legs bunched up to make yourself as small as possible on a comfortable couch.
Only this time someone else came to find you.
"Shouldn't you be training with Baghra, moya tsarevna?" You shiver as the general's voice echoes behind you. You put the book you were reading on the table and shift your gaze to him.
For a moment, you felt like a child again when, instead of listening to your governesses about etiquette and the rules of the court, you preferred to run away from Nikolai and hide in the gardens or other corners of the palace. You remember that once you were brave enough to hide in the Black General's chambers. You wonder if Kirigan's father was the same as him.
"She... canceled our class." You respond timidly, coming up with a weak lie on the spot. The role of the liar usually fell to NikolaiâŠ
"Did she now?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. You bow your head and look down at your hands, trying to hide your embarrassed blush. You shiver as he suddenly sits down on the couch next to you, but you don't have the courage to face the deep blackness of his eyes again. "Do you like your kefta?"
You glance at the black material of your new kefta, absentmindedly smoothing out the embroidered gold patterns representing the sun and its rays as you take your time to answer him.
"I... it's beautiful. Although, I haven't seen anyone else wear black, General. Well... besides you of course." You reply, playing with the black material. You catch his gaze for a moment, then you grab a book from the coffee table and stand up to put it back on one of many bookshelves.
"Yes... it's a colour reserved only for shadow summoners due to our... uniqueness. Just like you are. I thought it would match perfectly for you. Like calls to like, isn't that right?" He adds jokingly and also stands up to take a few steps towards you.
"I... unfortunately, I'm afraid I'm not who you want me to be. I definitely don't deserve such⊠special treatment." You voice your concerns with your back turned to him as you thoughtfully trace the leather spine of the book you've put aside with your fingertip.
You know very well how little time you have left here. Baghra will soon discover that you have absolutely no control over your powers and, when the general finds out... there will soon be no room for you in the Little Palace. Maybe it would be better this way. Maybe you should run away before you expose yourself to the burning pain of their disappointment. And especially his disappointment.
You sigh when he unexpectedly places his hand on yours, gaining your attention almost immediately. And holy Saints above, it was so easy to just lose yourself in his attentive, warm, non-judgmental gaze.
You stand by the bookshelf, not daring to move an inch from your spot. When his skin touches yours again, you feel that familiar feeling of warmth spreading through you.
"I have been waiting a long time for you, moya tsarevna. All of us did. But believe me, I doubt you will be able to disappoint me. Unless you perpetually avoid your lessons with Baghra." You bite your lip, not wanting to ruin the moment between you with your snort of amusement.
"She's... specific."
âI guess thatâs a more gentle way to call her.â He laughs at your careful choice of words. For a moment he traces patterns on your palm, thinking hard about something. âYou will practice with me. Once a week, in the evenings in my office. I will personally see to it that you⊠do not miss these lessons.â
"No. This isn't necessary. I'm sure you have more important things than this." You respond quickly, panicking internally. You alone with him in his chambers⊠your poor heart can't take it.
"Nothing is more important than you." His response is as quick as yours, decisive - definitively killing any attempts you make to gently reject his proposal. And for a moment, for one brief moment, you allow yourself to believe your foolish heart that it's because he cares about you more than he cares about your powers. "Right now you are the most important thing for me... and for Ravka and for all of us. You should start to get used to it, moya tsarevna."
He mumbles and pulls your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your skin. Another thing that set him apart from the rest. Everyone else kissed the Lantsov ring on your finger. He avoided it like the plague, instead caressing your skin.
But it was just a game, right? So why did you feel like a heroine from one of those romance novels you shamefully read? Why did your heart beat faster every time he appeared next to you, to guide you through all the Grisha customs you didn't know yet? Why did it feel so real when it was supposed to be fake and a game from the start?
You knew the court games, the toying with women's hearts by meaner men, and even the dirty tricks ladies used to win the hearts of their chosen partners. But never... never had anyone shown you such ardent, deceptive, genuine interest and respect as he had for you.
So how much of this was a game, an attempt to keep you in line, and how much of it was the general's true heart revealed only for your eyes? How much of his gentleness was genuine, and how much was a show to inspire in you the trust he needed?
How much of this was the dirty play allowed in love, and how much was a disgusting deception to benefit himself?
"See you for dinner?"
The way he looks at you, with all the hope he has in you and a kind of adoration that you don't quite know the reason for, makes you able only to nod politely and agree to his plans.
Sure. A dining room full of Grisha. A wonderful time to spend an evening. A dining room where he will also be by your side.
The lump in your throat grows as you realize that now you're more afraid of letting him down than of a sudden outburst of power that you won't be able to control.
You freeze as he leans down to press his soft, plump lips to your forehead. You stand there in a daze, all you can do is stare at him as he bids you goodnight and walks away - presumably to his war room so he can continue planning how to use your powers to finally tame the fold.
You had no idea what kind of spells he cast on you, but it was working. Slowly, you began to fall for the Black General. And you found it both very terrifying and exciting. So much so that for a moment you forget that you are a ticking bomb that no one knows about yet.
A few weeks later, you are on your way to your chambers late at night after a lesson with Baghra. Or rather, torture, judging by the blood dripping from your hands onto the floor of the Little Palace.
You try with what little dignity you have left to hold back the tears as you practically run for the safe walls of your chambers, your mind replaying all the insults the old hag had hurled at you.
A loser. A weakling. A whiner. A failure. A brainless, lazy princess who can't do anything except keep her nose in her books and her mouth shut. Delusional little girl who is able only to live in her fantasy world and would die if she was left alone to face the real world.
You press your bloody hand to your mouth, desperately holding back a sob as you run forward to get to your chambers. And then of course you have to run into someone.
With your luck you don't even have to open your eyes to know who you've collided with. Besides, over the weeks you had learned to recognize his presence just by his scent. (Pathetic and unfortunately true.)
But you look up nonetheless and meet the dark irises of General Kirigan.
And then the dam breaks.
You break down into a full-blown sob, letting him pull you into his arms as he notices the emotional mess youâre in. You cry into the soft material of his dark kefta, holding on tightly as he rocks you in his arms and strokes your hair, ignoring the fact that youâre staining his kefta with both blood and your tears.
After a while of sobbing into the general's chest, you manage to calm down enough to be able to register something around you again, more than the warmth of his arms and the murmur of incomprehensible whispers he spoke to calm you down.
You didn't have to understand his words thogh. The rumbling of his deep voice alone brought you incredible solace - one that was both your salvation and the harbinger of your doom, releasing in you feelings that you shouldn't have for the much more powerful Grisha.
When you calm down enough to realize where you are, you discover that the general has taken you to his private chambers. You pull away from him gently, wiping the tears from your eyes with your hands and feeling even more helpless and smaller than before you cried into him.
How humiliating it must have looked. Princess of Ravka, Summoner of the Sun, crying in the arms of the Black General like a little child.
"I'm not suited for this." You tell him, looking at your hands instead of at him. Your royal signet ring with your family's crest burns your skin like never before. "I'm not a warrior, not a Grisha, not even a leader, I... take this from me. Please. Just take it away from me." You say and raise your watery eyes to him.
"I... you have to understand, princess... we all have our bad days. Don't just give up this... gift. You don't know how many of us would like to wield such power."
You saw the hunger in his eyes, the exact same hunger that was always there alongside the delight whenever he watched the light come from you. You were perfectly aware that he wanted your power. And you were more than willing to give it to him. You were desperate to give it to someone else. Before you hurt anyone with it.
"I know that perfectly well! As well as that I am not the one who should have it. I am not... I will not be your saint." His gaze hardens slightly at your firm statement.
"I have no idea what Baghra told you. I can only promise you that she will pay dearly for it and that everything that came out of her lying mouth was nothing but a poisonous lie. This old woman had long ago forgotten how to be a decent human being. Or at least a human being."
"It doesn't matter, I⊠she told the truth. Everything everyone in this fucking palace thinks, but doesn't have the courage to tell me to my face. I'm not cut out for this, I can't fight, I'm not one of your soldiers, and I'll be of no use to Ravk or the Durga Army or your Grisha. I'm a princess. The only thing of value is my lineage, the dynasty I belong to, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool."
Kirigan lets go of your hands and stands up from the couch, and from the way shadows began to circle the room and the wrinkles in his forehead, you know that whatever plans he had for you, none of them involved you bucking him. Or the sheer belief in your uselessness.
"Princess..."
"Exactly!" You interrupt him, gathering all your courage and standing up from the couch as well as you glare at him with a stern, cold stareâthe same one youâve seen on him, your parents, and other people so many times. "I am your princess and you are subject to me and my family. You must follow my orders and if I say you must take these... powers from me then that is what you must do, General."
The atmosphere in the room is thick. You know that by playing the princess card, you have most likely destroyed the tentatively building... bond between you. However, you come to the conclusion that you would rather have him hold a grudge and dislike for you than die because one day your power will slip beyond the little control that you had over it.
And though your heart aches with every second he gives you that cold, even hurt look, you know you're doing what's best for yourself, Ravka, Grisha, and even him.
"As you wish, moya tsarevna." An unpleasant shiver runs down your spine as he pronounces the title in a completely different way from the sweet one you were used to. Cold, forced, with a hidden mockery. Just like he addressed your mother, brothers and father. "However, you must know that I must discuss this with the Tsar before... we think of any way to solve your problem."
You can't tell what offended him more - the fact that you took advantage of your higher rank and title, or the fact that you reject this gift of summoning the sun, which he considers sacred.
But what did he expect from you? You didn't belong here. You never did.
When he mockingly bows to you and walks away, you want to call after him and take back your words. But you don't.
You stand frozen in the middle of the room, tears streaming down your heated cheeks as you sink to your knees. You put a hand to your mouth and sob quietly, turning the room into a small beacon as your power once again spirals out of control.
Your eyes hurt from the amount of light you're emitting, but you don't even try to shield them with your hand. You take your pain as some kind of penance for what you're about to do.
You know that your father has no intention of letting you give up your power. Because as much as he despised Grisha, he feared them. He would rather have that power stay with you than fall into "their" hands. That's why there was only one thing you could do.
You run.
After carefully analyzing your situation, you come to the conclusion that running away may not have been as great a solution as you thought.
It's true that you managed to cross the palace walls and even the capital's gates, but now, as you walked alone along the forest path, your courage and morale dropped significantly.
You shiver, holding your coat tighter as the cold air makes your bones feel unpleasantly hot. You should definitely bring the kefta though. It was warmer, with fur, and the material was so nice... You shake your head, tightening your grip on the handle of the oil lamp - the only thing besides the coat you'd stolen from the general's chambers. Your thoughts briefly wander to him as you smell his scent still lingering on the material.
Stupid, naive idiot, you think, walking forward. You have no idea why you cared so much about what he thought. In the past weeks, he could have been your only support in this difficult situation, but you knew that all he cared about was how to use your powers for himself...
The only thing that you couldn't understand was why he was so angry and hurt when you demanded from him to take these powers away from you.
This was the perfect solution for him. He would have all this light that was buzzing under your skin completely for himself. As both the Summoner of Shadows and the Sun he could have done a great things - maybe even taking over all of the Ravka for himself, if not the whole world.
He wouldn't have to deal with your sudden, hysterical emotional outbursts, your lack of any fighting skills, or any of the shit you've been putting him and yourself through these few months.
You were an intellectual, a strategist, not a soldier or a saint. You were a princessâthe most useless person in the kingdom. And that was how it was supposed to stay, until he... until he saw you as something more. Someone you weren't at all.
Unless⊠unless he really cared about you. Not just your powers.
You sigh, shaking your head and walking forward, completely ignoring in your intense thinking that someone was following you. And they weren't soldiers of the First or Second Army at all.
You want to say it came suddenly, that you couldn't possibly have predicted DrĂŒskele's attack, but the truth is you felt something coming. Maybe you simply didn't care about your fate anymore to even try to fight.
The ease with which they capture you is downright embarrassing. Sitting tied up against a tree trunk with a few Fjerda soldiers guarding you, you only reinforce your belief that you shouldn't be the Sun Summoner.
You only regret that you couldn't pass on your power to a general or some other, more capable Grisha.
Because of you, they will have to wait another century for someone who could be able to harness such great power.
As you prepare to die, you don't even consider the possibility that someone will save you. And certainly not that your saviour might be the Black General himself.
Everything around you is happening too fast for you to process it properly. One second your wrists are tied up; the next you feel someone tugging on your ropes as the forest around you is darkened by familiar shadows.
Your survival instincts kick in, and you start to struggle in the arms of someone pulling you away from the shadows you are immersed in. Panicked, you feel your heart pounding in your chest as you desperately try to reach for your light, but all that comes out of you is a tiny ray.
"Don't move, you stupid girl. We haven't chased you for half a month just to have you accidentally die from one of his cuts." Ivan growls dryly in your ear.
You feel him using his powers on you to slow your heart rate, to force you to cooperate and follow him. And while it seemed logical to you to go with him, all you wanted was to get as far away from here as possible â feeling free and in control of your fate for even a short moment.
And then something inside you shifts, like it's falling into place. You scream as pure, unstoppable light bursts out of you. Ivan's grip on you falls away completely, and all you can feel is the warmth washing over you again as your power comes to the surface, as you release everything you've suppressed for so many years.
As if through a wall, the screams of the Fjerdans reach you as you burn them to ash with your light, but you can't stop it. Finally, you lose control, as if to spite them; you want to show them all how dangerous and unstable you are, how they should all stay away from you.
But they aren't. At least not him.
You wonder when exactly you learnt to recognise the General's touch on your skin. You can't seem to remember. But it doesn't matter, not when he gently cups your cheek in his hand, forcing you to open your eyes that you had so tightly squeezed shut and look into his dark irises, so different from the bright light that emanates from you.
He sees you. He hasn't turned away. He doesn't run away. He doesn't look at you like you're a monster or a dangerous weapon that may turn against him.
For the first time, you feel like you have control over your powers, not them over you. When you are sure that no one will attack you again, you retreat. You hide your power, pulling on the beams of light as if they were ordinary string, and coil them deep inside you.
You did it. You controlled it.
"Ivan, see what's left of them and gather those who can still be questioned. We're going home." The general wastes no time in pushing you towards his black horse.
You resist for a moment but eventually allow him to put you on it. You were too exhausted from running and using your powers to ride alone anyway.
His arms wrap around you as he settles behind you and takes the reins in his hands. You shiver as his kefta wraps around you like a blanket, trapping you even tighter in his arms. And strangely, you donât feel like youâve lost any of your freedom.
"Cross the walls of the Little Palace without my knowledge once again, and I will order David to bind you to me for eternity." He growls in your ear, tightening his grip on the horseâs reins and pulling you closer into the cage of his arms.
You rest your head on his shoulder, getting used to the feeling of his toned chest against your back. The fabric of his black kefta brushes against your shoulders. It flutters in the wind around you two as he leads the horse into a gallop.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" You whisper, your voice barely higher than the sound of the wind around you. You are surprised that he is able to hear it at all without expecting an answer from him.
"Both."
There's a moment of silence between you, broken only by the pounding of his horse and your breathing. You get the feeling that if you concentrate hard enough, you'll be able to hear the quiet thump of his heart behind you.
One of his hands drops the reins to rest gently on your hip, seemingly steadying you in the saddle as he pulls you closer to him, leaning fully against his body. You swallow and place your hand on his, your finger tracing the edges of the ring he wore on his thumb.
"Do you want me or my powers?" You gather all your courage and ask, taking his hand in yours and placing two fingers on his wrist to feel his pulse.
"If I wanted your powers, would I go through the trouble of teaching you to control them?" He replies after a few seconds of silence. A mocking smile involuntarily spreads across your lips.
"That's not really the answer."
"And you won't get one. For your escape, downright treason, I should personally use the cut on you."
And though his threat should make you tremble in his arms or stimulate your survival instinct to run as far away from him as possible, it doesn't. You know they are just empty words and that he would never do such a thing to you. You were too precious for him, both as his ally and something more...
"That's not how you should address your princess."
"Moya tsarevna⊠there are many ways I would like to address you⊠and believe me, most of them do not even border on appropriate."
He grabs your hand and lifts it to press a kiss to your knuckles. Little streaks of light shine through your fingertips at the gesture.
"I'm still not the soldier you want."
"I see that. It was painfully obvious they were following you, only an idiot would not notice. But I have another use for you."
"As your weapon that you can direct and use at your will?" You question him, turning in your saddle so you can take a look at him, hoping to read something from the depth of his dark eyes. And the longer you looked into them, the longer it seemed you were falling down a rabbit hole of adoration for him.
His answer, however, exceeds your wildest expectations.
"As moya tsaritsa."
"But..." You shake your head at his words, not even noticing when he stops his horse.
He cupped your cheeks gently in his rough hands. The cool metal of his ring digging into your delicate skin is reminding you of all the differences between you.
He was rough and hard, chiselled by years of fighting not only your father but also Fjerda and Shu Han â all who would dare to hurt his Grisha. You, on the other hand, were a delicate rose hidden behind the bell jar of the Grand Palace, put on display only to wither in the depths of your cage.
But not anymore. Not since he had spotted you and snatched you away.
"I alone can see your light. I alone know your mind. I saw all of you and I have never turned my back on you. Not like your family or your subjects will when they find out what you are truly capable of. But your power is not all that you are. I was the first to see it. Maybe even the only one. You won't find anyone better than me."
He speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, laying out all the advantages of marrying him, of agreeing to his plan, as if he were discussing military strategy with you. But thereâs something in his eyes, a spark that youâve never seen when he was speaking to his men or negotiating military business with your father.
"Is this your proposal?"
"Is this your consent?"
"You'll have to do a little more than feed me sweet words and gifts to get me to agree to this."
"It's good that we have eternity, my little saint." He mumbles, leaning towards you, giving you a few seconds to push him away from you before he captures your lips in a kiss.
It's gentle at first, testing the waters, caressing your lips with the utmost reverence, as if he were truly touching something sacred. But soon enough he's gripping your waist, pulling you as close to him as he can. He places a hand on the back of your neck and tilts your head so he has better access to your mouth as his tongue delicately tastes you for the first time.
You don't care anymore if this is his plan, if this is his way of making sure you stay on his side. Your heart is pounding as you bask in the glow of attention, of being seen and appreciated, and if you're sinning, then you don't want to be his little saint. You want to be his tsaritsa.
The feeling of his lips against yours, the whisper of your name on his lips between kisses, and the gasps of pleasure as you respond with equal attention and tangle your hands in his hair erase all your doubts.
All you want to feel is his touch on you, his gaze on you, his adulation, devotion, and affection â all the things you've been denied for years. And maybe you're naive; maybe it's not real, but if it isn't... then you don't want to know the truth. What he gives you is enough for you.
I find the difference between Alinaâs motivations to destroy the Fold versus Kazâs in my classic sun summoner au so funny because Alina is all (rightfully) serious about it meanwhile Kaz is like âyou know what would piss The Darkling off real bad?â He really is fourteen lmao
Iâve been thinking a lot about why some younger viewers seem to express such intense hatred for Aleksander, and even for those who love or support him. Itâs something I notice more and more often â this aggressive, almost moralistic rejection of morally grey characters like Aleksander. And I donât think itâs just about disliking him. Thereâs something deeper going on in how fandom spaces function today.
A large part of it, I believe, comes from the way stories are consumed online now. Platforms like TikTok or Twitter encourage fast takes, simplified narratives, and black-and-white ideas of who is âgoodâ and who is âbad.â People arenât always interested in nuance anymore. Itâs easier to reduce someone like the Darkling to a red flag or a toxic man than to sit with the discomfort of a character who does morally questionable things, but also loves, suffers, and fights for a better life for the Grisha and all of Ravka. Grey areas are not trending. Moral certainty is.
Iâve also noticed a dominant narrative â the girlboss versus letâs say villain storyline. Those young people want Alina, Zoya, Genya to âfree themselvesâ from him, and in doing so, they erase what was truly complex, painful, and layered between them. The romanticization of strength often forgets that real strength can come from understanding, not just rejection. And sadly, if you dare say you understand Aleksander or believe he had genuine feelings for Alina, youâre suddenly accused of romanticizing abuse. There is no space for symbolic storytelling or fictional dynamics that arenât meant to mirror real-life healthy relationships.
Another issue is the casual misuse of psychological terminology. Words like âmanipulator,â âgaslighter,â and âgroomingâ are thrown around without understanding their meaning. These young fans just follow the crowd and, like a frenzied inquisition, throw accusations. Aleksander is a character shaped by centuries of trauma, loneliness, and war. But instead of examining that, some people just diagnose him in fifteen seconds on TikTok and declare him irredeemable. Itâs lazy, dishonest, and more importantly, it shuts down real conversation. I also think some people need to feel like theyâre on the âright side.â If they hate the Darkling, they can prove theyâre morally superior. In my opinion, that points to low self-esteem. It makes liking him feel like a flaw, or worse, a crime. In some fandom spaces, it turns into a ridiculous purity contest.
And if your interpretation doesnât fit the mainstream narrative, suddenly you become a bad person. Itâs such a toxic dynamic, especially when fiction is meant to give us a space to explore difficult things.
Honestly, I think many misunderstandings around Aleksander come from people whoâve never had to think deeply about war, power, or survival. People donât relate to the Darkling just because heâs charming or a tragic figure. A A lot of us understand him because we know what it means to live in a world shaped by conflict â to watch systems collapse, to see the innocent suffer while leaders look the other way. And even if not, basic human empathy and emotional maturity, combined with historical knowledge, allow us to see more and, most of all, to avoid jumping to judgment. We donât behave like an angry mob with pitchforks ready to burn someone at the stake. On a side note, Iâve been thinking about doing a post that points out how some parts of the fandom â especially certain Crows, Zoya, Nikolai, Genya, and Malina fans â act a lot like the DrĂŒskelle.
Aleksander is not a villain. He is someone forged in blood and fire, who made impossible choices in a world that gave him none. People who have studied or lived close to the realities of war know that moral clarity is a luxury. He also fought for people who were hunted, tortured, erased. He refused to stand by while Grisha were murdered, burned at the stake, dissected like lab animals, or sold into slavery. And even though his methods became brutal, his cause was never about selfish gain. It was about protecting people like him in a world that never would.
Loving the Darkling is about recognizing the complexity of someone who stood between oppression and survival. Itâs about understanding that some stories arenât clean, and some leaders donât have the luxury of kindness. Aleksanderâs tragedy is that he knew he had to become a monster to stop the world from killing his people. And whether you agree with him or not, that kind of narrative deserves respect, not shallow rejection.
Fiction should be a place where we can explore those hard truths. Not everything is meant to make us feel safe. Some characters exist to make us think, not just to give us flashy action scenes or quick thrills. Let people explore stories the way they need to. Let them love the characters who challenge them. You donât have to agree. Sometimes itâs just fiction and sometimes itâs the way we try to understand our own shadows.
