Nikolina and 6, but not sexyfic? Please?
6. “Could you be any louder?”
It happens frequently this way:
Alina will sleep, and it will be that deep slumber where she bypasses dreams. She likes to pretend that it means she’s getting actual rest, that there will be nothing else to haunt her.
They trade off nights, rarely meeting in the middle where they both stay in bed for the entire night together. It’s still a work in progress, even two years later.
It’s the noise that startles her awake before the darkness can swallow her whole, a glass shattering against the wall. It’s followed by a shower of papers. A huff. A boot in the glass.
Alina somehow manages to open her eyes with a roll of them. “If you’re going to make noise, you could at least go to your study.”
The wild look on Nikolai’s face, the lack of control, is only compounded by the flickering of candlelight. The shadows play against his skin, and for a second, he is monstrous.
She never panics where he can see. Her face is impassive as she throws the covers back and slips out of the ostentatious bed she’s been sleeping in.
He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. The tension doesn’t so much leak from him as it bleeds. She looks past him and the one candle to see the mess on the floor. It’s wet under the glass. He follows her gaze and sighs.
“What a waste of a perfectly good drink.”
“And a perfectly good glass.”
He waves a hand at her, as if dismissing that part of it. “What’s the point of being a king if I can’t replace a glass? But a drink!”
“You think the next one you pour isn’t going to be good?” Her brow furrows. She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s from the same bottle.”
“Just because you get something good once doesn’t mean you can get it again.”
“That is very pessimistic of you.”
They stare at each other, Alina worried and hard, Nikolai tired and humorous.
“Is this about the boy?” she asks. “Your weird analogy? Because I hate to break it to you, but parem--”
“You should probably just work on it. It’s bad.”
Nikolai gives her a little grin, all sharp edges, as he drags his hands through his hair. It’s getting long, Alina notices. It sticks up in places it hasn’t usually. And for someone as meticulously put together as the King of Ravka is, it’s a cause for concern.
“We can’t,” Alina cautions. “I know some part of you is thinking about how you can turn his father’s formula into something good for us--”
“I’m more worried that someone else will. Ravka’s had its fair share of traitors.” He reached out to her, taking her hand with his bare one. The pads of her fingertips brushed over the scars gently before she squeezed his hand.
“Not to mention the crazies coming out of the woodwork to claim the throne,” he continued.
“Right, right. Your competition.”
He inhales sharply, the most ridiculous gasp she’s heard in a few hours. “You wound me, Alina, with these accusations. Competition.”
“I didn’t say they were good competition. Yet.” A smile plays at her lips as she pulls him closer to her.
“You know, I’m having second thoughts about making you a Lantsov,” he tells her even as he leans down and brushes a kiss over the top of her head.
“You know, I’ve been having second thoughts about that myself. Especially since you just had to wake me up.”
He glances over his shoulder. “I could have reacted to the stress better.”
“Okay, Little Miss Grumpy. Someone needs to get some more sleep.”
Her nostrils flare, her lips part, but before she snap at him, he has her literally swept off of her feet and cradled against his body. “Hey!”
“The only thing I can do is to put you back to bed and tuck you in.”
“I can tuck myself in, Nikolai,” she protests.
“You might even need a story.”
She lodges a mock glare at him, but his grin is infectious and she can feel the corners of her mouth twitch. “You’re going to tell me a story to help me sleep.”
“I’d pitch myself out of a window.”
