Chapter Text
The Grand Palace shines brighter than ever before, its windows like bonfires in the velvet Os Alta night. The Durasts and Inferniki have worked hard to make it gleam more brilliantly for their new tsar than it ever did for the old one. The only shadow cast here is his. No one calls him “Darkling” anymore, for everyone in Ravka knows that walls have ears, but he still owns the darkness.
The Heartrenders guarding the servants’ entrance to the queen’s apartments sniff and turn away when a slender girl dressed in a white kefta and carrying a crystal pitcher of wine on a golden tray approaches. She ought to be used to their contempt by now, but she isn’t, and it still bites. Even the oprichniki who condescend to open the door for her avert their eyes, as if from something shameful.
It’s enough to make her forget that she was once called a Saint and the future savior of Ravka. The Sun Summoner that he elevated over her back when he was still only General Kirigan has taken her place in more hearts than just his. All Alina Starkova can do now is remind herself that this fate, too, is one she made for herself. He didn’t choose her, so she chose to run away. He didn’t choose her, so she won’t try to earn back the blue kefta he took from her, replacing it with a handmaiden’s white. He didn’t choose her, so she’ll hate him forever —
All this she tells herself, but her heart still begins to weep when he doesn’t so much as look up at her entrance. In silence, she sets down her burden on an elegant marble-topped table, trying to steel herself against the fresh pain.
Hoping that no one notices the expression she knows must be twisting her face, she tries to hide behind the other servants, who linger obediently though it’s almost time to be dismissed. She isn't a particularly tall girl, so it should be easy to blend into the knot of white-clad women, even if hers is the only kefta. But Svetlana sees her anyway.
"Linka! Linka! Come here, sweetheart!"
She has to take a deep breath and steady herself before she steps forward. "Yes, my queen?"
Svetlana is hanging off of her husband's neck, half in his lap. The Darkling was reading when the queen and her servants entered, but his attention is now wandering, as are his hands, up and down Svetlana's magnificently dressed form.
If Alina were Svetlana, she would want some privacy in this moment. If Alina were Svetlana, she would send the servants away. If Alina were Svetlana, she wouldn't call anyone over.
What would Alina do if she were Svetlana? She would rather not think about that right now.
"Take these pins out for me, Linka, dear," says Svetlana with a giggle. "I can't possibly get up right now."
"No, you can't, can you, pet?" the Darkling says, his voice low. In full view of all of the watching servants, he starts working on the buttons at the back of Svetlana's gown.
"Yes, my queen," Alina says automatically, but then she has to hesitate. Surely the Darkling will stop what he's doing before Alina approaches, or Svetlana will pull herself off him.
Instead Alina has to wait and watch while the Darkling's mouth caresses his wife's neck before she realizes that she is to expected to – do what, exactly? Her legs shake as she walks around to the back of the sofa. Svetlana, her head thrown back so Alina sees her face upside-down, smiles sweetly at her, and rights her neck to give Alina access to her elaborate hairstyle.
Alina reaches out to the first pin, faster than she would have thought she could manage. She just has to get this done, and then it will be over with and they'll let her leave. It's clear they're only interested in each other's company right now, anyway.
It is then that something fatal occurs. As Alina begins to ever-so-gently remove the pins from Svetlana's hair, she chances to look up.
The Darkling is kissing Svetlana's skin at the low-cut bosom of her dress, which he has already half unbuttoned. But he is looking straight at Alina.
She freezes. He doesn't look at her. Not anymore. He doesn't look at her. So why –
"Linka?" says Svetlana, turning to glance at her. She doesn't seem to notice anything. "There are two left."
Alina tears her gaze from Aleksandr's. "Y-yes, of course. My queen."
She isn't looking at him, but she is aware that he is still looking at her as he says, "You're all dismissed."
She has never been so relieved in her life. She practically runs to place the hairpins in their box on the vanity, hearing the other servants file out, anxious to follow them.
But when she turns back she sees that Aleksandr is still watching her. He turns to Svetlana. There is a significance in his gaze that Alina does not want to try to understand. She is almost at the door when she hears Svetlana's voice behind her.
"Not you, Linka. You stay."