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She wakes to the sound of the sea.
For a moment she forgets where she is. The airy Summer Palace in West Ravka. The large windows have been thrown open, and somewhere below, waves are breaking against the rocks in a slow, steady rhythm. She can smell salt in the coastal air, feel the faint breeze stirring through the sheer canopy overhead. Humidity clings to her skin, warm and sultry. Her gaze catches on the Lantsov Emerald sitting on her nightstand. She must have taken it off at some point in the previous night.
Alina stretches, relishing the pleasant ache in her limbs. The wedding had been a long affair, as expected. An ostentatious event to celebrate the marriage of the Sun Summoner to Ravka’s prince in exile— carefully not styled as Tsar quite yet. Her trousseau has been made up of arms and soldiers, pledges to their cause, all while the Darkling still rules in Os Alta.
The war has settled into a wary stillness. Nikolai calls it an advantage—time to secure their claim and gather strength—but she can’t shake the fear of what the Darkling may be planning.
When she’d finally agreed to the proposal, she’d told Nikolai, “There's no point in doing things by half measures. If we must marry then it will be marriage.”
“That would be the most convenient route, wouldn’t it?” His tone had been light, but he’d broken into the most genuine smile she’d seen on him yet, and opened a new bottle of brandy. His enthusiasm, as always, was catching, and she’d found herself laughing despite herself.
But there are words spoken in a quiet room, gone in a moment, and there is the daunting full scope of reality. The constant questions raised in the wake of her acceptance: do they mean it; how much; and what is a marriage really?
She rolls over now without thinking, and gasps when the movement puts her flush against her bridegroom. The heat of his bare chest seeps through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Outside, gulls cry over the water. The gauzy curtain swells and falls with the wind.
He grins, his voice is rough with sleep. “Well, hello.”
She’s too flustered to respond. Before she can pull away, he kisses her, deep and lingering. It thoroughly addles her senses, calling up echoes of the previous night. The memory of his hands on her, and the press of their bodies. The taste of him, shockingly sweet. How she could think of nothing else.
He finally draws back to let her breathe and she’s still swept up in it, hardly able to meet his gaze.
“I apologize if that was unwelcome,” he murmurs when she has been silent for too long. But the self satisfied look on his face does not seem particularly apologetic at all.
Alina gives him a shy smile in return. Tentatively, she reaches out and runs her fingers through his rumpled hair. It’s so strange to see him in disarray. It’s stranger still to touch him so casually.
“Good morning,” she says at last, and is startled by how soft her own voice sounds.
Nikolai leans into her touch, just slightly. “It is, isn’t it?”
Though she’s come to know Nikolai much better over time, she still isn’t always sure of what he’s thinking. He’s too collected, too charming, for that. But he has such a simple contentment to him now that she’s tempted to believe that he truly wants to be here, with her. That he isn’t simply making the best of things.
She clears her throat and sits up, disentangling herself from him. There’s no point in having illusions about what is between them.
Across the room, a breakfast tray has been set out for them. She must have been dead asleep when it was brought in. There is coffee on the tray in delicate porcelain cups, still steaming. And she knows to expect fresh fruits, soft cheese, jam, and light, flaky bread that is closer to a pastry in consistency.
A dressing gown–gold, of course– has been laid out for her on the back of a chair. And eventually, Genya will be in to prepare her for the day in a fashionable gown, embroidered to be reminiscent of a kefta where the real thing is seen as too stiff and stuffy here. She has found that, somehow, West Ravka is more ostentatious than even what court life in Os Alta has prepared her for. It’s overwhelming.
Genya had helped her out of the wedding dress the previous night, and into her bridal nightdress. And when she was finally alone for a moment. she had taken the opportunity alone to cry a little bit for all the lost things, and the weight of the day. By the time Nikolai had come to the bridal chambers she had been mostly composed and giddy with wine.
He’d chattered nervously about the reception, which had been endearing, and had put her more at ease. And by the time he’d finally closed the distance between them and kissed her, he hadn’t seemed nervous at all.
Alina stumbles out of bed. It doesn’t help the awareness of her body, where her skin is still warm from his touch, and the dreamy, aching exhaustion left from the night before. She busies herself at the breakfast tray, pouring coffee.
Nikolai watches her, looking bemused. “How are you feeling?” He sits up, and she hands him his cup. Their fingers brush.
“Fine,” she says brusquely, feeling a blush rising to her cheeks. “Good.” She is trying to look anywhere but his naked chest and is failing spectacularly.
He gives her a crooked smile. “So you see, the business of coming about heirs may not be such a chore after all.”
“Were you expecting it to be a chore?”
“Certainly not,” he replies, simply enough that it’s difficult to read it as anything but earnest. He drains his cup and sets it aside. Sunlight streams in through the windows, gilding his features. Now that she’s up, she realizes she’s not really sure what to do with herself. What she wants is to crawl back in bed.
She gulps down her own coffee, hoping it will jolt her out of this foolishness.
They had only been in Ketterdam a day when the Darkling had called to her through the tether in the middle of the night, to show her the rubble of the Spinning Wheel.
She had run to Nikolai, catching him in a rare moment when he was actually abed– he hardly ever seems to sleep. She remembers clutching at his wrist, words coming out in a tumble, and impossible to follow. Eventually he’d coaxed her into explaining what she’d seen more coherently, and he’d gone very pale.
It hadn’t been like this then, she’d been too distraught to think of the intimacy of it. Even when he’d pulled her into his arms as she wept.
“He must have Mal,” she’d said into his shoulder. “He would’ve been back by then. He might even have the firebird.” Her breath had caught. “What if he’s killed him?”
Nikolai had tried to reassure her, and said gently, “If the Darkling had him, Alina, he wouldn’t be able to resist gloating.”
And he was right about that.
Days later, Mal had arrived aboard the Bittern, with Tamar and Nadia in tow. They had come empty-handed from their trip to hunt the firebird, and with awful descriptions of the destruction they had returned to. Suddenly it had seemed smarter not to return to Ravka all.
They hadn’t had much luck gathering support in Kerch but to her surprise, West Ravka had welcomed them. Sharing a border with the Shadow Fold left them understandably uneasy, especially after Novokribirsk. The Sun Summoner offered some measure of protection from it, though she knows it might be more hope than certainty. For now, at least, the Darkling has made no move.
She was surprised that he hadn’t sent Mal away. He still serves in her guard, though he had asked for leave on the day of the wedding, and has volunteered to set after the amplifier again shortly after. At least, she had not had to avoid his gaze all night. But in a strange way she was still upset that he had not been there with her.
It feels strange to think of Mal now. It feels like a betrayal, but she isn’t sure a betrayal of which of them it might be anymore. Her eyes fall on the ring on the nightstand again. The emerald glints back at her.
“Are you hungry?” Nikolai asks her now, startling her out of her thoughts. She can hear the whisper of sheets, the shift and rustle as he leaves the bed.
Alina busies herself putting on the dressing gown, tying it tightly. “Not very.”
Out of the corner of her eye she watches him pick up a piece of fruit from the arrangement on the tray. Imported, she thinks, because she has not seen it in Os Alta before. She also thinks that it will leave his fingers and lips sweet. Which is not a very useful thing to ponder at the moment, at all.
“Alina—” he begins, then breaks off.
She swallows her chagrin, waits a moment to compose herself before she meets his eyes again. “What is it?”
“What are you thinking about?”
“That I’m still not accustomed to West Ravka. It’s… very different.”
“That’s all?”
“Everything is very different.”
“And when you say ‘different’ do you mean ‘terrible?’” he asks.
“No, not terrible.”
“That’s good,” he says with a half smile. “Given that we may be here for awhile.”
“Do you like it here?”
“I like its navy and trade access.”
She laughs despite herself, but it sounds brittle to her own ears.
During the wedding, she’d caught a glimpse of the Darkling in the crowd and it had nearly stopped her heart. But he’d only clapped mockingly as she danced with Nikolai.
Let him have you, that familiar cool voice had murmured in her ear. I’m content to wait.
She doesn’t know what that means. And now, in the quiet morning light, she still feels a tremor of unease.
“What if the third amplifier isn’t enough?” she says finally. It’s a question that’s been gnawing on her for some time, though she’s been too afraid to voice it.
“It would be a setback,” he hedges. “But I suppose we would simply go about deposing the Darkling in the more typical way.”
“Do you think we can?”
“He’s only one man. And the forces we’re accumulating aren’t exactly ornamental.”
She nods, trying to believe it. “As long as you think so.”
“I do.”
She ventures finally to have some bread and jam herself. To pour herself more coffee and drink it by the massive windows. She stares out at the water in the distance and the steep rocky cliffs the Summer Palace is perched on.
She can hear him retreating back to the bed. It’s early, they could probably sleep for some time yet. It’s the day after their wedding, they could likely refuse to do anything at all if they wanted.
For awhile, neither of them speaks.
She thinks again of the night before. Lying together afterwards in a perfect sort of exhaustion. There hadn’t been room for self consciousness. Though there was an idle uncertainty, as she wondered whether she should retreat to her side of the bed. But he’d gathered her up into his arms as she was considering it, and that had seemed so much better.
When she turns back to Nikolai now, she finds he has been watching her. For once, he looks a little flustered. It’s nice to know that’s a possibility.
Finally, she sets her cup down, crosses back to the bed, and crawls under the covers beside him. When she kisses him, his lips are as sweet as she’d expected. She buries her face in his shoulder.
For his light, easy manner Nikolai is careful bringing his arms around her. He’s silent for a very long moment before he says, “Tell me you're not full of regrets this morning?”
“No,” she replies, voice quiet. “I’m not.”
“And… do you mean it? Or are you saying that because I asked you to?”
“Nothing’s changed in the last twenty four hours. All the reasons for the marriage are still in place. And they’re still compelling.” And if she must marry for alliance, then she could certainly do worse than Nikolai, who she knows, and likes. Whose fingers are now tracing an idle, maddening pattern over the curve of her spine.
“How practical.”
She pulls back to see his face. “And you?”
Something falters in his expression before the familiar brightness returns, practiced and smooth. “What would there be to regret?”
She had expected to feel some regret, perhaps she still will when she’s had time to properly wake up. But for now, everything is pleasant, if a little uncertain. She finds herself reluctant to move, to rise and face what comes next.
“Alina,” he says slowly. “In all seriousness, this doesn’t need to happen again.”
She looks up at him. “What do you mean?”
“The marriage is consummated. It’s not really time to truthfully consider children, I don’t think. Until then…” He shrugs, not quite meeting her gaze.
She chews her lip. “Is that what you want?”
“I want whatever you want,” he says tactfully.
“That’s not really an answer.”
“Neither was yours.” He clears his throat. “I am sympathetic that this match wasn’t exactly your first choice. And I’m happy to work around that to make it more palatable.”
She nods, taking that in.
He takes her hand tentatively. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“I meant what I said before,” she says finally, haltingly.
“About?”
She reaches for the nightstand where the Lantsov Emerald still sits. The ring feels cool as she slips it onto her finger. “No half measures.”
And Nikolai pulls her into another kiss.