Chapter Text
It feels surreal to have time moving again.
He’d always believed he won’t live to see adulthood. Not after Dominik. Yet, his eighteenth birthday comes and goes, its significance barely registering. Years blur into one another as apprenticeships, raising a fleet, and zigzagging across continents transform lanky adolescent to hardened man. But time, for him, remains frozen. An immovable force, as cold and still as his brother’s heart on that blood-soaked battlefield.
The summer scent of his beloved Ravka was almost elusive that warm fateful evening. Then, as abruptly as a flash storm, time unfreezes. Its rusted gears, long idle, begin to turn - with the arrival of a burst of sunshine. Albeit, hidden behind a veil of rain-shadowed clouds, he could still see her clearly anyway.
Years of stubborn stagnation, and now, suddenly, time is moving—slowly at first, then too fast.
“Enjoy the party, Prince Nikolai.” Tick.
“I’m not lost.” Tick.
“Not everyone is so lucky to escape the Grand Palace like you.” Tick.
“How far will you go to save Ravka?” Tick.
“Still not fond of the sea, are you, Lightbug?” Tick. Tick.
“This is a bad idea.” Tick. Tick.
“I will not survive the loss of you.” Tick. Tick.
“I’m the Sun Summoner. Whether you like it or not, I’m your best chance.” Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Is that persuasion enough?” Tick. Tick. Tok.
“Would you please tell our baby about Dominik?” Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok. Tick.
The clock races with each of Alina’s declarations, each indignant scowl, each tender smile. It ticks even faster as he studies her rounded belly, trying to decipher the rhythm of their unborn child’s movements. It speeds up with her unrestraint laughter as he concludes that their baby must be a mutant possessing multiple limbs, otherwise how else could he possibly kick up a storm as often as they did?
Suddenly, after an eternity of stillness, time is suddenly a relentless sprinter, leaving him breathless in pursuit.
Despite her reservations, Alina had come into a formidable leader. The influx of Grisha refugees finds a warm welcome at the Spinning Wheel, balanced by her displays of strength and vulnerability. But lingering distrust towards her, rooted in Alina's past with the Darkling, hangs heavy in the air nonetheless.
But whatever plots the Grisha had to wear her down fail miserably. This Alina is no longer just a pawn in the court’s power games; she is a determined mother-to-be, ready to protect her own at any cost.
Amidst the internal unrest within the Second Army, a few days later, news of the slaughter of the First Army under mysterious circ*mstances pop up at an alarming rate from all over East Ravka.
"It’s the Darkling," Alina declares grimly, protectively circling her belly. Nikolai aches to reach out and do the same, remembering how tense she’s become at any mention of the Black Heretic. "I imagine this is his response to me shutting him out of the tether link,"
"Don’t beat yourself up," Nikolai offers, trying to be supportive. Alina’s shoulders sag as she sighs, "Mustn’t I? Two of Morozova's amplifiers later, and my powers are still inadequate for the Fold..."
Speaking of amplifiers, she turns to Adrik, her expression expectant. The young Squaller shakes his head. "Last I heard from the Shikurzoi team, they’ve made minimal progress. The eastern front is particularly frosty, even this time of year."
"And we still have no clue where the Darkling has made base..." Alina bites her lower lip, muttering, "Unless..."
A harried looking Tamar bursts in. "Alina, we’ve found Sergei," she says, her tone serious. "He’s in a bad way. You should come see for yourself."
Alina rises, worry etched on her face. Then, remembering the meeting, she looks around helplessly.
“Nadia and I can handle the Nolniki reports,” Nikolai offers, stepping in to lighten her load. It wouldn’t do anyone good if she’s spread too thin. When Alina still seems unsure, he sends her an encouraging smile and mouths, "Go."
With a curt nod to the others, she turns to Nikolai. “Major Lantsov, I expect a full briefing later today.” She throws him a surprisingly heated look over the shoulder as she departs, causing Tolya to clear his throat and Adrik to bristle uncomfortably beside him. With a swish of her kefta, she’s gone.
That was another facet of Alina he wholly adores, her newfound confidence was utterly captivating and he never wanted her more.
Even though a contingent loyal servants and soldiers accompanied them from the Grand Palace, most of the First Army has promptly deserted the royal family after Vasily’s public humiliation of Alina. Turns out, even the most steadfast balks at the brazen insolence of striking a Saint, Grisha or not.
On top of that, the Spinning Wheel is Nikolai’s turf, making it infinitely easier to confine the royal family to their own wing, where Alina doesn’t have to encounter them unless she chooses to. And although Nikolai isn’t a Grisha, if he strategically set up his office close to the wing occupied by the Second Army, so that communication is streamlined with a certain general, well. He supposed he is but a man...
Time was a cruel thief, and he refuses to waste a single moment that could be spent by Alina’s side.
That evening, as he stood in his office doorway, watching Alina immerse herself in the Nolniki reports, somehow, impossibly, time rushed by even faster.
He’s spent too much time coming to terms with the fact that she’ll never truly be his to let his resolve crumble like this. A single, earth-shattering kiss is all it took to transform her into an indispensable part of his life. There’s nowhere else he wants to be, nowhere else he can even imagine being. Everything narrows down to her.
He'd promised to respect her boundaries, and he meant it. A gentleman honored his word.
That noble resolve lasts all of five days. One night, he might have suggested they continue their work in his personal study after dinner, conveniently omitting the proximity of his bedchamber.
If Alina suspects any ulterior motives, she doesn’t show it. Her onyx eyes diligently skim reports from the Shu-Han border—reports Nikolai lost interest in twenty minutes ago. His focus shifted instead to the alluring crinkle between her brows and how he might kiss it away.
After a half-hour of feigned diligence, if his besotted lips landed on hers as she is mid-sentence, if one of his hands drifted to tangle in her midnight hair and the other deftly unclasped the buttons of her rich blue kefta (eyes drifting to her face every few seconds for any hint of hesitation, because no matter how bereft he may be, he is still a gentleman) till she is stripped down to her shift, if Alina is even a little bit insecure or affronted about any of the development, she doesn't show it.
The notes discarded on the desk of the other room, Nikolai kisses down her throat and pulls just enough at the neckline of the shift so his lips can move down her sternum. She moaned so deliciously when he brushed his lips to her sensitive breasts the other night but all he gets in reaction-wise now is just a low exhale.
He tries again and kisses lower over her clothes, plants soft ones all over her burgeoning belly—a miracle he still couldn’t fathom: their child!— then lower to her hip to graze his teeth at a spot that had her gasping his name as he remembers vividly from when they were onboard the Volkvolny. But all she does now is sigh loudly, eyes glued to the ceiling. The only indication that she was still present is the way she absentmindedly traced the shell of his ear.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. Am I boring you?" Nikolai looks up, not even trying to hide the irritation evident on his expression.
Alina blinks, breaking away from her reverie with an apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry. There’s just a lot on my mind,” she sighs. “There’s so much to take care of, and it never seems to end. The senior Grisha still distrust me, Vasily won’t stop being a pest, and we’re no closer to finding the Firebird—”
“What did Vasily do?” Nikolai growls, hands instinctively finding her stomach.
Alina raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Out of everything I’ve said, that’s what you latch onto? Might I remind you that I’ve had years of handling Vasily on my own before you swooped in? I suppose you are but a man...”
“I do love to be quoted,” he quips with a smirk. But then his expression darkens. “Alina, I meant to ask the other day before— at the Grand Palace, did my brother ever…”
Alina quickly understands what he’s implying and covers his hand with hers. “It was never quite so bad. I wouldn’t let him escalate much.” She tries to dispel his worry with a chuckle. “Honestly, your brother is comparable to a Saint next to the Darkling…”
“The Darkling…?” Nikolai trails off, his face going pale as the implication hits him.
He leaps away from her as if burned.
“Nikolai?” Alina frowns, propping herself up on one elbow. “Come back to bed,” she says, extending a hand.
When he stays rooted at the foot of the four-poster, unable to reconcile what he’s just learned with Alina’s blasé attitude—she scoffs, shrugging on her kefta.
“Why did you never tell me?” Nikolai follows her into his study.
Alina slams the reports on the desk, her voice tight with frustration. “So you wouldn’t look at me like you are now!”
Bile rises in his throat. How could he have missed it? He’d foolishly assumed that because Vasily wouldn’t give her an heir, she’d be safe from his violence. He should have seen the way Kirigan had a hold on her—too intimate—unnatural, sinister for a student and teacher. Had the Darkling done the same to her? Cornered her just like this?
“Who else knew? Did my mother—”
“Drop it, Nikolai. It doesn’t matter.”
Tears sting at his eyes, and out of everything, that is what finally draws a reaction from her.
“Don’t,” she warns, voice firm. “I’m not broken. It’s something that happened, and I’m over it. Don’t make it a big deal.”
He wanted to destroy everyone who had allowed this to happen. Everyone who made her think she wasn’t deserving of protection from those monsters. From everyone she’d looked to for help but who instead took advantage of her or turned a blind eye.
“Oh, Kolya…” Her expression softens as she brushes away the tear that slips down his cheek. His eyelids wrenched shut, ashamed. He’s the one who’s supposed to be reassuring her, yet here she is, comforting him— gently running her thumb beneath his eyes as if comforting a child who’s made a fuss over nothing. He supposes she is a mother now. Perhaps this is this is the essence of what mothers did.
“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Back then, part of me thought I deserved it—that it was my punishment for… But now, I won’t let that scum or anyone else lay a hand on me ever again.” Her voice is filled with the confidence he’s been seeing in her more and more.
“I’ve grown into someone who could’ve protected me then. I think that’s what counts. That it made me stronger.”
You were a child, Nikolai thinks. You didn’t need to be strong. You needed to be safe.
-
All her confidence and strength dissolve the next day when David arrives with invaluable information—and the grim news of Genya's demise.
It’s as if every sun in Alina’s sky blinks out at once, leaving her adrift without gravity. She stammers an excuse and rushes out of the room. Nikolai wants to follow, but with so many eyes watching, he can’t risk it. Instead, he nods subtly to Tamar.
Later, a haggard Tamar leads him to a secluded part of the building where polished stone gives way to a jagged cavern descending deep into the mountain. Alina has barricaded herself in, refusing entry and even threatening a Nolniki soldier who tried to help.
Nikolai surveys the anxious gathering at the cave’s entrance, noting the worried faces of Grisha and Otkazat’sya alike. It’s a dire situation—Alina’s hard-won credibility could shatter in one fell swoop.
Approaching cautiously, he finds her huddled in a shadowy alcove, shivering and muttering to herself, on the brink of collapse. Spotting him, she startles like a deer caught in the lamplight. In an instant, she envelops him in a fierce embrace, nearly dropping the lamp as she covers his lips with wet, tear-streaked kisses.
“Alina, we shouldn’t—” he protests, aware of the waiting crowd, but the raw pain in her trembling voice shatters his resolve. “Please, I want you,” she sobs.
As if he could deny her anything.
He gently pulls away, missing her warmth. “You have me,” he says, kissing her forehead softly. “But please, let’s be quiet for now. Let’s breathe.”
Clinging to him, she cries, each sob echoing in the cavern, tearing at his heart.
Fifteen minutes later, Nikolai watches as a semi-composed Alina steps into the light, making bashful apologies to the Nolniki she had shouted at. He realizes that uncovering the source of her distress will not be easy—not without risking another breakdown.
Even more concerning, Alina is being crushed under the weight of sudden responsibilities, and she’s getting too cooped up in this place. A change of scenery is long overdue.
-
Hours later, Nikolai sends a message requesting General Starkov's attendance for the demonstration of the Waxwing, the newest addition to his air fleet.
“Well, aren’t you adorable?” Nikolai grins assessing Alina bundled up in thick winter wear. Her dark hair, usually loose, is now styled in intricate braids, and she’s topped off the look with fluffy earmuffs.
“Not for long in this cold,” she deadpans, huddling further into herself. “Did the demo have to be at night?” She glances at the small crew preparing for takeoff, recognizing them as part of Sturmhond’s employees. Smiling and greeting each of them, she leans towards Nikolai and whispers, “Am I too early?”
“Nope, just us.”
Alina narrows her eyes. “Are you scheming something, Lantsov?”
“When am I not, lovely?” Nikolai shrugs and holds out an arm. “Ready?”
Studying him for a moment, she concedes with a shake of her head. “I haven’t been ready for any of this.”
The airship glides smoothly across the sky, rising up the chilly gale and weaving through the mountains. Soon, they pass over another seemingly abandoned monastery. Nikolai explains that a few such structures are scattered throughout these mountains, relics from the era of Sankt Dimitri.
Rising above the clouds, the ship is bathed in moonlight. Drawing on its silver hue, Alina casts a warm glow over the deck, much to everyone’s relief.
She watches intently, her knuckles white as the ship performs elliptical patterns, the circles tightening. Then, with a deafening noise that has Alina shrieking, the sails retract with a mechanical whirr, and sleek metal blades emerge, spinning rapidly until the vessel hovers stationary in midair.
With the Squallers freed from their task of keeping the ship aloft, they focus on creating a sound barrier around the deck to protect everyone’s ears from the thunderous noise.
Taking off her earmuffs, Alina shakes herself slightly. “Yes, yes. Quite… a show.”
She tries to appear nonchalant, but Nikolai can see the wide-eyed curiosity with which she watches the blades. Grinning, he launches into an explanation of the control system, the engine and the aerodynamic lift.
“Alright, it’s very impressive,” Alina allows, though she can’t help but chuckle at Nikolai’s exaggerated sigh of relief, complete with a hand over his heart. “Enough drama, you idiot. Now, where’s the rest of it?”
“Rest of what?”
“What did you bring me out here for? Surely because you’ve developed a new weapon that requires my light to annihilate our enemies in style?”
“My, you wound me, General,” Nikolai says in mock hurt. “Can’t a gentleman invite a lady out for an evening jaunt under the pretense of a military demonstration?”
At her exasperated eye roll, Nikolai laughs and gently turns her by the shoulder to face the western horizon. “That,” he whispers in her ear, “is why you were brought up here.”
In the far distance, vast ribbons of light swirl across the sky. Though from here, they look little more than delicate threads of color, but they captivate their audience all the same.
“Oh,” Alina breathes, her mouth dropping open in awe. “I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights up close.”
“And you will, when you cross the Bone Road on your flight to Novyi Zem.”
Alina turns sharply to face him, but Nikolai doesn’t let her speak.
“The Waxwing—it’s for you. For you and… Lightbug.” His throat tightens as he swallows. “If anything should happen… you are to take this craft, make it invisible, and run to safety. As far away as possible.”
Alina’s face remains neutral for a long moment before her careful composure cracks, and she lets out a shaky breath.
“I—I want to explain what happened today,” she begins hesitantly. “We weren’t making progress in any direction, and I was desperate to prove myself—to everyone, to you—that I… When I found that lightless cavern, I tried to coax him out, to get any hint at his location or anything of use.”
Alina pauses, and Nikolai braces himself as his voice tightens. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What did he say?”
Alina takes another shuddering breath. “Nothing. No matter what I did, he’d block me out.” She swallows hard. “Until today… I didn’t even try to summon him, and yet he finally showed. And you know what he did?”
Nikolai doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Only letting the sense that he is about to hear something dreadful wash over.
“He reminded me of the monster I am. Of what I did to Genya.” Alina looks away, her eyes gaining a wet sheen. “Even when I found out what the king was doing, I couldn’t find it in me to forgive her, to help her. In fact, I thought she deserved it. I was so blinded by my rage, I couldn’t see we were two sides of the same coin.”
Alina laughs, a humorless, bitter sound. “And then David showed up, armed with Morozova’s journal and the elusive location of our enemy’s base. Kirigan finally gave me what I was seeking, and in exchange, killed my sister.”
Alina looks at him then, her tear-stained eyes filled with determination. “So no, Nikolai. “I won’t run or won’t hide. I want to protect Lightbug too, but their future isn’t safe with the Darkling at large. Let him come for me. I’ll wear his bones around my wrist if it’s the last thing I do.”
-
The air between them is thick with an uneasy silence as Nikolai offers to walk Alina back to her quarters. But she stops him abruptly. "Do you still keep that caravan tea?" she asks, cheeks tinged with a soft pink.
Nikolai blinks, caught off guard by the sudden request. Assuming she needs something soothing to calm her frayed nerves before sleep, he nods, affirmative.
It's truly astounding how his honed perceptive skills from privateering fail miserably when it comes to this woman. How else to explain being pinned against a wall as a certain Sun Summoner’s fervent lips attack his pulse point while tugging desperately at his clothes.?
He really thought he’d handle this with more finesse, but as a breathless Alina chases his mouth, his palm shoots up, stopping her in mid-motion before his mind fully catches up.
“See, I knew you’d act this way!” she sneers, narrowing her eyes, and steps away to wrap her arms around herself. “Or, do you think I want to be with you because I’m still hung up on Mal? or worse, that I’m beguiling you for—"
"Let’s not go down that path again," he interrupts, adjusting his disheveled shirt. "In case your memory’s a bit fuzzy, I’ve always been the most eager participant in all your advances. Nothing has changed.”
Walking up to her, gently cupping her face so she has no choice but to meet his gaze. “Every ounce of my willpower is being exhausted not to f*ck you right here, in case it isn’t obvious.”
That seems to break through to her as Alina's neck flares at the crass words.
“But as I am a gentleman,” he continues, though she rolls her eyes at this, “no such untoward advances shall be made towards my lady, not until she tells me exactly why she only seeks my companionship when in extreme distress.”
Though Alina insists her insecurity stems from her perceived body image, he suspects there’s more to it.
Her aggression during their encounters, the way she kept them both half-clothed, avoiding the bed as if it were a trap—he’d found it all rather thrilling. But now, with context, it seems horrifyingly grim.
Conclusion drawn: she has an unhealthy mechanism for drowning emotional pain in physical intimacy. Considering what he’s learned about her recently, he dares not speculate on its origin.
Alina, however, simply blinks at his question. “What?”
He softens his tone, careful not to sound accusatory. But there’s little leeway to make it sound otherwise. “Did you or did you not try to defile me in a cold, dark cavern today with half of the Spinning Wheel not fifty feet away?”
“That wasn’t—what are you—I don’t—” Suddenly, her offense gives way to realization, and her eyes look up at him, mortified. “Oh…” she gasps and wriggles free of his arms.
“I-I’ll see myself out,” she says meekly and hurries to the door, but he catches her by the elbow.
“What about tea?”
“Don’t be an ass.” Alina can’t meet his gaze, but he sees her face turn crimson with embarrassment. “Please… let me go while I have a semblance of dignity left.”
Huffing out an amused laugh, he pulls her to him, her back against his chest, and places a tiny kiss to the crown of her head. “Let you go, Sunshine? More than unlikely.”
The woman in his arms deserves better than the vile mistreatment she’s been subjected to under his family’s protection. And he will make her see it one way or another. Starting now.
With deliberate care, he reaches for a pin in her dark hair. Alina tenses for a moment. As she relaxes, he reaches for another. “You aren’t broken.”
Then another. “Nor are you a monster.”
Untangling her locks from the complex web of braids until her lovely curls cascade down her shoulders, free—like she’s meant to be—he speaks again. “And you don’t have to prove yourself, especially to me.”
Alina exhales shakily, her posture settling into a disconsolate one. "Pretty words, Lantsov. But they don’t change the fact that I’m terrible at this job. I keep making the same mistakes—with you, with everyone. I can’t help but play into the Darkling’s hands over and over again."
She turns to face him, her expression pained, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “I see it in your eyes; you have a penchant for lost causes. Perhaps, it’s high time to admit Zoya’s right; why did I even come back, when I only ever make everything worse? When you hardly ever needed me to succeed at all.”
“You’re wrong!” Alina flinches at his sudden raised tone. “I do need you… Both of you,” he says softly, caressing her face then her stomach.
Nikolai collects himself for a moment before confessing. “After Halmhend, after Dominik, I’ve been lost and became absolutely fearless. And no, it wasn’t bravery or gallantry. It was truly, foolhardy, devil-may-care, doesn’t matter if I live or die kind.” Then he adds, “As you have sadly witnessed firsthand.”
“But when I’m with you, I fear everything. I fear loss, I fear death, I fear the day my time with you will come to an end…”
Alina squeezes the hand on her face. Her sorrowful eyes let him know he wasn’t alone in that feeling.
“You have a destiny—to destroy the Fold. And I have mine: to see this country through this era of instability so the people have enough to eat and children aren’t torn from their families.” He tells her the next words with all the conviction he can muster.
“You aren’t a lost cause; You’re the hope, the wind in my sails that keeps me going. No matter what stones you carry in your pocket that have you drowning, when all is said and done, ‘You’re my buoy, my strength, Alina Starkov,” He presses his forehead to hers. "Do you understand? You saved me."
That brings a faint but genuine smile to her lips, and she brushes her thumb across his face. “Saints, you just… I bet you were born to hope, Nikolai. So you could hope for all of us when there is none in the world.” Her fingers curl into his hair, stroking lazily through the gold tresses.
Nikolai swallows the lump in his throat. “It isn’t a hardship to bet my hope on you, Sunshine. Not if my hope will ensure a better future for our little darling thing.”
Dawn is nearly breaking when he finally walks her to her quarters, kissing her goodnight at her door. When the kiss starts to become heated, their baby makes itself known, and Nikolai reluctantly pulls away, laughing. "Hah, looks like they want to have you all to themselves."
Helping her into her nightclothes and tucking her in, he prepares to leave, but she catches him by the arm. "Stay till I fall asleep?" As if he could deny her anything, he pulls the cover aside and joins her, an arm protectively slung over her stomach.
He waits until her breathing evens out and then some, soaking up the moment of being this close to his child. Finally, with regret, he crawls out of bed carefully to not disturb Alina. He doesn't want to assume she'd want him there when she wakes up.
The sleeping Sankta mumbles something in her sleep and frowns, the small movement tugging at his heart. As he leans in to kiss it away, he hears her sleepy mutter, "Perhaps, I don't have to return to Novyi Zem.... Maybe in some nicer part of Kerch or even… even Ravka."
Nikolai's lips freeze against her brows, but he doesn't let himself be carried away. He knows better than to cling to uttered whispers in the dark. Right now he isn't even certain that he even wants her to be serious.
It would be one thing if Alina decided to settle in some faraway land, but to have her so close... He can’t imagine maintaining his sanity on a lonely throne if his child is just a two-day ride away.
Before his thoughts spiral, he places another soft kiss on her stomach and quietly slips out. "Sleep tight, Sunshine. Sweet dreams, Lightbug."
-
It should've felt weird to use the nickname another man gave to his child. But all Nikolai feels is respect and gratitude for the man who has been there for Alina and their baby through and through.
Something has shifted between Alina and Mal before he left for the Shikurzoi, Nikolai knows that much, but daren't ask for elaboration. Despite the jealousy that had run rampant in him regarding the tracker and the inexplicable bond he shared with Alina, Nikolai now sees that it went beyond his understanding and frankly, it felt too personal for him to meddle.
But one fact remains undeniably true. Alina is not cut out for the crushing expectations of all that came with being a leader and a Sainthood in this precarious and fragile mental state of hers that is far worse than he'd realized.
She has so much suppressed trauma, and he never doubts she could find the strength to rise above it all, someday. But right now she's in dire need of stability and care - things Nikolai could never give her in the tumultuous Ravkan political climate.
And despite having no doubt she would excel in her second life, he didn't want her to move through that life alone.
Not just her, their child deserved better too. Alina would be a wonderful mother away from the venomous court, even more so with Mal by her side, who cared endlessly. His child would be in safe hands. He'd die twice over before subjecting his own flesh and blood to the same barely veiled whispers, insults, and rumors that plagued his upbringing.
All the sensible thinking, but he'd be lying if all this wasn't killing him inside. There is something tantalizing about things he could never have.
He'll quiet down if it's what she wants. Alina cared about him, he could feel it in her every touch, but he was nothing if not a realist. Nikolai understands he's not the only one for her.
Not to mention, even in the ambiguity surrounding Alina's involvement with Mal, and fully acknowledging she isn't an object for men to squabble over, Nikolai would be damned if he didn't at least own up to his part in deceiving the man that'd solely stood by the mother of his child for six months and for even longer before that.
After a few agonizing days of holding it all in, Nikolai finally gathers the courage to confess to Mal. To his surprise, the tracker just... laughs.
"Saints, Alina wasn’t wrong. You really do have a flair for the dramatic.” He says, still laughing. “I love her and Lightbug and will always think of them as family, but we’re not romantically involved anymore, if that’s what you’re trying to insinuate." Mal makes a face. "We mutually decided it was best to go our separate ways."
The revelation isn’t so much a shock as the implication of it.
Taking a long while to turn the large iridescent feather of the Firebird that gleamed in the sunlight that would soon be placed on Alina's arm, he drained his glass of brandy and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He might have just effectively destroyed the one chance Alina had of happiness —the chance his child could have grown up knowing the love of a father, even if it wasn’t him.
Nikolai scrubs a hand down his face, "So I am a homewrecker."
At his dismay, the tracker only scoffs. "Not everything is about you, princeling. We might have reached this conclusion ten years down the line. It's better to face the inevitable now than later."
Mal finishes his own drink before speaking, "With that out of the way, can I ask you something? Though on second thought," finally registering Nikolai’s sour expression, he backtracks, "maybe I shouldn’t right now."
Nikolai shakes his head, feeling horrible. "Just ask. I don't deserve tact at this point."
Mal glares, clearly disagreeing with that statement, but he speaks anyway. "I’m told you could charm a horse mid-race, so why not pull out the big guns and give Alina a real reason to stay? Instead of offering her an army or a seat on your council, why not offer her an obscenely large rock from your family vault?"
Nikolai looks up sharply, surprised at the tracker's bluntness. Mal just shrugs. "Alina loves you. Even I can see that."
Nikolai blinks at the statement, turning it over in his mind, trying not to sound too much like a homewrecker and an absentee father. "It isn’t that simple," he says quietly.
"See, there’s this funny thing called a divorce…" Mal quips.
Nikolai studies the Firebird’s feather gleaming in the sunlight before he finally finds his voice again. "It isn’t feasible in the long run. Being with me has a price, one that Alina wants no part of. Right now, she feels trapped by expectations she didn’t set, and I don’t want to add to that. I won’t put her in a situation where she feels she has to choose."
"I won't make her choose." He emphasizes. "...I shouldn't," he adds weakly, biting his lip, feeling the telltale symptoms of his resolve crumbling.
Unaware of his inner turmoil, Mal looks taken aback. "Since when did you become so honorable? I thought privateers take what they can get?"
It certainly is a new sensation for him. He'd never pined for anybody before in his life. Never before had he ever been inclined to rethink his past, reconsider his present, and rearrange his future orbiting a singular person.
Alina loves you...
Nikolai sighs absentmindedly, "First time for everything..."
"You're a good man, Lantsov."
And Mal, to deny himself his first love, to give up on fulfilling a long-standing dream, to hold no ill will against Nikolai, the one who is partially responsible for shattering that dream.
"You are certainly twice the man I ever will be, Oretsev."
“It's hardly like that.” Mal shook his head, suddenly bashful.
“It isn't? Pray tell what it’s like then?”
Mal sheepishly rubs his neck, "I... understand to some degree what it is to want someone you can't have. I have no right to judge you. None at all, actually." He mumbled, looking at the ground.
The blonde caught onto something that the other man wasn't saying.
Oh.
"Who is it?" Nikolai murmurs, watching as Mal flushed.
Silence.
"Okay. Easier question then, do I know them?"
Mal’s dark eyes meet his, and he nods softly.
Trying to lighten the mood, Nikolai grins. "It isn’t Alina, is it?"
Mal smirks, shaking his head. "No. But it’s someone she won’t approve of."
Ah. There it is.
Turns out Mal is just a man, as well.
-
Alina wakes to the cold side of the bed, the spot where Nikolai had been long since empty. She brushes off the sudden wrench of sadness, wondering when waking up alone had become a disappointment rather than the norm.
A strange relief accompanies this longing. Maybe it’s best he doesn’t stay. She knows she couldn’t hold back the words that have been building for days if she woke to find him still beside her.
I love you.
It’s unsettling. What right does she have to tell him she loves him? Someone so good, noble, and hopelessly devoted to helping others—when all she’s done is selfishly beg to be left alone?
More questions endlessly swirl in her never resting mind; how can she be sure she’s making the right choices when every decision she makes now affects another life? Will her child grow to resent her for forcing them into a life she thinks is best? For keeping them away from their father? And what does Nikolai feel about it all?
Nikolai, with his maddening agreeableness, has barely resisted her determination to vanish into obscurity. It leaves her questioning what the best course of action truly is.
Till now, she’s romanticized a quiet life—remnants of a past of a girl she hasn’t been in a long time, but no one told her choosing peace is like waging a war in on itself.
She recalls Sergei’s words when she suggested sending him to Zvedya—a quieter front where he could recover away from the chaos. "You’re lucky, Alina Starkov," he’d said, his gaze lingering on her belly. "No matter what happens, you’ll have a family at the end of it." His voice had cracked, "Marie was the only one I wanted that with."
Alina had no reply, only the gnawing guilt that it was Marie who died, wearing her face, alone and terrified. What right does she have to dream of peace when she’s responsible for so much pain? For never even stopping to consider why Genya betrayed her to the Lantsovs?
What right does she have to bask in Nikolai’s love? To seek redemption in his kisses, salvation in his touch?
Lost in her thoughts, the day passes in a blur of unfinished tasks and half-hearted efforts. By the time she picks at her lunch, the afternoon sun is already casting long shadows across the dining hall.
Pushing her plate away, she steps onto the southern terrace, letting the bitter cold whip at her ears. She watches the airships moving to and fro from the hangar, their movements soothing in their predictability.
If she stands on her tiptoes and squints, she can just make out Mal, slinging down from a newly landed airship, chatting animatedly with one of the Squallers. Through her kefta, her fingers trace the iridescent Firebird feather fused into her forearm.
Mal had been so proud when he presented the feather to her, but it all vanished when she confessed that she felt no connection, no thrum of power that a Morozova amplifier is supposed to exude.
Since then, Mal has distanced himself, slipping away quietly. She doesn’t blame him. The perilous journey through the Shikurzoi was for nothing, and he needs time to process that.
He’s made it clear what he wants for them now, and she’ll respect his wishes. It’s good that he’s keeping himself busy. Watching him now, so full of life—not at all like the burdened and somber boy she’d grown used to—Alina feels her guilt grow. How much of that burden had she placed on him?
"I’d assumed jumping off a cliff to your demise was just a cover story for the eventual disappearance, lovely." Nikolai strides onto the terrace, head co*cked, trademark lopsided grin firmly in place.
Alina turns, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "And who’d believe the Crown Princess’s mysterious vanishing if she hadn’t been seen precariously standing at the edge of a balcony once or twice?"
"Oh? How very foresighted of you." Nikolai’s grin widens, and Alina can’t help but smile back. Despite the dark cloud of melancholy that’s lingered over her since morning, his mere presence inexplicably brightens her mood.
There’s also the pesky matter that, despite his maintaining a respectable distance in public, her heart races, her stomach flutters, and her skin tingles. Catching her breath grows harder, and words she's been trying to suppress rise to the forefront of her mind.
I love you.
She averts her gaze from his sun-bright smile, grasping for a safe topic. "The air fleets are awfully busy. It wouldn’t be prudent to engage so many vessels at once to search for the Darkling’s hideout."
Indeed, when a scout ship had gone to verify David’s intel about the Darkling’s location, it was completely abandoned. The Bittern and Kingfisher have been deployed to search for the new camp ever since, but predictably, with little success.
"It isn’t that," Nikolai hesitates before replying. "Sturmhond’s fleet confiscated some... contraband as it was about to enter West Ravka. We’re storing it here in the Spinning Wheel. Top classified item, do you understand?"
Alina nods. "And they couldn’t be kept in some warehouse in Os Kervo because...?"
"It’s Parem."
Alina’s eyes widen. "Saints, is it safe to store it here? With so many Grisha in the compound?"
"Only temporarily. We’re secretly working with a few Alkemi to figure out a way to dismantle the chemical components so the drugs can be safely discarded. Only a handful of people know. I trust the crew won’t talk, and I’m grateful for Oretsev’s assistance in ensuring that."
Despite his confident explanation, Alina can see the tension in his eyes. Something tells her it’s more than just the parem weighing on him.
She surreptitiously glances around—seeing no one at the wide arched entrance to the terrace, she scoots closer and good-naturedly bumps her shoulder against his. "Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, so close to the finish line now."
Alina worries something terrible has happened when he doesn't immediately reply with one of his witty quips and instead just stares at the passing clouds.
Then he haltingly tells her about his latest conversation with his mother and about Magnus Opjer.
Anyone could see them like this, out in the open, shoulders pressed together, her hand draped over his arm, offering supportive squeezes every now and then. But as Nikolai confides in her about his worst nightmare come true, Alina would rather jump off this terrace than leave his side.
"Did you mean what you said... about settling in Ravka?" he asks suddenly, flinching slightly as if he hadn’t meant to say it. "You don’t have to answer—"
"Yes." The word is out before he can finish, her resolve firm despite her many trepidations. "I—I want the baby to grow up Ravkan. Learn about Shu Han," she adds with an encouraging smile. "Maybe even Fjerda too?"
Nikolai grimaces slightly. "They don’t need to learn about Fjerda."
A girlish giggle carried by the wind makes Alina startle, afraid they’ve been caught. But whipping her head around for the source, she's surprised to find another giggle emitted from the hangar.
Belatedly, Alina realizes the Squaller she saw Mal laughing with earlier is none other than Zoya. Saints. She's seen it all with her own eyes. Zoya leans up to peck Mal's cheek and giggles again.
Nikolai’s hearty chuckle rumbles out beside her, and he taps her chin to close her jaw, which had apparently dropped open. "Now that’s interesting. Looks like a missed chance to make a quick fortune off your unassuming hands."
Alina turns to face him, ready with a retort, but the words die in her throat when she realizes how close he is.
I love you, her insides scream.
And she swears he hears it because he looks like he wants to kiss her. But he stops short as a pair of Grisha pass by, undoubtedly noting their proximity. Against all logic, Alina wishes he would kiss her anyway.
"I’m doing the same thing, aren’t I?" he whispers, turning back to watch the clouds. "The same thing my true father did—leaving me to be raised by another man while he chased some greater purpose."
He exhales slowly. "I’ve been so determined to be nothing like the man I thought was my father, but I’ve ended up being just like the man who actually is."
Choosing peace is like waging a war within itself.
This won't do. Alina gently clasps his chin, so he's facing her. "No matter how many wrong choices I've made, still make, you've always seen the best in me. You deserve to grant yourself the compassion you show others."
I love you.
Lightly brushing his jaw with the pad of her thumb, she continues, "You said... that I saved you, but you've got it the other way around. The person who restored my faith in the world and convinced me there were still things worth fighting for... is you."
I love you.
"Saving Ravka is not some great purpose for you, Nikolai. It's what you were born to do, no matter what the doubters say."
I love you.
He's never lived without hope. She'd be damned if she's the reason he begins to lose it.
Nikolai looks too stunned to speak, and Alina flushes, not knowing what to do under his awestruck gaze, so she quickly looks down at her hand still laid over his arm.
"B-besides, do you really think I'm so sure in my chances to not screw it all up? At least you had two fathers to measure your perceived lackings. I never even had a mother."
"You won't." He seems to find his voice again. "I've seen how fiercely you love, you won't mess it up. You will be a great mother."
I love you.
"And you will be a good king," she tells him. "I've seen how loyal your love for Ravka is."
Nikolai gives her a sad smile that doesn't reach his eyes at all. She sees his finger twitch over the terrace wall.
He loses some battle with himself as he leans forward and kisses her cheek with a tenderness that stops her heart.
"It's terrifying though, isn't it?" His eyes are downcast. He reaches out and tugs at the fox fur at her cuff. "That even love isn't always enough."
-
"I'm only saying, if you’re serious about assuming a monumental role within the Second Army, having the commander of the First on your side would do you good, dear."
Alina scowls at the unwelcome guest in her room. Somehow, Vasily has slipped past the heavily guarded royal wing and finally cornered her. He reaches for her hand, but she recoils in disgust.
"Ah, still so childish," he taunts, his voice a mockery of affection. "Don’t you think it’s time to grow up? After all, we’re soon to be one big happy family."
"And where will you find the time for that, dear?" Alina retorts, her voice sharp. "Between your frequent visits to Caryeva for racehorses and your whor*s?"
"A shame you think so lowly of me." Vasily grinds out a forced smile. "My only intention is to give your Grisha a fair chance. Who knows? Some Grisha might even be good people."
"Watch your tongue, moi tsetsarevich. There might be a Grisha on the throne after you."
His sly smile falters. "No blood of mine will be filthy witch-born."
Alina co*cks her head, eyes narrowing. "What if I told you they already are?"
Vasily steps closer, his demeanor darkening, but Alina stands her ground. "Even witches," he murmurs ominously, "aren’t immune to the dangers of childbirth. If an untimely death can befall them, it can happen to their spawn too."
Alina huffs out a laugh, exaggerated and hollow, before her face hardens into steel. "I’ve never harmed you because it wouldn’t take any effort. But if you ever even hint at hurting me or my child again, I will burn you until every atom of your pathetic existence is obliterated, and your family won’t even have ashes to mourn over."
In retaliation, Vasily grabs her arm roughly. "After three years of wasting my time, I should’ve been the one to burn you. But now I see you’re too far gone to accept my olive branch. Seeing as you’re resolved to be an irredeemable bitch, so I will make sure you and your little bastards pay."
"Everything alright?" The door creaks open, and Nikolai steps in with a tight smile. "The party started half an hour ago. Mother’s growing impatient waiting for everyone downstairs."
"Ah, speak of the devil." Vasily straightens, his saccharine smile directed at Nikolai before turning back to Alina. "Until then, dear. Consider your options." He sloppily kisses the back of her hand and forcibly pushes past Nikolai, disappearing down the hall.
As soon as the sound of Vasily's steps fades, Alina exhales the breath she’s been holding.
In two quick strides, Nikolai is in front of her, pulling her against his chest so tightly that it’s as if there’s no space between them at all— much less a gigantic belly— and effectively rumpling her formal ensemble; the Kefta of silver and gold brocade with jeweled sunbursts on the seams.
"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Nikolai’s voice is urgent as he cradles her head, placing incessant kisses on the slope of her neck.
Alina weakly shakes her head, surprised by the intimacy outside the privacy of the bedroom—not that it matters anymore.
"Nikolai, listen to me. Vasily knows."
He merely loosens his grip slightly, enough so he isn’t crushing her, but presses his forehead against hers, protectively cradling her stomach. "Well, took that dimwit moron long enough," he mutters, tone brazen.
Despite the severity of the situation, Alina’s lips tug upward slightly at his remark. "What will we do now?"
"Absolutely nothing." His tone remains flippant. "Vasily might be slow to catch on, but he understands your rising power and his simultaneously dwindling influence. Exposing that he couldn’t sire a legitimate heir is the last thing he needs right now."
Nikolai does have a point. Certainly explains why Vasily has been cozying up to her—if that’s what the interaction just now could be called. "That doesn’t mean you’ll be safe from harm, Kolya."
Nikolai waves her off. "I’ll be fine. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to kill me."
Alina frowns, ready to ask what he means by that, but he silences her with a light brush of his fingers against her stomach. "Saints, I could rip him in half with my bare hands."
Alina softens. "Gallant of you, but I can defend myself."
"I know you can," he agrees. "But if you won’t allow my gallantry, perhaps you’ll reconsider a certain vessel meant for you." His gaze remains steady, intent clear. He’s offering her a way out, to take the Waxwing and run.
Come with me. Come with us, she almost says. Let’s love each other and love our baby. Let’s be happy and leave this swamp behind.
She only entertains the fantasy for a moment before speaking, her voice determined. "Whatever may come, we’ll face it... together."
And I’ll incinerate your twisted brother down to cinders if he harms a single hair on your head.
"Then please... at least accept this small gift." He hesitates before producing a teal pouch from his coat.
"What have we got there? Not the real Firebird, is it?" Alina teases, attempting to break the tension.
Nikolai smirks, playing along. "Is that what you wanted? Should’ve told Madraya; she would have seen to it personally, seeing as it is your party."
Alina rolls her eyes, letting the comment go. The occasion is supposed to celebrate the heir, though she finds little point in it during wartime.
Nikolai empties the pouch’s contents into his palm, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Mother insisted you wear it for today’s party... seeing as you have mysteriously lost your own."
Alina has seen this particular jewel on Tatiana’s finger many times over the years. She always thought it gaudy, too heavy—a boulder, really.
But now, as she looks from the gem to the expectant face of the man she loves, it takes on a whole new meaning. It’s the same emerald she seen dancing in his eyes when the true sea reflects off them on the Volkvolny, the same shade she imagines in the round, inquisitive eyes of the tiny human she will soon hold in her arms, Saints-willing.
And just like that, the once-tacky ornament becomes the most alluring thing she’s ever seen.
"Just as hideous as I remember it," she says breathlessly, not looking away from his gleaming eyes. She still can’t look away when he slips the emerald onto her finger and brings it to his lips.
He presses a kiss to her knuckles until the cool metal band feels warm against her skin.
"There," he murmurs, "now it’s beautiful."
-
"-Yes, yes. We all know he’s pretentious, condescending, a man of the people. But more interestingly, my brother possesses some hidden qualities too!"
Alina risks a panicked glance at Nikolai across the room, who looks just as, if not more, on edge as Vasily prattles on in his drunken stupor. This cannot be happening right now. No, no, no.
"Ironically," Vasily slurs, "he shares one such scandalous quality with none other than my own dear wife—"
Of all the times she’s imagined what it would be like when Vasily met his end, of all the things she thought she would feel when that time finally arrived, she never guessed it would be disappointment.
All she feels is disappointment as she watches the Nichevo’ya tear her husband in half mid-air, the screaming nobles scrambling to get out of the way as their finery is sprayed with his blood.
Alina is deeply disappointed—not because of his death, but because it isn’t her own hands reaching in to tear his flesh apart with a powerful Cut, that it isn’t her own fine Kefta being decorated in his blood-red stains.
-
