Chapter Text
Though she has long since grown accustomed to balls and celebrations, Alina often thinks back to the first winter fete she’d attended. It had been the grandest thing she had ever seen at the time, lovely and opulent, like something out of a dream. And tonight, she thinks of it again as she dances with the Darkling.
It is the height of autumn, and the palace grounds are beautiful, wreathed in red and gold. He does not often return to Os Alta so early in the season— the weather has only just begun to turn— but the Tsar has been nagging at him. And well, she likes to think perhaps he made an exception for her name day and its festivities.
After all, in the morning she’d received a small black box with her breakfast tray. Inside she’d found a set of jewels to wear in her hair that had looked pale green then, but in the lamplight of the Grand Palace’s ballroom somehow now seem closer to wine.
“I believe your betrothed has seen fit to attend,” he tells her under his breath, tone conspiratorial.
Alina’s first response is to sigh, and then to wait until the dance allows him to twirl her around so that she can see. Her gaze lands on where the Tsar and Tsaritsa remain on their thrones, looking vaguely bored, surrounded by courtiers she’s never bothered to keep track of. She ignores the Apparat staring back.
“I don’t see him.”
“In the crowd, Alina.”
Ah, there he is. By the card tables. He raises a champagne glass when he catches her staring. Alina is jarred for a moment before she grins back. She can’t quite read his features, but they turn again and he’s already out of her line of sight.
“I wonder when he returned to court.”
“Early this morning.”
“Huh, I didn’t have a clue. I don’t think he likes me very much,” she grumbles, but the Darkling merely laughs.
Currently, Alina is not in favor with the Tsar. Several years have passed since she was first discovered, and while her power certainly makes crossings easier, there are no illusions about her destroying the Fold any time soon. Or so they’ve led him to believe.
Soon they will find her amplifier. They are hunting the stag, soon it will be done.
But the Tsar has no way of knowing that. And being in an odd position of wanting her sudden and bizarrely earned clout and yet simultaneously not wanting to elevate her too much, a betrothal has been arranged between her and the second prince. Nikolai. Sobachka, they call him.
He seems good humored enough, though he’s hardly ever at court. He used to be completely absent until his mother put her foot down (and the betrothal itself was announced) and now he’s here a few months out of the year, when his studies allow. Not that Alina believes for one moment that he is actually attending university at Ketterdam.
“Let him have his secrets,” the Darkling often tells her when she complains about this. “You will simply have to keep your own.”
Alina supposes the stag is a fairly big secret. Among others.
That will surely put her in a sticky situation should the marriage ever go forward, but it seems Nikolai is even less keen on it than she is. He’d outright told her as much, very cheerfully, shortly after his parents had decided on it.
“We can wait until some new thing has commanded my father’s attention,” he’d said, as they strolled through the gardens. “He’s too set on it now, but when the time comes, we’ll simply invent a falling out, and dissolve the betrothal.”
“You’re so sure we’ll have to invent one.”
“I think you’ll find I’m simply too charming for real falling outs.”
She’d rolled her eyes at the time, but he hadn’t been wrong either. She wonders if it’s time for the falling out yet.
Alina is sorry when the music fades, signaling the end of the dance. Who knows how many more years it will be until the Darkling concedes to another? He isn’t very much a fan of parties, and she can’t say she doesn’t find some amusement in the grimace settling on his cold features when he finally strides away.
The next dance picks up, but she moves to the sidelines, declining any invitations. Instead, she lets herself be pulled into conversation, content to mingle, even as she senses Nikolai looking at her from across the room.
She finds this part of social functions much less overwhelming than she once did. She’s only slightly less of a novelty now, and so complete strangers still clamor to speak to her— moreso at this celebration thrown specifically for her— but there is a pattern to it that’s familiar to her now. And it’s easy to reply appropriately and with confidence after having accumulated a few years’ worth of experience.
Finally, she plucks a glass of champagne for herself from a passing servant and squares her shoulders. Perhaps it’s time to speak to her betrothed.
“Moi tsarevich,” she says, as she joins him, with a barely there curtsy.
“Sankta Alina.”
“Don’t call me that unless you want your father to have my head on a pike.”
He only offers her a lazy smile, looking just a little too feckless and charming for his full military dress. “It would be a waste of a very lovely head. And a pike.”
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Well, I couldn’t miss it.”
She sips from her glass, studying the dancing couples, the twirl and glitter of their fine clothes. “How ever did you manage to tear yourself away from your studies?”
“With great difficulty. I’m very passionate about scholarly endeavors.”
“Sure.”
“I would have come to say 'hello' before the party but I was waylaid by my parents.”
She snickers. “Too bad, I have every intention of holding it against you.”
“You do?”
“Of course.”
“You do look lovely,” he says suddenly, not sounding wry at all.
“Thank you.” Alina blushes despite herself, and so she quickly asks about the first thing she can think of. “Were you lucky enough to miss Vasily before he left for Caryeva?”
“No, I can’t say I was.”
“He regaled you with tales of the yearling auctions?”
“In painstaking detail,” he sighs.
It looks like he’s about to say more, but then they notice the Darkling approaching, Ivan and a few of his oprichniki following at a few paces away.
“Oh look, it’s the funeral march,” Nikolai whispers to her.
Alina chokes on a laugh, and elbows him as discreetly as she can manage. She doesn’t quite like the idea of being in a conversation with the both of them at the same time, so she carefully steps away to meet the Darkling.
“I will be leaving the party,” he tells her.
She hides her smile in her champagne; of course, he must announce it. “Tired already? You must be feeling your age.”
Though it’s simple teasing, he narrows his eyes at her. “I don’t enjoy wasting my time.”
“I think I’ll be staying fairly late.” She lowers her voice, very aware of Nikolai’s watchful gaze. “If you haven’t fallen asleep by then, come see me.”
“I might,” he says tersely. He will.
She waits until he disappears into the crowd before she takes Nikolai’s arm and pulls him towards the doors. She leaves both their half full glasses on a servant’s tray, ignoring Nikolai’s mild protest.
It’s quieter outside and there’s less chance of being interrupted or overheard. The brisk night air washes over her, and she breaths it in deeply.
“You’re very close with the Darkling,” Nikolai says after a moment.
“I consider him a mentor. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason.”
She arches an eyebrow, but he doesn’t offer anything else. Alina lowers her voice. “I’ve been considering our falling out. I think it’s time.”
“Do you think so?”
“Well, it’s been some time. And it’s probably better to break it off before things progress to actually planning a wedding.”
“Hm, that would be very awkward. What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I can just go back in tears, let the gossips fill it in.”
“I’m sure they will rise to the occasion with startling and somewhat frightening alacrity, but we will need an explanation for my parents.”
“Tell them you found love at university.”
“And who would that be?”
“Learning. Your love is learning.”
He gives her a long look.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Well,” he says slowly, measuring his words. “Perhaps we could wait a little longer?”
“What would we be waiting for?”
“A better opportunity,” he says, “or… to weigh our options.”
She stops in her tracks. “Options?”
“Perhaps there is actually some sense in the match.”
Alina gapes at him. “What happened to ‘I mean this in the most flattering way possible, but I have no intention of marrying the Darkling’s puppet’?”
He winces. “I may have been a touch too quick to judge.”
Alina resumes walking, feeling restless. “Explain.”
Nikolai shrugs, keeping up with her. “I’ve reassessed the situation, and I’ve come to realize that I don’t have as many objections.”
“Really?” She's too surprised to be anything but blunt.
“And well, you could certainly do worse than a prince.”
“I could always aim for the crown prince.”
“So you plan to break things off with me to go running to my brother? I have to commend the dedication.”
She scoffs at the thought.
He rests a light hand on her arm, an appeal for her to pause, to turn and look at him. “But truly, I think we get along. Don’t you?”
She lifts her chin to meet his gaze. “When did you reassess?”
“Tonight,” he admits and he looks just uncertain enough that she decides he must be sincere.
“This is an impulse?”
“I looked at the jewels glittering in your hair and I realized I want to unpin every single one myself.”
“You want to be my hairdresser?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not exactly qualified for that, but I’d settle for husband.”
She’d brought him outside because it was more secluded, because they wouldn’t be overheard. But the trouble with moonlight is that it’s very lovely. And it settles on the elegant planes of his face far too well.
“Seal it with a kiss?”
She gives a little startled laugh, too breathless. “I haven’t agreed yet.”
“Then perhaps you should judge my talents first to help you decide.”
“You’re horrible.”
This is a terrible idea. But he’s already so close, and she has not drawn away. And when he tilts his head down to hers all she feels is anticipation.
The brush of his lips against hers is light. There’s no demand in the way he cups her cheek, only startling gentleness. It isn’t something she’s accustomed to at all.
“I’ll have to think about it,” she says, too quickly, once he breaks away. The alternative would be grinning like a fool, or worse yet pulling him to her again, and she can’t have that.
“Think for as long as you like, we are already engaged.”