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Chapter Text

Life lately 💛

The short caption is accompanied by a single photograph – a pregnant woman in a sheer lace nightgown, with engagement and wedding rings glittering on her left hand, the photograph cropped to avoid revealing her face.

It gets four million likes in one hour.

Comments are turned off for the post, but the news trends on every major social media site.

Ivan Kaminsky, Aleksander Morozov’s agent, releases a statement two hours after the post.

Mr Morozov and his wife are looking forward to embracing the joys of parenthood and ask for privacy as they prepare to welcome their child into the world.

Mr Morozov will be taking limited engagements for the next two years to fully enjoy this important time with his family.

The statement sends the internet into a further frenzy.

After all, Aleksander Morozov – recipient of three Oscars and two Emmy Awards, the world’s highest paying actor for six years running, the face of Safina’s best-selling menswear line, and established international heartthrob – has not been in a confirmed relationship since his amicable break-up with scream queen Luda Gavrikova nine years ago.

The question on everyone’s minds is clear.

Who is Aleksander Morozov’s wife?

Aleksander follows the sound of Alina’s laughter to find his wife laid out on a sun lounger by the pool, snorting in amusement at something on her phone.

“Fedya sent me some of the wilder internet theories,” she explains, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw when he sits down beside her.

He frowns, “I thought we agreed to avoid social media until the baby arrived.”

It had been Ivan’s suggestion, which had come along with a firm warning that Aleksander would not like a lot of the speculation he would see if he ignored Ivan’s advice.

He thinks his oldest friend is probably right.

While the Instagram post had been a joint idea and effort – Alina choosing the photograph and Aleksander the caption – and while it appealed to what Alina likes to call his trollish sense of humour to drop a bombshell and run, Aleksander knows the internet can be a cruel place.

He’s protective of his wife at the best of times and now even more so. It’s best to let the chaos calm down before venturing back to social media.

“I’m not online,” Alina says, “Fedya is just compiling the greatest hits for me. And Nina promised to send me a reel of the best video reactions she can find.”

“Alright then,” he nods, knowing their friends won’t forward anything to Alina that might upset her.

“Are you going to come swimming with me?” Alina asks, sighing happily when he shuffles down the sun lounger so that he can rub her slightly swollen feet, “you need some more sunshine, Sasha.”

She knows as well as he does that he’ll remain almost ghostly pale – he never tans, and has to slather himself in suntan lotion to avoid going bright red. In contrast, Alina’s golden skin glows almost all year round, especially when they’re visiting their Tuscan villa.

“Yes, I’ll swim, Alinochka. Let me just –”

He turns and freezes.

Alina stands gloriously naked in front of him, her bikini discarded on the sun lounger.

This is another reason he loves their Tuscan villa. Their security team keep a distance, and they have no neighbours for miles. With the property being in Alina’s maiden name, even Aleksander’s most over-zealous fans have yet to find it. They have freedom here that they rarely do elsewhere.

And it’s a freedom they always take great advantage of.

At this stage in her pregnancy, the doctor has told them Alina might feel like slowing down.

She is as amorous as ever, though, and he has no complaints at all. They might have to get a bit creative with positions, but that’s part of the fun.

“Come swim with me, Sasha,” she winks as she walks slowly down the steps into the pool.

Aleksander tugs his own clothes off at record speed and dives into the pool, all thoughts of the world’s reaction to his Instagram post driven from his mind.

He has a wife to ravish right now.

Chapter Text

The Little Palace is bustling during the day, full of charismatic and energetic people in jewel-coloured coats.

Alina plans to leave in the evening, despite Genya’s attempts at persuasion, but when Mal disappears after dinner, she accepts the estate owner Aleksander’s offer to stay the night in the hope that her boyfriend will turn up.

“We have extensive gardens,” Aleksander explains, “and they can be a bit disorienting for visitors. People get lost a few times each year, but we always find them soon enough.”

Alina can’t help but worry, though. Mal has an excellent sense of direction and he never gets lost.

And her sense of unease only grows when she’s shown to her room – lavish and luxurious, but far away from the other living quarters she’s seen, in a part of the Little Palace that seems eerily quiet.

Alina paces up and down the room, agitated by her worry for Mal.

She relaxes a little when Genya visits with some warm spiced milk, sleepy and a little incoherent by the time she’s finished the drink.

Briefly, she thinks of where Mal might be, but then she drifts off to sleep.

Her dreams are strange things.

She floats along blurry corridors and then outside, where a full moon shines down on her

And then there is the gate. At least ten feet tall, decorated with symbols of the sun and moon. It opens to a courtyard where a crowd of red and blue and purple surrounds a stone altar.

They part as Alina floats through, murmuring words she cannot hear or understand.

She shivers in the cold air and suddenly realises she is naked on the altar, the nightgown she had been wearing crumpled into a heap on the grass nearby.

A face looms above her. Dark hair, full beard, but her eyes flutter shut and she can’t place where she recognises the man from.

She’s so tired and her limbs are heavy. There are hands on her, arranging her like she is a doll, spreading her legs so wide that her hips begin to ache.

Someone is talking. His voice is loud and confident, but she can’t piece together what he’s saying, only hears snippets and odd words.

And then, without warning, something hot and hard rocks into her.

Alina cries out and struggles, but her body won’t do what she tells it to.

“Nonono,” she mumbles, “too much.”

She’s never felt like this before, so full it’s painful, despite the warm glow of pleasure that is beginning to grow low in her belly.

“You can take it,” the voice says above her, “you were made to take me. I’ve waited so long, and now you’re finally mine. We will be bound under the stars and we will lead our Grisha into a new age together.”

There is a cup at her lips then, and a large hand massaging her throat to ensure she doesn’t choke as she swallows the drink, something like wine, with a bitter aftertaste.

She tries to speak, but her mind is getting hazy again.

The darkness washes over her at the same time as a wave of pleasure.

Her body twitches and writhes through the aftershocks, before it goes soft and pliant on the altar.

She doesn’t remember anything else.

Alina wakes sore and sticky, her head throbbing and her body aching.

She’s in a different room to the one she went to sleep in. This suite is larger, decorated in black and gold.

There is a ring on her finger, obsidian with flecks of gold, and a barely healed cut on her hand that is still oozing blood.

When she stumbles to her feet and finds a mirror, she sees she is wearing a gold circlet on her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Mal’s rucksack in the corner of the room, with a pair of boots and a jacket carefully placed on top.

Every item is flecked with dried blood.

Alina can’t remember her dream.

Chapter Text

They don’t know she’s watching.

Baghra’s frown deepens every time her son touches his step-sister.

The energy between them is all wrong. Intimate and teasing and heavy with lust.

It’s been like this since they met just before the wedding six months ago.

She’d thought they would be awkward acquaintances at best, that the twelve years between them and their different lifestyles – Aleksander running Morozov Industries and Alina in Art School – would give them little to say to each other.

Instead, they’re near inseparable.

Always visiting galleries and museums, taking weekend trips, laughing at inside jokes, going out for brunch or dinner, curling up together to read or talk.

It’s a disaster.

What will happen to the company share price if it gets out that the thirty-two year old CEO is dallying with his twenty year old step-sister? What will become of the planned merger with Rose Industries if Aleksander continues to refuse to woo and propose to the Rose Industries CEO’s daughter Elizaveta?

She turns away as Aleksander’s fingers brush Alina’s ankle and he leans over to whisper something Baghra can’t hear, his mouth a mere inch from Alina’s face.

“Anton,” she walks over to her husband, “don’t you think Alina would benefit from a semester abroad. Rome is lovely this time of year.”

“She went to Italy last summer with her friend Genya.”

“Anton,” Baghra glares at the oblivious man, “I really believe it would benefit Alina to leave the country for a few months. Heartbreak can be hard, you know, when you’re surrounded by memories.”

Anton looks up, mildly perturbed, “heartbreak, you say?”

Baghra refrains from rolling her eyes. The only reason she can get away with her lie is that Anton has no idea what’s going on in his daughter’s life. As long as she’s not getting into trouble, he’s content to let her go on as she is, without considering any of the consequences.

It’s a good job Baghra is here to stop her willful son and step-daughter making a grave mistake.

----------

Out of the corner of his eye, Aleksander spots his mother lurking in the way she does when she’s trying to unobtrusively watch him.

She doesn’t like Alina.

Well, that’s not strictly true. She is mostly indifferent to Alina, save for the fact that he spends a great deal of time with her, when his mother thinks he ought to be taking vacuous, irritating women like Elizaveta to dinner.

But none of those well-connected socialites compare to his step-sister. Alina doesn’t care about his net worth or the parties he’s invited to or how many homes he has. She’s more interested in their shared love of art, old Ravkan mythology and reading (and in all the ways they can bring each other pleasure).

He doesn’t have to wear a mask with Alina. He can just be himself.

When his mother turns away, Aleksander places one hand tenderly on Alina’s stomach, still flat enough to hide their secret.

Alina and the baby she carries are the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he’s not about to let his mother meddle.

6 months later

“I’ve got a meeting in an hour, Alinochka,” he reminds her as she climbs into his lap in nothing but a short lace nightgown and the ring she wears on a chain around her neck, matching his own.

“You’ve still got time,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to his, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, “please, Sasha.”

Ivan will be grumpy, but there’s no resisting her when she’s completely bare under the nightgown, warm and already wet as she rocks against his thigh.

The shrill piercing of her phone ringtone interrupts them.

Alina looks like she’s debating ignoring it, but then she grabs the phone from the table and grimaces, “urgh, it’s Baghra with her weekly check in.”

She puts her finger on his lips as she answers, muffling a giggle when he playfully bites it.

“Hi, Baghra … yes, I’m fine … I’ve been painting by the Tiber … yes … no … the weather?”

She turns to glance at Aleksander, who grabs his own phone, searches the weather report for Rome and holds up the screen so she can see.

“It was rainy earlier, but it’s nice and sunny now … yes … yes … really, how interesting …”

As she talks – and rolls her eyes constantly – his fingers play with the hem of her nightgown, hands slipping underneath it to caress the curve of her belly.

There’s a flutter of movement, the baby giving him a little nudge, and he grins.

“… yes, I think I’ll stay longer like you suggested … Rome really is amazing … no, I haven’t heard from Sasha in weeks … alright then … bye, Baghra.”

She ends the call and tosses the phone to the side, “for such an intelligent woman, your mother is remarkably easy to fool.”

Aleksander shrugs, “she’ll never dig deeper into your stories because she doesn’t care. As long as she sees the right charges on your credit card and I’m here in the city, she thinks she’s won.”

And that is easy enough, since she’d handed over said credit card to Inej when she went on the semester abroad to Rome that Alina was supposed to join, and told her friend to have fun with it.

“Well, I for one would like to avoid telling her or papa anything until we absolutely have to.”

“So, when the baby is born.”

“I guess so. But we need to stop talking about our parents,” she winks as she grinds against him, making a mess of his suit, “we’ve got far more pleasurable things to do right now.”

Outside, it’s a murky New York morning.

Baghra Morozova has no idea what her son and step-daughter are up to in a townhouse only twenty minutes from her own home.

And that’s just how Aleksander and Alina like it.

Chapter Text

They meet at the Os Alta Art Gallery, both admiring the new Juris Kuznetsov exhibition.

Her smile is like the sun, brilliant and dazzling. She’s the most beautiful young woman he’s ever seen.

He says a few words about Kuznetsov’s use of colour. She responds animatedly, telling him she loves how bright and bold all his works are.

She’s an artist, he learns. An amateur, she says, but he can tell she loves it, that she wishes to make it her career.

“But a girl’s got to eat,” she sighs with a self-depreciating smile, “and a business degree will give me more opportunities.”

He understands. She’s trapped by the need for money, the thing that ruins the dreams of so many. She’s reaching out to him, yearning for someone who can give her the freedom to do what she loves most.

Aleksander has money.

Lots of it. Far too much for one man.

He can help her.

She won’t ask directly, of course.

He can see in her stance that she’s proud, that she’ll work herself to the bone rather than request assistance from anyone else.

That’s ok, though. They understand each other. He doesn’t need her words to know what she wants. What she needs.

She doesn’t seem very happy when he brings her home.

Cries and shouts, even though he’s swept her away from a tiny, cramped shared apartment to his spacious country estate.

He’s eager to give her a tour of her new home, but it seems like she’ll need some time to adjust. He’d expected this might happen, so he’s prepared the basement for her, where it’s nice and quiet and equipped with the best security money can buy in order to keep her safe and sound.

She’s coy, refusing to give him her name, but he finds it out easily enough, flicking through some pieces in her bag that she’s drawn and signed.

Alina Starkova. His Alina.

She is somewhat agitated. Scrambles away from him with wide eyes. Keeps weeping even when he apologises for the starkness of the room and explains that this is just a temporary situation and she’ll move to their shared suite once she’s a little more settled.

He understands that moving home can be stressful, so he mixes something into her dinner that will help her have a restful sleep.

But she won’t eat. Proclaims she isn’t hungry, even though he knows she hasn’t eaten since breakfast. It must be one of those silly diets, although she doesn’t need to lose any weight – she’s perfect just the way she is.

A chloroform rag is really very old-fashioned, but if she won’t eat then he has to resort to other methods. A poor sleep schedule isn’t good for her health and it’s clear she needs someone looking out for her.

He sits down on the bed next to her as she begins to sway, cradling her gently so she doesn’t hit her head when she falls asleep.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” he whispers as her eyes flutter closed, pressing a brief, gentle kiss to her lips, “we’re going to be so happy together, my Alina.”

… and in other news, the Os Alta Police Department are appealing for witnesses in relation to an alleged kidnapping that took place yesterday afternoon in the southern quarter of the city. Video footage from nearby security cameras show an unknown masked man forcing a young woman into a vehicle without licence plates. The young woman has been identified as Os Alta University student –

Aleksander switches the TV off, tutting softly as he picks up his book.

Honestly, what is the world coming to today, when young women can be snatched off the street in the blink of an eye?

He’s so lucky that his Alina is safe at home with him.

Chapter Text

Alina wakes slowly, her head aching, a lump throbbing on her forehead.

The room is starkly bare, just white-washed walls, a cheap metal bed frame and mattress, and only a bucket in place of a toilet.

When she manages to stumble over to the door, she finds it locked. The only window is too high for her to reach and doesn’t look like it opens.

She doesn’t know how she got here, just remembers falling asleep in her apartment after getting home from her date.

A few minutes later, locks click, the door opens and a familiar face walks in.

“Mal?” she frowns at her childhood friend, “what’s going on? And why are you dressed like that?”

Gone are his usual dusty jeans and the hi-vis jacket he wears on building sites. Instead, he’s wearing all brown, with an actual rifle slung over his shoulder, like he’s some kind of gamekeeper or hunter.

“I had to save you, Lina,” he says, eyes wide with a fervour that makes her nervous.

“Save me?” she shuffles further up the bed away from him as he strides forward, “it kind of seems like you’ve kidnapped me, Mal.”

“He forced my hand, Lina. He tricked and seduced you.”

“Mal … are you talking about Aleksander – I mean, Mayor Morozov?”

“I saw you two at Zenik’s Waffle House last night.”

“What’s the big deal?” Alina shrugs, “I’m a grown woman, Mal. I can go on a date if I want to.”

“It’s not right,” he shakes his head, “it’s supposed to be me. The Sun Summoner and her faithful tracker. That’s what the book says.”

Alina has no idea what’s happening right now.

Mal had been behaving perfectly normally when she saw him a few days ago. It’s true that he’s never liked Aleksander, but that doesn’t excuse or explain this.

And all that nonsense about how she should be with Mal is ridiculous. Sure, she’d had a crush on him in high school, but he’d always preferred to play the field and talk about her as his little friend or Sticks. Anyway, she has no romantic feelings for Mal anymore, not for years, and especially not since she got to know Aleksander better and realised how well suited they are.

She’s about to answer, when she hears noises outside the door.

Voices and footsteps and sirens.

When Aleksander appears in the doorway, Alina feels a mixture of relief and fear. Mal isn’t behaving like himself right now, and she worries he might be a danger to those around him.

“Alina,” Aleksander smiles when her eyes meet his, “are you alright?”

She nods, “I’m not hurt. It’s just … Mal is … he’s not well, right now. I think he might be confused.”

“I’m sure we can get Mr Oretsev the help he needs.”

Mal, unfortunately, doesn’t take Aleksander’s appearance well.

Alina screams as he lifts up his rifle and aims it right at Aleksander’s head, “Mal! What in the name of all the saints are you doing?”

“He’s not who you think,” Mal shouts, “he’s the Black Heretic, a shadow demon!”

“Mal, this is so far beyond ok. Aleksander is not –”

“He did this. He cursed us all and stole our memories. And now he’s stealing you from me.”

“I’m not an object, Mal. Now put the rifle down.”

She looks over to Aleksander, who thankfully seems unruffled by the whole thing. She supposes he has some experience of stand-offs like this, since he’d been in the army for years before returning to town and taking over as mayor.

“Be sensible, Mr Oretsev,” he says, “you don’t want to put Alina in danger, do you?”

Mal just looks furious, “you are the one putting her in danger, Heretic!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr Oretsev.”

There’s a flash of what can only be madness in Mal’s eyes.

Alina stands, unsure how she can calm him down, but desperate to do something before somebody gets hurt.

And then the room suddenly goes pitch black.

Mal yelps and she hears the gun clatter to the floor.

“It’s his shadows!” he shouts.

“It’s the electricity being turned off,” Aleksander says, and she can imagine the roll of his eyes even though she can’t see it, “Captain Kaminsky arranged it once he traced where you were hiding. Alina, keep back, milaya.”

Alina scurries back, pressing herself against the wall as the door slams open once more and half a dozen people come streaming in, their flashlights illuminating their faces and revealing them to be Captain Kaminsky and some of his officers.

Mal is ranting and raving as two of the officers restrain him.

They’re hauling him out of the room when the lights come back on and Alina looks around for Aleksander.

For a brief half-second, he looks like the villain in a fairytale, surrounded by shadows, dressed like a medieval lord with a heavy fur cloak on his shoulders.

And then Alina blinks and he is the Mayor Morozov she knows, dressed down from his usual work suit in black jeans and a similarly dark cashmere jumper, the bulky outline of a bullet-proof vest underneath his jumper.

He embraces her tenderly, wrapping two emergency blankets around her before looking at her bare feet.

“Wait here,” he says, “I’ll find you some shoes.”

As he exits the room, Alina spots Mal’s rucksack, and the book that’s fallen out. It’s a heavy hardback with a golden cover embellished with swirling patterns.

Tales From Ravka.

Curious, she goes over to pick it up and opens it to a random page. Her brow furrows at the scene before her.

A man dressed all in black with swirling shadows at his fingertips, another man bleeding on the snowy ground, and a young woman curled over a silver stag, surrounded by blazing light. The faces of the figures look familiar.

On a whim, she picks up the book, hiding it underneath one of the blankets.

Maybe she’ll read it later.

Chapter Text

“I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick. Nobody marks you.”

“What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?”

“Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to –”

“Urgh, not Shakespeare again,” Lev grumbles as he barges into the room and takes a seat on the couch, “Aleks, we’re supposed to be going to Elizaveta’s party.”

“The play’s opening night is in a week,” Aleksander says, nudging Alina’s knee and rolling his eyes as he inclines his head towards Lev.

Her brother has none of the love of theatre that she and Aleksander share. He has a tendency to whine every time he hears a Shakespeare quote, or anything he thinks might be a Shakespeare quote.

Alina doesn’t really mind. She likes having an interest that only she and Aleksander share, and a reason to spend time with him without Lev hovering over them. Much Ado About Nothing is Alina’s favourite Shakepeare play and she’d offered to help Aleksander run lines as soon as he’d won the male lead in their school’s summer production.

She wishes she’d been brave enough to audition for a part in the play herself, but she has an unfortunate tendency to be struck dumb as soon as she’s expected to perform in front of a crowd. As well as she can play feisty and sharp-witted Beatrice when it’s just her and Aleksander, she seems to lose the ability in public.

Instead, the role had gone to Luda Tsvetova. She’s kind and clever and pretty, but Alina thinks her a little too soft-spoken to make a totally convincing Beatrice.

Although, to be fair, her view of Luda may be a little skewed by the fact that she and Aleksander have been dating for the past two years, The Little Palace’s golden couple.

Jealousy is an ugly beast. Alina wants to feel bad for how she despises Luda despite knowing what a good person the older girl is, but she just can’t bring herself to be more than coolly polite on the rare occasions when she and Luda cross paths.

“Sorry, Linka,” Aleksander reaches over to squeeze her hand, “this idiot,” he turns to glare playfully at Lev, “won’t let me hear the end of it if I miss this party.”

“It’s alright,” Alina ducks her head to hide the pink flush on her cheeks caused by his hand on hers.

“You’ve been so brilliant, helping me with this. An Emma Thompson level Beatrice.”

It’s a truly lovely compliment, one she feels the full force of knowing that he adores that version of the play just as much as she does.

“Anytime,” she promises.

“Oh, don’t say that,” he winks, “I’ll take you up on it and be here every day until the play starts.”

She laughs, because he means it as a joke, but she truly wishes he would come every day.

“Come on, Aleks,” Lev strides over and takes the book from Aleksander’s hand, “we’re supposed to be there in half an hour.”

“Alright, alright,” Aleksander waves her brother away.

“Same time tomorrow, Linka?” he asks, tapping the copy of the play in her hand.

She smiles, happy and a little dazed, “sure … great … tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Linka,” Aleksander ruffles her hair affectionately and then gets to his feet.

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you,” Alina whispers as he walks out of the room.

Maybe one day he’ll feel the same way.

Chapter Text

Aleksander tells her to leave her bags in the car.

“I’ll bring them in later, baby, but I need you to put this on now. I’ve got one more surprise.”

Alina takes the silk blindfold with wide eyes, “more? Daddy. It’s too much.”

He’s already spoiled her terribly for her birthday, with a whole two weeks away in Italy, their holiday packed with wonderful trips and delicious food and chances to sketch and paint.

“What use is my money if I can’t spoil my favourite girl?” he always says when she worries over all that he gives her, “making you happy is worth far more to me, baby.”

Once the blindfold is securely fastened, Aleksander takes her hand and guides her through the front door.

She lets her mind wander as they walk, trying to figure out which part of the house they’re going to and what the surprise might be. She doesn’t worry about tripping – Aleksander is always attentive, her hand in his, never letting her fall.

They don’t climb any stairs, but she loses track of whether or not they take the third or fourth right off the main hallway.

They could be in the library, or is it the –

The blindfold is suddenly removed and Alina gasps as she takes in the unfamiliar room.

Floor to ceiling windows on two of the walls, with a view of the estate’s lake that has her itching for her paintbrush to capture the late afternoon sun on the water.

Wooden floor. The walls painted sky blue. An easel already set up, as well as a table and cupboards filled with all the art supplies she might want.

In one corner, there’s a divan piled high with thick, soft blankets. The perfect place for a nap or to decompress and relax with a book.

“You … you made me an art studio!”

A few more glances around the room helps Alina orient herself. She remembers this room as Aleksander’s home gym.

“But what about your exercise equipment?”

“My gym can go anywhere,” he waves his hand like it’s no big deal, “but this room has the best light for painting.”

Alina throws herself bodily into his arms, starting to sob as she buries her face into his cashmere jumper and he wraps his arms around her.

“No tears, baby,” he coos, stroking her hair.

“It’s just the loveliest, nicest thing, daddy,” she sniffles.

It’s not only the effort he’s gone to, renovating part of his home and whisking her away for a holiday to keep from spoiling the surprise. More than that, it’s the thoughtfulness of him doing something so perfectly to her taste.

Her foster families rarely bothered with gifts. Mal used gift cards as presents, half the time to restaurants or shops she didn’t even like. Genya gave her beautiful clothes that weren’t at all in the style she prefers. And Nikolai bought her horribly expensive things she’d never use – skydiving lessons (she’s afraid of heights) and VIP Elizaveta Rose concert tickets (she can’t stand the woman’s music) and a Harley-Davidson bike (she was too terrified to even get on it).

Aleksander has never made a gift misstep. He seems to have an instinctive sense for what she likes and, most of all, he actually listens when she talks, remembering every minute detail and using his extensive knowledge of all things Alina to find the most thoughtful, wonderful gifts.

When Alina had met Aleksander, she’d been miserable. Studying business because she couldn’t afford to pursue a career in art. Reluctant to leave Mal, even though he was no good for her, because he was the one familiar face in her life. Desperately yearning for affection and a steadying hand to help guide her through the choppy waters of adulthood.

Aleksander is everything she ever wanted, and he adores her in all her clingy, needy, delicate glory.

“I love you, daddy,” she leans up to pepper his face with kisses, giggling as she leaves pink lipstick prints on his skin.

“I love you too, baby,” he smiles warmly down at her, eyes shining with affection.

And then he nudges her towards the easel, where a canvas already waits, “go and have fun, baby. Remember, we’ve got plenty of frames and a lot of walls to fill.”

Alina picks up a palette to start mixing paint, anxious to capture the upcoming sunset.

Aleksander takes a seat on the divan and pulls out a book from his coat pocket, beginning to read Pride and Prejudice out loud.

Life, she thinks, really is extremely delightful.

Chapter Text

“Will you kiss me, Uncle Sasha.”

“I shouldn’t, Alinochka.”

Shouldn’t. Not wouldn’t.

“Pretty please,” she pouts, standing on her tiptoes and still only able to brush her lips across his jawline, “it’s my eighteenth birthday, Uncle Sasha. I want a kiss for my present.”

“ I already got you a gift, Alinochka.”

“I’ll never ask for anything else from you again.”

“ We both know that’s not true.”

“Then just do it because you want to. I see how you look at me.”

“Really? And you’ve never gone running to your mother about it.”

“Why would I? I like the way you look at me.”

“I just can’t deal with her, Sasha,” Ulla grumbles during their monthly lunch, “she’s out at all hours, ignoring her curfew, talking back to me.”

“She’s just acting out a bit,” Aleksander tries to calm his sister, “Alina’s a clever girl – the rebellious teen act will wear thin for her soon enough.”

“Easy for you to say, Sasha. You get to be her favourite uncle, taking her on trips and giving her presents. She’d be a nightmare with you too if you had to be the one disciplining her.”

Aleksander nearly snorts out loud. He can only imagine what Ulla would say if she knew the sort of discipline he doles out with his niece when she plays the brat … and just how much Alina likes it.

“Don’t squirm, Alinochka,” he chides when she tries to wriggle off his lap.

“But Uncle Sasha, I –”

“I said ten for being a brat and you’re getting ten.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Alinochka, so take your punishment like a good girl.”

She’s so wet by the time he’s done that he has to change his trousers before they go to meet Ulla for dinner.

The phone call wakes him at 3am, jolting him unpleasantly out of a restful sleep.

“This better be an emergency,” he growls at Ulla.

“She’s pregnant!” his sister screeches down the phone.

“Who is pregnant?” he feigns confusion as he runs a soothing hand up and down the back of the girl asleep next to him, hoping Ulla’s shrieking won’t wake her.

“Alina,” his sister hisses, “my stupid daughter has got herself knocked up by saints knows what boy. She’s not even home right now – I only know because I found the positive pregnancy test in her bedroom bin.”

He thinks of saying that she might not get into as many arguments with her daughter if she didn’t regularly invade Alina’s privacy, but he decides now isn’t the right time for that.

“The shame of it!” Ulla says, furious and frustrated, “what will people say? What will mother say?”

Aleksander is inclined to think their mother will care less than Ulla. She’s never much bothered about anyone else’s opinion but her own, and since she’s a miserable old woman at the best of times, it probably won’t affect her behaviour much.

“Why don’t I ask her to stay with me for a while,” he suggests, “I live outside of town and it’ll reduce the likelihood of her running into any of your friends, and give the two of you some space from each other.”

“Yes, take her!” his sister exclaims, “I don’t even want to look at her right now. She’s ruined her life, Sasha, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s that drastic, Ulla. It’ll work itself out.”

He comes inside her. She never asks him to use protection and he never enquires about whether she’s on birth control.

It feels better.

It’s also reckless.

But being reckless has never bothered either of them.

She’s perfection.

Her sheer lace nightgown does nothing to hide her rounded stomach, and it’s delightfully easy to tug off her so he can see her in all her glory as she rides him to orgasm after orgasm.

She’s insatiable and he’s just as desperate for her.

Pregnancy has turned her into a demanding little thing, ordering him around and asking for all manner of food to satisfy her cravings. Aleksander doesn’t mind one bit, not when he’s got her in his home and his bed, his child in her belly.

This is his idea of paradise.

“I’m pregnant, Uncle Sasha,” she whispers one night.

There’s a thread of uncertainty in her voice, like she’s not completely sure how he’ll react.

Aleksander only smiles, hands caressing her still-flat stomach as he imagines what their child will look like.

“That’s wonderful news, Alinochka.”

Baghra suspects the truth.

His mother has always been sharp-eyed.

Ulla doesn’t know.

Or, if she does, she refuses to say it out loud.

“Aren’t we lucky he got his looks from the Morozov side,” is all Baghra says when his and Alina’s son is born.

She repeats those words with their two daughters.

Alina carries on living with him.

“Uncle Sasha helps with the children,” is all she says to Ulla, “he’s been so good to me.”

And Ulla never enquires further. She just thinks he’s trying to help her by taking away the burden of housing the daughter who has three children by unknown fathers she never names.

It suits everyone quite well.

Chapter Text

Alina scarcely remembers her parents.

She was only five when they died, and all she has are a few fuzzy recollections.

She doesn’t remember the orphanage at all, even though she knows she lived there for months after her parents were killed in a border raid, until her guardian came to claim her.

It feels like the General’s country estate just outside of Balakirev is all she’s ever known.

She never leaves, after all. Her whole world is the manor, the gardens and the surrounding woodland.

For many years, the General himself is rarely present. He has many calls on his time, always advising the tsar or leading campaigns or visiting the Shu or Fjerdan fronts. For a decade, he only visited twice a year, for just a day, and they’d talk about her lessons and her health.

Alina learns a lot about Grisha. It’s strange, since she’s not Grisha herself, but she supposes her guardian insists on it because he’s the General of the Second Army.

He is always concerned about her health too. There are two Healers living on the estate to help when she gets sick, and the General has a long list of rules she must follow to ensure none of her many illnesses turn into something more serious.

Everything changes when she turns sixteen.

The General tells her that time and patience have not succeeded in combatting her health issues, and that the block inside her (she’s not sure what he means by a block, but she never questions him) is stubborn. He says they have to try something different to try and help her get better and reach her full potential.

His visits increase. He comes every month now, and stays for two days.

She’s not allowed to talk about what they do together to anyone, even though her companion Genya and her personal guard Fedyor and her tutor and all the oprichniki who work on the estate have been hand-picked by the General. He just says his treatment plan is controversial, but necessary.

Two months after she turns seventeen, Alina wakes to silence.

She knows this sort of quiet. It means the General is here and everyone else is gone for two days.

Sure enough, her guardian enters her bedroom barely five minutes later, frowning slightly at the mess of discarded clothes she’s left on the floor after staying up too late reading and finding herself too tired to tidy up.

She goes to clear them up, but he shakes his head, “later, Alinochka. Now, it’s time for your treatment.”

She’s well-practiced with the routine, closing the heavy curtains, shedding her nightgown and climbing onto the bed.

The General doesn’t waste any time. As soon as his hands push her legs apart, she feels her body starting to tingle, a rush of warmth in her veins. He dips his head and Alina lets out a lewd moan as he licks and sucks the sacred place between her legs.

When the General first began this treatment, Alina had a sense that it was wrong somehow, although she didn’t know enough of what happened between a man and a woman to understand why she felt uneasy. But while it felt strange at first, it then felt very, very good, bringing pleasure that her own tentative, clumsy explorations never had.

And the treatment had worked. When the first wave of pleasure came, so did a bright light emanating from Alina, and the realisation that she was Grisha.

The General explained that it was the wasting sickness she had suffered from all her life, her power buried deep inside her for some reason. It did not manifest with an improved lifestyle, so it had to be coaxed out using the touch of a living amplifier.

Unfortunately, part of the block remains despite their best efforts. Alina still struggles to summon without the General’s intimate attentions. He assures her that she will grow into her power now that it has been shaken loose, but for the moment, the treatment must continue.

Truly, it is no hardship.

The General is attentive and thorough in his attentions, and his hands constantly roam across her skin, sending sparks of power and pleasure through her.

The curtains might be drawn and the lamps switched off, but the room is always bright with Alina’s light during their sessions together.

He tends to her for almost two hours before he allows her a break to rest.

She’s a mess, sweaty and flushed, but he always watches her like she’s the most important person in the world.

“Your power is coming along nicely, Alinochka,” the General pets her hair with a pleased smile, “however, I feel like more progress could be made if we increase the skin contact and connect even further.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

He sits up, stripping off his clothes until he is as naked as she is. Her eyes widen as he nudges her to lie back and she begins to understand what he means.

“Now, Alinochka, let us see if full consummation of our connection is what you need to finally push aside your block.”

Chapter Text

Alina was adrift before. Untethered and unsure. Stuck in a job she hated and a relationship that had long since run its course.

“A lost little lamb,” Aleksander had murmured when she’d stumbled into the Grisha Centre by accident, looking for shelter from a sudden storm.

At first, she’d been nervous, surrounded by beautiful people in jewel-coloured coats (keftas, Aleksander said) who seemed to have their lives exactly as they wanted them.

But then Aleksander appeared, the only one in black, the clear leader. Charismatic, clever and handsome. He saw her in a way no one else ever had. Immediately, he understood her – her hopes and fears, her aspirations, her unhappiness, her frustration with Mal.

The Grisha welcomed her with open arms and seemed truly dedicated to ensuring every member of their community was thriving and happy.

Alina’s association with them is tentative to begin.

Twice-weekly visits to the centre twice for their painting class and history lectures.

And then she becomes a more frequent visitor, coming for a sympathetic ear and for the talks Aleksander gives – his topics vary, but he’s always interesting and, without fail, he finds time to speak with her one-on-one after his talks.

Aleksander helps her accept how much she wants a different kind of life. He pushes her to not make allowances for Mal’s bad behaviour. He encourages her to go for what she wants.

She’s never met anyone who believes in her as much as he does.

Six months after her first visit to the Grisha Centre, Aleksander invites Alina to join them on their annual retreat.

She doesn’t bother to tell Mal she’s going away. He probably won’t even notice she’s gone.

The retreat takes place at Aleksander’s home, an amazing estate called The Little Palace.

She paints and draws. She talks about history with other Grisha. She goes horse-back riding with Aleksander.

Best of all are the private sessions with Aleksander. They talk about her plans for the future, how she might be able to turn her love of art into a career so she can finally quit the job she hates, and her feelings about Mal.

“Why haven’t you broken up with that boy?” Aleksander asks her, concerned but not judgemental.

“I don’t know,” she sighs, “it’s just … familiar, I guess. We’ve known each other all our lives. Before I met you, he was my only friend. It’s hard to let that go.”

Aleksander pats her shoulder, “don’t worry, Alina. I know such ties can be the hardest to break. We’re all here to help you, though, so you can move forward with your life and shine as brightly as you were meant to.”

-----

There’s a party the last night of the retreat.

It takes place in a part of the estate she’s never seen, a small courtyard that can be entered only through a wrought-iron door decorated with a golden sun and moon.

“It’s a symbol of balance,” Genya tells her as she guides Alina through the gate, “that’s one of our core beliefs, the idea that everyone has a perfect other half to balance them.”

“Like you and David?” Alina asks, because she’s seen how they complement each other despite being very different.

“Yes,” Genya beams, making her beauty even more radiant than usual, “like me and David. And you and –”

Suddenly, the red-head goes quiet and then she laughs, “well, you’ll find your soulmate soon enough, I’m sure.”

Aleksander appears soon after.

Alina flushes pink when he invites her to come up to the small stage where he’s giving his speech.

“We are delighted to have Alina join us for her first retreat. She has become a much-loved member of community in these last six months.”

Everyone applauds, some of the Grisha (Nina and Marie) whooping loudly.

“Our goal here,” Aleksander says, “is to ensure everyone meets their full potential, that they are happy and satisfied and thriving. We find that sometimes members of our community need a push to help them. And tonight, Alina, we will exorcise the worst demon from your life.”

Alina frowns, a little confused. Aleksander hadn’t said anything about –

She freezes when Ivan appears, a bound and gagged man struggling in his arms.

“Mal?”

Aleksander steps forward and puts a hand on her shoulder, “to move forward, Alina, you must let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. That's the only way to become what you were meant to be.”

And then he takes a wrapped parcel from his pocket and hands it to her.

With trembling fingers, Alina unwraps the silky black material to reveal an intricately carved dagger with an obsidian and gold hilt.

“I …” she stares wide-eyed at Aleksander, “what is this?”

“It’s your choice, Alina,” he tells her calmly, “we give you the push, but the decision is yours in the end.”

She looks over at Mal, who is wild-eyed and thrashing in Ivan’s iron hold.

She looks and looks and comes to a realisation.

There is no love left in her heart for Mal. She doesn’t think she even likes him anymore. Maybe she has fond memories of the boy he once was, but not of the man he’s become.

Alina moves in a daze.

She lifts the dagger and she drives it into Mal’s heart with barely a moment of hesitation.

Blood splatters across her face and Mal’s eyes close as his body goes slack.

Aleksander takes the dagger from her.

“How do you feel?” he asks her quietly.

“I feel … I feel free.”

He smiles.

Genya brings a bundle of fabric forth and Aleksander wraps Alina in her very own kefta.

Gold, with threads of black.

She notices now that his own kefta has changed slightly. There is now gold embroidery on the black material.

“It’s you,” she says, entwining her hand with his.

Aleksander kisses her hungrily, like a starving man.

“Yes,” he says when they break apart, triumphant delight in his eyes, “it’s me.”

Chapter Text

When Alina is fifteen, she has a crush on her best friend Mal’s older brother Aleksander.

He’s handsome, clever (he’s just graduated summa cum laude from Harvard), charming and never treats her like a stupid kid (even when he has no patience for Mal’s antics).

Aleksander is always happy to help her study if she’s waiting for Mal, who is terrible at time-keeping and often late back from football practice. They sit cross-legged on Aleksander’s bed, go through whatever homework she has, talk about the books they’re reading, and practice Russian and Mandarin (they’re not offered at school, but Alina is doing self-study because it helps her feel closer to the parents she can barely remember).

If he notices how she flushes pink at sitting so close to him on his bed, then Aleksander never teases her about it, although she thinks he sometimes deliberately tries to make her blush by tucking a flyaway piece of her hair behind her ear or brushing his knee against hers.

When Aleksander announces that he’s moving across the country for a new job, Alina sobs for almost an hour in the privacy of her bedroom.

It’s stupid, really, because it’s such a wonderful career opportunity for Aleksander, and her crush is just a silly thing that Alina will surely get over soon.

Still, she’s quiet and morose enough at his going-away party for Aleksander to corner her in the empty garden and ask what’s wrong.

“I guess … I guess I’ll just miss you,” Alina mumbles, embarrassed and shy.

Mal would laugh and call her childish, but Aleksander smiles warmly, “I’ll miss you too, Alina.”

And then …

Well, she’s not sure what comes over her, but Alina leans up and presses her lips to his.

For a moment, he freezes, but then he wraps his arms around her, tugs her close and deepens the kiss.

She’s breathless and flushed when they break apart, a little dazed by the experience.

Aleksander looks at her like he’s not quite sure what to make of her.

“Not many people can surprise me, Alina,” he says wryly.

“I’m not … it isn’t … I know you’re leaving. I only wanted …”

A memory. A moment.

He brushes his fingers across her face, “I get it, don’t worry. Goodbye, Alina.”

“Bye, Aleksander.”

Three years later

Alina doesn’t choose The Little Palace Art School because it happens to be situated in the city where Aleksander works. She chooses it because the course is exceptional and they offer her a full scholarship.

She hasn’t seen Aleksander since his party. He’s never been close to his mother or brother and he hasn’t visited once since he began his new job. She’s only had scraps of news from Mal, not wanting to make her friend suspicious by asking after his brother too much.

But it would be rude not to try and catch up now she and Aleksander are in the same city.

And it would be nice to have one person she knows in this place so far from the familiarity of home.

She’s not expecting anything.

Still, she can’t help but hope.

One year later

Mal’s in the city for a football game, the star quarterback in his team.

He thinks briefly of Alina.

She kind of dropped off the face of the planet when she left for art school. He was used to her bombarding him with messages, but now she barely ever texts him. Her social media is pretty quiet too – no parties, just photos of paintings she’s done and few of her with some guy whose face is never in the frame (saints, he must be ugly for her to hide him like that).

He wonders briefly if he should try and find her to say hi, since she lives here, but they’ve sort of drifted apart and he’d rather take some time to enjoy the nightlife after the game.

Unfortunately, a brief visit to Aleksander can’t be so easily avoided.

His mother had demanded he go and find out why his brother had come back home five months ago, taken the Morozov family heirloom engagement ring from secure storage, and then promptly left without ever letting their mother know he was in town.

Baghra Morozova is a miserable woman. She doesn’t much care about Aleksander or Mal’s happiness.

But she hates being out of the loop, and so Mal has been given the task of providing information.

He doesn’t want to know how she might react if he fails to update her adequately.

Aleksander lives just outside the city, in a three-storey house with a huge back garden. The definition of a family home.

He’s scowling when he answers the door, as if Mal has interrupted something important.

“Mother sent me,” Mal says quickly, “I’m here for a game and she demanded I discover who you’ve given the ring to.”

“If mother is so bothered, then she should come herself.”

Mal rolls his eyes, “look, don’t shoot the messenger and –”

“Sasha,” a voice calls from inside the house, “who’s at the door?”

Mal’s brow furrows at the familiar voice.

“Go away, Mal,” Aleksander says, “and tell mother not to send you to do her dirty work.”

“Sasha?” the voice calls again.

And Mal knows that voice. He barges past Aleksander, only succeeding because his brother is surprised.

She’s in the living room, dressed only in a semi-sheer lace nightgown that shows off every curve and her prominent baby bump.

“Alina!” he gapes.

Alina, the girl Dubrov and Mikhael had called Sticks, who’d followed him around like a puppy begging for attention.

Alina, nearly naked in front of him.

Alina, wearing the family ring and about six months pregnant with his brother’s child.

His mother is going to have a conniption.

Chapter Text

At first, Alina is a means to an end.

Little Linka, who’d spent her childhood trailing after Lev and Aleksander, wanting to join in their games. A sweet girl who always had a smile for him.

He and Lev had been in and out of each other’s houses all their lives. He knows Lev’s younger sister better than he knows most of his friends. He’d helped her with homework, scared away bullies, bandaged her scraped knees when she rode her bike too fast and crashed into a tree, and helped Lev build her a treehouse one summer.

He feels a bit bad about it all, but that doesn’t stop him.

He and Lev were always thick as thieves. Their fights were brief and they never let a girl get between them.

At least, not until Luda.

They’re in their third year at Os Alta University when Aleksander finds Luda, his girlfriend of two years, in bed with Lev, his supposed best friend.

The betrayal is like a knife to his heart. And it’s what Lev has done that hurts him more, because it is Lev he trusted the most.

And what else is there for Aleksander to do but return the favour?

It’s laughably simple to seduce Lev’s sixteen-year-old sister.

Pretty Linka, who might be clever but who has no reason not to trust Aleksander, not when he’s been a familiar figure all her life, and not when he knows she’s had a crush on him for years.

It’s laughably simple, but also surprisingly fun. There’s an easy intimacy that had always been missing with Luda, and a whole host of shared interests to discuss. He takes her to museums and art galleries and the botanical gardens. They curl up and read or talk or laugh together. Sometimes, he even forgets that this relationship he is carefully cultivating has a purpose.

“Keep it a secret,” he tells her, “because your family might not understand.”

“Let me,” he murmurs when he’s edged her so much that she’s wound tight enough that she only nods when he says he hasn’t got a condom, that he wants to feel her properly, that it’s just one time and it won’t take.

But it does take, in the end, just as he wants it to.

Truthfully, he hadn’t ever really thought past the moment he’d been waiting for. The one where Lev would discover his little sister is pregnant with his ex-best friend’s baby.

It’s everything he’d hoped for.

Lev is furious, ranting and raving.

Alina defends Aleksander, even stands in front of her raging brother so he won’t attempt to attack Aleksander.

He’s supposed to leave Alina now, to break her heart and let Lev know that it was his indiscretion with Luda that caused this.

Let Lev feel guilty for being the catalyst of his sister’s ruin.

But he doesn’t want to leave Alina.

He loves Alina.

And isn’t a life well lived the best revenge?

Isn’t it even worse for Lev if Aleksander is Alina’s husband, rather than the villain in her story that Lev can malign?

Isn’t it delightful to have beautiful, pregnant Alina in his bed, while Lev is miserable and unable to turn Alina against him?

Maybe he owes Lev a thank you.

Chapter Text

Lost in her daydreams, Alina doesn’t notice there’s anyone else in the room until the man – terribly handsome, the few strands of silver in his dark hair somehow making him look even better – sits down next to her.

“Hello,” he smiles at her, but there’s something in his gaze that reminds her of a predator.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

It will be a disaster if papa finds out. He has only just deemed her responsible enough to stay alone in the house while he and Baghra are away for the weekend, even though she’s eighteen now and she’s never been in any real trouble.

“I’m not a stranger,” the man says, “I’m family – your step-brother Aleksander.”

“Oh,” she subtly tries to shift away from him, but his condescendingly amused grin tells her she’s making it obvious how nervous she is.

“I’m not allowed to talk to you,” she admits.

Baghra isn’t fond of her son, calling him dangerous and trouble and a lot of other less polite things.

“He has no reason to call,” papa had told her before they left for the weekend, “but if he does, you put the phone right down, Alina.”

She isn’t entirely sure why Aleksander is so very terrible, but she’s not keen to break one of papa’s rules when they’ve only been gone three hours.

“I’d like to talk to you,” Aleksander tells her, settling one large hand on her bare leg and sliding it up higher and higher until she squirms with a mix of nervousness and excitement, “I think we should get to know each other. Maybe we could be friends.”

“I … I don’t think papa would like that … or Baghra.”

“Who cares what my old hag of a mother thinks,” Aleksander waves his hand dismissively, “she’s always hated me. And surely you don’t do everything your father says, do you? Not a grown-up girl like you?”

His words hit a nerve. She does wish papa wouldn’t treat her like a child who can’t be trusted.

“I can make my own decisions,” she mutters mulishly.

“Of course you can, Alinochka,” he nods seriously, “so, what would you say to going out to lunch with me?”

“Um … I …”

“My treat,” he adds, “there’s a lovely little vegetarian place ten minutes away. You’re vegetarian, aren’t you?”

Alina nods. She wonders how he’d guessed, since she’s sure papa or Baghra can’t have told him, given they forget half of the time and often have the kitchen staff serve her meat.

“That would be nice,” she says, trying to sound casual and cool, like she’s invited out to eat all the time, “should I get changed?”

The dress she’s wearing is a Safina limited edition in royal blue and gold. It’s more fitting for a gala or a wedding, but Alina goes to so few events that she’s taken to wearing her collection of dresses around the house just to get some use out of them.

“There’s no need. It’s quite a formal place, so you won’t stand out,” he promises.

His gaze drags from her bare feet, slowly all the way up her body, a thorough examination, “you look very lovely, Alinochka.”

She blushes at the compliment and then lets him help her to her feet, saying nothing when he keeps hold of her hand as they walk towards the door.

“Oh, I should get my bag and my card and –”

“No need,” he leads her out of the door, “I’ll take care of everything.”

Lunch is delicious and Aleksander is wonderful company.

He still makes her a little nervous, with his intense eyes and the way he casually touches her like he’s unaware of how her skin tingles beneath his fingers, but he’s charming and clever and she doesn’t understand why papa and Baghra were so adamant that she should stay away from him.

After they’ve eaten, he takes her to the nearby Safina boutique and picks out a dress for her.

“I owe you a birthday present,” he says when she protests the expense, “and a beautiful girl like you deserves pretty things.”

The gown he finds is like nothing she’s worn before. A little black dress that hugs her figure, more daring than anything else in her wardrobe.

Aleksander insists that she model it for him, his dark eyes flashing with something hungry as she twirls on his command.

She feels different under his gaze. Grown up and desirable and womanly, a delightful contrast to the child she always feels like around papa and Baghra.

“Black suits you, Alinochka,” Aleksander tells her, “it just needs one finishing touch.”

Her eyes widen when he pulls out a pile of glittering gold from his jacket pocket.

He nudges her over to the changing room mirror and she stares at her reflection as he carefully fastens the heavy gold choker around her neck.

Alina scarcely recognises the girl in the mirror, her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed and dressed like she wouldn’t look out of place on a magazine cover.

“Perfect,” Aleksander murmurs, pressing a kiss to her jaw that is so brief and feather-light that she wonders afterwards if she imagined it.

“Thank … thank you,” she stutters out, suddenly remembering her manners and not wanting to be rude.

“Oh, Alinochka,” his smile is all teeth, “I assure you, it’s my pleasure.”

Chapter Text

Alina’s engagement to Nikolai is over the moment she summons shadows, no matter that she’d only used them to save everyone in the room.

Her very existence – light and shadow in one Summoner – makes people uncomfortable.

Nikolai marries Zoya.

And Aleksander’s dying predictions begin to come true. The Fold’s destruction does not make Grisha safe, or even help Ravka. It just makes things worse.

As for Alina …

Nikolai and Zoya tell her she’s always welcome in Os Alta, but conversations die as she approaches, and she notices how people watch her warily, like she’s an explosion waiting to happen.

With rumours of Alina summoning shadows, the whispers of the Cult of the Starless Saint that had begun immediately following Aleksander’s death only grow stronger.

Alina knows Aleksander had inspired near fanatic devotion in many of his Grisha, but she hadn’t realised the number of otkazat’sya who revere him for his control of the dark.

And then, the whispers shift.

Now, they no longer talk simply of the Cult of the Starless Saint, but of the Cult of Shadow and Sun.

Nikolai suggests she leave Os Alta.

He never orders it, too much of a coward to revoke his previous condescending invite to stay as long as she wants, but she can see he wants her gone.

So do most of her so-called friends.

Alina goes.

She goes, and the cultists find her.

She wakes slowly, bound with ropes.

The very first thing she sees is Mal’s lifeless face.

Alina screams.

She hasn’t seen him since he had left her, proclaiming that he did not know if he loved her, but that doesn’t mean she forgot all the years they spent together.

Her oldest friend. The man she thought she’d loved.

Dead in front of her.

Alina screams and screams and screams until a glass is pressed against her lips, her throat massaged so she swallows down all the bitter drink.

A cloaked figure stands in front of her, blocking her view of Mal’s body, and bows briefly, “welcome, Sankta Alina.”

“What have you done?” she cries out, “what’s happening?”

“Ah,” the man turns to look behind him, “well, he gave his life in service of a good cause, Sankta, although I’m sorry to say it did not work.”

“You murdered him!”

“It was necessary,” the man says calmly, “balance must be restored. The Starless Saint must return. We thought that the sacrifice of a blood relation would be sufficient, but we were mistaken … perhaps the relation was too far removed.”

It is then that Alina catches sight of something else.

Someone else.

Aleksander’s body, laid out on an altar as if he is simply asleep.

We burned him. We burned him. We burned him. We burned him.

She stumbles backwards trying to get away, but two men in black cloaks easily grab hold of her and drag her forward towards the altar.

“Are you going to kill me too?” Alina glares defiantly at her captor.

His eyes widen as if the idea is ridiculous, “of course not, Sankta. The balance requires you both to live. And if we re-ignite the tether that once bound you, then surely the Starless Saint will rise once more.”

Alina wants to tell him that he’s mad, that this whole situation is insane and ridiculous and … and …

Her limbs are heavy and her head is spinning.

She can’t stop the hooded figures who strip her naked and maneuver her like she is a doll.

Except they aren’t children playing and there is nothing innocent about the pose they contort her body into.

She’s ashamed that her heart skips a beat when she can focus enough to see Aleksander’s face clearly.

He looks just as he did that day in the Fold, although his expression is more peaceful.

His eyes are closed, skin cool. He is as naked as she is.

There’s a heartbeat. Faint, but still there.

She doesn’t know what – or who – they had burned on the pyre, but it clearly wasn’t Aleksander.

She begins to suspect that the drink forced on her was drugged, because her head is still spinning and she’s so much wetter than she ever was with Mal, and her body seems all too ready for what her mind rebels against.

For the first minute or two, she is a puppet on a string. A hooded figure on either side, lifting her up and then dropping her down, the automatic rocking of her hips doing the rest of the work.

It’s not long, however, before they don’t need to do anything. Alina moves of her own accord, chasing a connection and chasing her pleasure.

She’s sick and twisted. She must be, to enjoy this.

Her inhibitions are gone, though, and it feels so, so good.

She rocks herself to three shattering orgasms, losing control of her Small Science each time and bathing the clearing in a warm light.

She forgets, however, that the man underneath her is very real, that his skin is warming and his heartbeat is getting stronger and he’s hard inside her.

She forgets, right up until the moment that large hands grip her hips with a bruising hold and Aleksander’s eyes open wide as he spills inside her with a long, drawn-out moan.

The spell is broken and Alina freezes with the realisation of what she has done.

However, when she tries to flee, Aleksander will not let her go.

His hands roam her body, possessive and hungry, and his amplification draws out even more of her power.

When tendrils of shadow come with the light, entwined together, his eyes darken until they are endless pools of darkness.

He lifts one hand and summons. With his shadows comes light as well.

All around them, the cloaked cultists fall to the ground, murmuring prayers and crying out their thanks.

Aleksander’s emotions surge through the tether between them, overwhelming her.

Mine echoes between them.

The balance has been restored.

Chapter Text

Weather permitting, Aleksander likes to walk around the woodland near his home most days.

A little of it is his own land, but most belongs to his neighbour Mrs Kuya, an old woman of about eighty who has no issue with him walking on her land.

He rarely sees another person – Mrs Kuya is too frail to get out of the house and she doesn’t have many visitors.

Aleksander is therefore surprised to come across a young woman wading in the pond one morning, wearing just a floaty white dress in deference to the summer heat.

She grins at him, the expression so wide and cheerful that he automatically smiles back.

“Are you visiting Mrs Kuya?” he asks, wondering if she’s perhaps the old woman’s granddaughter.

“Something like that,” she offers him her hand, “I’m Alina.”

“Aleksander,” he shakes her hand.

Her skin seems unusually cool, but he assumes that is because she’s knee deep in frigid pond water that hasn’t yet been warmed by the sun.

“You live over there, don’t you?” she asks, pointing in the direction of his house.

He nods, “your …?” he trails off, waiting for her to confirm her relation to Mrs Kuya, but she says nothing, “well, the owner Mrs Kuya lets me use her woodland for my walks.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Alina’s eyes shine with a true love for their surroundings.

“It is,” he agrees.

A peaceful, tranquil place that offers a haven from the chaos of the city.

She splashes through the pond and steps up onto the bank.

Aleksander notices the way her wet dress clings to her body, the damp material translucent enough that he can see that she isn’t wearing anything under her dress. He stares for a good thirty seconds before he remembers himself.

“I … I better go,” he mutters, “I’m supposed to be picking up my girlfriend in an hour.”

It’s good to remind himself of Luda. His girlfriend, who he loves.

“Oh,” she says, “does she like walking here too?”

Aleksander shrugs, “on sunny days, sometimes, but not when it gets cold.”

“Well, I suppose I might see you again soon,” she smiles at him once more and he thinks idly that she is a very striking young woman, “it’s nice to have someone new to talk to”

He feels a pang of pity for her, out in this remote part of the countryside, with only a frail old woman to talk to, and he hopes he will see her again, so she has some variety of company.

Aleksander runs into Alina over a dozen times in the next month, always by the pond.

She can be rather strange sometimes. Oddly technophobic for a woman who can only be in her early twenties. Always in the same dress, regardless of the weather. She’s a sweet thing, though, affectionate and cheerful and very knowledgeable about nature and history and literature.

He doesn’t see her the two times he visits his neighbour. Mrs Kuya seems to have no idea who he’s talking about when he mentions her young guest, but she gets confused often these days and so he shrugs it off.

“I’ll be away for a few weeks from tomorrow,” Aleksander tells Alina one afternoon as he watches while she sits with her feet in the water and pets a small fox – animals, he’s noticed, seem to gravitate towards her.

“A holiday with Luda?”

“Nothing so enjoyable. A business trip.”

“I hope it goes well. And Luda is welcome to come walking here if she wants, while you’re away. No one will mind.”

He nods and makes a note to suggest that his girlfriend visit. It would be nice for Alina to have company while he’s away – she never talks about friends or family, only about the woodland and pond where she seems to spend most of her time.

It’ll do her good to make a friend other than him.

Nine days into his business trip, Aleksander gets a call from the police.

Luda is missing.

He answers their questions in a daze.

Yes, he has been out of the country for over a week.

Yes, this can be verified by witnesses.

No, he and Luda haven’t been having problems. In fact, they’ve been talking about getting engaged and moving in together.

No, he’s not aware of anyone who might want to harm Luda. She’s a well-loved paediatrician.

Aleksander cuts his business trip short and flies home to help Luda’s family and friends search for her.

The last CCTV sighting is of her getting breakfast at a café. Then, it’s as she vanished off the face of the earth.

No trace of his girlfriend can be found.

Alina licks her fingers clean, tossing a piece of gristle into a deeper part of the pond.

She hasn’t enjoyed such a satisfying meal in a long time and she had been sure to relish every single bite.

There are some remains, parts she cannot digest and scraps of clothes, but the pond is deeper than most people realise and, besides, there will be no reason for anyone to think to search here.

Poor Aleksander will be so sad when he returns. Grieving and lonely and in desperate need of comfort.

Alina will be there for him in every possible way. He’ll probably have some silly notion of remaining true to that woman’s memory, but Alina can be very persuasive and he is a man with desires, after all – she remembers how he looked at her with lust and affection even while that woman lived.

Not that he will stray when he is Alina’s. She is more than that woman in every way. She will make him truly happy and he, in return, will make a perfect mate for her, and father for their future children.

Alina can’t wait for their life together to begin.

Chapter Text

Miss Safina seems surprised when Alina arrives with Aleksander by her side.

Men do not normally set foot in the modiste, or so Alina believes. It is her first visit to London, so she’s not quite sure how everything works.

“My lord,” Miss Safina bows to Aleksander, “this should not take more than a few hours, if you wish to –”

“I shall stay,” her fiancé announces, taking a seat in an armchair in the corner of the room and looking perfectly at home.

Miss Safina’s eyes widen, but Alina is so very glad for his reassuring presence. She’s used to the village shops, not a London modiste, and the options seem terribly overwhelming.

When she stands to be properly measured, standing only in her shift, Alina thinks Miss Safina is going to insist that Aleksander leaves. Thankfully, it just takes one look from him for the modiste to continue on silently.

Aleksander can be ever so intimidating when he wants to be, although he never behaves so with Alina. She’s glad of it in this case, anyway, because she wants his familiar face.

She starts to fidget a few minutes in, not used to standing still. Aleksander raises his eyebrow and she settles immediately, glad when he nods approvingly. She stays as quiet and still as she can, even though she’s curious and wants to look around, and she’s rewarded with a tender kiss when Miss Safina goes off to fetch some more bolts of material for her to consider.

As it turns out, obtaining a whole new wardrobe is a lengthy process, and one that Alina could very well do without.

She likes her simple country dresses, and while she would never wish to shame her soon-to-be husband, she’s never been particularly fond of clothes shopping, and she doesn’t know if she needs quite so many new dresses.

But she does like how proud her fiancé looks as she chooses fabrics and styles herself and says no to patterns or designs she dislikes.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, when Miss Safina is sketching a few ideas out, “you’re being so patient and well-behaved and making big choices all on your own.”

Alina’s stomach swoops with a familiar warmth at his praise.

All she remembers from her childhood with her great-aunt Ana Kuya is chiding and disapproval and reminders to sit up straight or play more quietly or not go out in the sun so much. Aleksander prefers to focus on the positive and he frequently shows his pleasure when she does something he deems worthy of approval.

It makes her even warmer to think of some of their more intimate moments, when he has rewarded her with kisses and caresses that increase her desire for something she doesn’t really understand, something that Aleksander promises he will teach her all about when they are married.

As if sensing the train of her thoughts, Aleksander smirks affectionately down at her, brushing his thumb across her mouth, “are you aching, darling?”

“Sasha,” she squirms a little, very aware that Miss Safina is in the next room and wishing they could be alone.

“You like being good for me, hmm?”

“Yes, Sasha,” she sighs breathlessly as his hand slides down her neck to brush across the lace hem of her bodice.

“And can you be good a little while longer, darling? Just three days now and then we’ll be married.”

She hates the idea of waiting three whole days, but she can’t say that to him, not when it might make him frown in disappointment the same way he does when his nephew Mal comes to visit or he hears someone make a particularly stupid remark.

“I can be good, Sasha, I promise.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” he kisses her quickly once more, just as Miss Safina returns, “I’ll make it worth your while, you’ll see.”

Chapter Text

During a battle between the gods – there were many wars among those immortal beings who played carelessly with human lives – the king of the gods was wounded and sought refuge on the surface of the sun, a place so hot that it could only be tolerated by the most powerful of the gods.

He stayed there recovering for seven days and, during this time, he seduced one of the Hesperides, a nymph of the sunset. In due course, she gave birth to a daughter named Alina, a minor goddess of the sun.

Alina stayed far away from the court of the gods, only attending when it was necessary.

Her father’s wife was a jealous creature, after all, prone to cruelty against his many bastard children. Alina was safer if she stayed out of sight and out of mind.

She did not have many duties, not like some of the other gods and goddesses. The sun had shone long before her birth and continued to do so without her assistance. Her cousin pulled the sun with his golden chariot to give the humans night and day, and all Alina had to do was drive the chariot on the occasions when her cousin’s duties took him elsewhere.

For years, she frolicked with the Hesperides, helped her cousin and cloaked her godly powers so she could explore the earth.

Sometimes, she would come across a small temple in her name, with offerings of wine, food, gold and trinkets. She would taste the human food and take the jewellery she liked best and bestow favours upon the people in return – light to make their harvests grow or guide their boats safely into the harbour or help a lost child find their way home.

In the end, though, she wanted more.

She was a minor goddess, with no real duties at all. She began to wonder if there was something further she could do, if a more fulfilling destiny might be found.

And then she began to think of the Underworld.

Aleksander, the god of shadows and of the dead, ruled the Underworld.

She had only ever seen him from a distance, during her sporadic visits to the court of the gods. He rarely came aboveground, preferring the shadows to her father’s opulent, hedonistic court.

The Underworld was a land of darkness. And, Alina thought, what other place but that could be more in need of her light?

Her plan to make a stately entrance was unfortunately ruined by the fact that she became lost after being dropped off by the boatman – a grumpy deity named Ivan – at the side entrance of the massive obsidian palace that was the King of the Underworld’s home.

She wandered around aimlessly in the dark for a few minutes before she called on her light to guide her way.

And then she realised she was surrounded.

There were shades everywhere, the souls of the dead waiting to be judged and then sent to their afterlife.

They did not seem malicious or dangerous, only wide-eyed and curious about her light.

With the oppressive shadows around them, and her knowledge that the processing of the souls of the dead could be a lengthy process, Alina wondered sadly how long it had been since they had seen sunlight.

And she could not leave them just yet, even if she should be presenting herself to Aleksander. It seemed cruel to take the light from them so soon.

So, Alina sat down and she shone brightly. She let the shades look upon each other properly for perhaps the first time.

When the children came – so many small shades, their lives cut tragically short – Alina shaped the light for their amusement, making glowing animals that galloped across the room, bringing smiles to their pale, solemn faces.

She stayed there for hours.

The shades never spoke. She did not think they even could. But they looked at her gratefully and she felt a warm sense of having done something good.

She did not even notice Ivan’s arrival until he spoke, “the king will see you now.”

Alina jumped to her feet and gave the shades an apologetic look as she left them to their wait and followed the silent, dour boatman through a winding labyrinth of corridors.

The throne room was modest in size, but it did not make the man sitting on the throne any less impressive.

He had a gravitas about him that her own father lacked, and a sense that he was aware of the great responsibility he had been given and sought to discharge his duties with all due care.

“You are far from home, solnyshka.”

“I apologise for visiting without permission, your majesty, and for any disturbance I may have caused among the shades.”

“Apologies are not needed, although I am curious as to what brought you here.”

She ducked her head, a little embarrassed, “I … I am seeking a purpose. I thought … well, this is a land of darkness and perhaps … maybe my light could be useful.”

For a few moments he stared silently at her and she began to worry she had angered him.

“I meant no offence, your majesty,” she stammered, “this is your kingdom, of course, and I –”

He lifted his hand to silence her and smiled, “I am not angry, solnyshka. It is a generous offer, and one that would be gratefully received, but this place can be a sorrowful one, for my business is death, and I you must be prepared for that.”

“I am prepared,” she promised.

He stood and walked over to her, taking her hand and kissing it, “welcome.”

She blushed at his close proximity, suddenly struck by how handsome he was.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Alina. I look forward to working together.”

“Yes,” she nodded a little breathlessly, “me too.”

And thus began the courtship of the King of the Underworld and the Sun goddess.

But that’s a story for another time.

Chapter Text

Aleksander’s latest alias has been dead for three months when he reinvents himself.

He has no name. He lets almost no one see his face.

But he whispers to people, and they in turn whisper to others, and those people whisper further afield, until the whole of Ravka knows that the Cult of Sol Koroleva is searching for the Sun Summoner.

People flock to join his cause.

Religious devotees of the prophesised Sun Saint. Disaffected serfs searching for hope. Ambitious younger sons looking for glory with the discovery of the mythological Sun Summoner. Deserting First Army soldiers trying to find a truer cause to fight for than the tsar’s endless wars.

And leading them all from the shadows is Aleksander.

He does not care about their petty concerns or their reasons for joining. He cares about finding the Sun Summoner, and about using the decade or so before he returns as a new Darkling to ensure that everything is in place so that the moment the Sun Summoner is discovered – be it a year or a century from now – they will be brought straight to him and he will have a devoted following ready to assist him in overthrowing the tsar to usher in the age of the Grisha.

He expects the imposters. Otkazat’sya using mirrors and tricks. Inferni trying to pass off their Small Science as something else, his own Grisha attempting to trick him because they want to reach too high.

He destroys them all, without hesitation, his shadows choking them and revealing in their last moments who they have been foolish enough to try and lie to. He will not tolerate frauds, not when it comes to a matter of the greatest importance to him.

He soon hears of the fury of the tsar at the rise of his cult.

The tsar is weak and unpopular, after all. He knows that a Sun Summoner in his power could keep his rule safe and secure. He does not want to risk such a power falling into the hands of others.

Aleksander knows the tsar will seek to destroy him and the organisation he has built, but he is not afraid. He has walked the earth for over four centuries, and the tsar does not frighten him.

They remain on the move, always one step ahead of the tsar’s soldiers.

If anyone catches up, his shadows are more than enough to deal with them. And if he has to dispose of those who have witnessed his Small Science, even some loyal to him – for it would not do for news of a Shadow Summoner to spread right now – then that is a sacrifice he is willing to make.

Five years pass before Ivan, the only one of his acolytes aware of his true identity and thus his trusted second, brings him what he has been waiting for.

A frail young woman, clearly suffering from the Wasting Sickness.

“I was on a skiff with her when some idiot lit a lamp and the volcra attacked. She started to glow, but I knew the light might be seen so I knocked her unconscious and brought her here.”

“They’re dead,” the girl whimpers, unsteady on her feet, “they’re all dead.”

“I had to leave the skiff,” Ivan reports, “they’ll have given it up for volcra fodder by now. We’re lucky that we weren’t far into the journey so I could get us out in one piece.”

His second has a nasty new gash on his right cheek and, from the way he winces every now and then, probably other injuries. But Ivan takes his duty and his mission seriously, and he has succeeded where all others have failed Aleksander.

“What’s your name?” he asks the girl as she is nudged forward by Ivan.

“A-Alina,” she stutters out.

He doesn’t need to check with Ivan to know her heart is racing with fear. She’s terrified, poor thing.

And he doesn’t want that, not from her.

This has all been for her.

“Go and see the Healer, Ivan,” he dismisses his second, “and don’t worry about reporting tomorrow – you’ve earned a rest.”

The Heartrender leaves Aleksander alone with trembling Alina.

He tugs off his hood, revealing his face to her. It’s a risk, really – if she isn’t who Ivan believes she is then he won’t be able to let her live, having seen his face – but he has a good feeling about her.

“Let me have your arm,” he says, soft and gentle, the way he speaks when he’s trying to calm a spooked horse.

She hesitates, but eventually holds out an arm.

He knows the moment his fingers wrap around her bony wrist.

It’s hidden deep down, suppressed for years, but the power is there.

He goes slowly, his thumb rubbing circles on her bare skin to relax her and coax the light out.

And he is rewarded a few minutes later when she begins to glow.

“Oh,” she gasps in wonder

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Alina,” he smiles down at her, tugging her close, smugly pleased by the hitch in her breath at their close proximity.

His search is finally over. Together, he and Alina are going to change the world.

Chapter Text

They snatch her right off the street.

Fading daylight, but still busy with pedestrians.

And yet no one stops the six people wearing ornate masks – she doesn’t get a good look at most of them, but the mask she sees up close is blood-red, with anatomically correct hearts stitched in black on it – as they drag her into a car with no licence plates and tinted windows.

Alina has been in self-defence classes for as long as she can remember. Her parents have taught her to be vigilant of her surroundings and the best ways to fight back if she is ever attacked.

None of it is any use, though. She hurts some of her kidnappers, if their pained grunts are any indication, but she still ends up blindfolded and sandwiched between two burly men in the backseat of a car, being driven to an unknown location.

It certainly isn’t the eighteenth birthday she had planned.

The journey lasts about fourteen hours, she thinks.

They stop twice to fill up the car and so Alina can use the bathroom.

“Stay quiet, don’t talk to anyone,” the man with the blood-red mask tells her each time, “or we’ll kill everyone in this place.”

The stops are full of families. Alina can’t risk a massacre, not when the man’s eyes are as cold as ice.

The last stretch is five hours. They take the blindfold off as they’re driving through an ornate, heavily-guarded gate decorated with the sun and moon symbols, and into some sort of compound. It’s a magnificent place, she has to admit, built of cream stone and with extensive grounds. It’s stunning, but she still wishes she was far away, back with her parents.

Her captors leave her in an elegant, well-furnished room. There are guards at her door and the windows are locked and barred.

For the next three hours, a beautiful red-head and her entourage of silent helpers wash Alina, buffer and polish her body, pluck stray hairs, style her hair, do her makeup, dab perfume that smells of orchids onto her pulse points and then dress her in the most exquisite black and gold gown she has ever seen.

She tries weeping and shouting and bargaining and fighting, but none of it works. The red-head is unmoved throughout it all, although Alina thinks she might detect a hint of pity at times.

“It’s for the best,” she whispers to Alina just before she leaves, squeezing her hand gently, “it should have been different, but your parents … well, you’re here now and that’s what matters.”

She leaves Alina to ponder over that cryptic comment as she searches for a way out of the room.

There is no escape, though, and no fighting when the same man in the red and black mask comes for her a few minutes later.

While she isn’t sure where she expected to be brought, it certainly wasn’t to a cathedral.

It’s not a cathedral, of course, because there’s nothing holy about this place, but if looks very much like one. Vast, with a domed ceiling that lets the light in. Rows and rows of benches filled with people, all of them wearing jewel-coloured coats and odd masks.

And at the altar, dressed all in black, with a few threads of gold woven through his ornate coat, is a man wearing a mask studded with obsidian.

Alina freezes, and her escort has to half-drag her down the aisle, towards the man waiting for them.

When they reach the altar, the man in red keeps a tight grip on her arm as the man in black begins to speak.

“My friends,” he raises his arms in welcome, “thank you for joining me today on this most joyful occasion. Almost eighteen years ago, two of your fellow Grisha fled The Little Palace, our sanctuary from the greed and filth and horrors of the outside world. They had been blessed beyond the wildest dreams of most Grisha, birthing a daughter on a most auspicious day – the Summer Solstice, in the year the Sun Summoner had been prophesised to come to us. But they were afraid, they allowed themselves to think like outsiders, like otkazat’sya,” he spits the word out like an insult, although Alina doesn’t know what it means, “and they stole their daughter away from her rightful destiny by my side.”

Alina goes cold. She still isn’t sure exactly what is going on, but she has a horrible feeling that she is at the centre of it all.

“For eighteen years you have helped me search for my destined bride. Eighteen years where I have never lost hope that she would be restored to us. And now, here she stands before us, finally where she belongs.”

The applause is thunderous, echoing around the room.

Alina can only stare, stupefied, at the man who now walks towards her.

She struggles in her escort’s grip, but it is a futile endeavour. There is no running.

“My Alina,” the man in black removes the mask, revealing a face so startlingly handsome that for a moment she forgets to struggle.

There are a few strands of silver in his dark hair that show his age, but she can see how, in spite of his mad words, he can captivate all the people who are crammed onto the benches and hanging off his every word.

“I’m not –”

“You are my Alina,” he grips her chin, forcing her to meet his onyx eyes, “you have been mine since the moment you were born, just as I have been yours. It was foretold centuries before and it is our destiny.”

She shakes her head, “you’re crazy. This is all crazy.”

He just smiles, his face alight with an almost unholy glee, “this is the start of forever, my Alina. Together, we will change the world."

Chapter Text

Alina manages to get almost all the way from the stables to her room without being seen.

Almost all the way.

Ivan is waiting as she turns the corner, scowling as he takes in the muddy hem of her riding habit, her windswept hair and her generally dishevelled appearance.

He says nothing, just gestures for her to follow him.

Alina doesn’t bother to argue. Ivan can never be moved by any pleading or wheedling or bargaining or attempts to appeal to his better nature (she’s not even sure he has a better nature, unless he’s around Fedyor). She’s been seen and he knows that she isn’t allowed to ride unaccompanied, something she has obviously been doing, as evidenced by her attempt to try and sneak into the house.

“I didn’t mean to go riding alone,” she tells her guardian once Ivan has left them alone in the General’s study, “I only wanted to visit Sol in the stables, but she really wanted to go out and get some exercise, and it seemed mean not to ride her.”

“What is my rule about riding, Alina?” he asks.

“I’m not supposed to go unless you, Ivan or Fedyor accompany me.”

“And why do we have that rule?”

“For my safety.”

“And what happens if you break that rule?”

Alina squirms uncomfortably, cheeks flushed red.

It wasn’t so bad to be spanked as a child, as so many of her peers were, but as a young woman of eighteen, it makes her feel an uncomfortable mix of humiliation and arousal that confuses her.

“Please, papa,” she says, “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t do it again. You don’t have to –”

“Alina,” he cuts her off with a stern frown, “you have been disobedient and you must take your punishment like a good girl.”

“But, papa –”

“Alina,” he snaps and she falls silent, knowing how much he hates when she tries to escape justified chastisement.

She submits to her punishment after that. The General has been such an exemplary guardian to her over the years, so of course he must know best.

The blows smart. The General is ever the military man, even away from the battlefield, and he believes in firm discipline. Still, he soothes her with a hand carding through her hair, and murmurs about how well she’s taking her punishment when she manages not to whimper too much.

She counts them all, up to fifteen. Her backside stings and her tummy feels funny and she’s so warm and wet between her legs. A confusing mix of emotions churn around inside her and she isn’t quite sure what to make of them.

The General sets her on her feet, tutting when she sways on her feet, gaze unfocused.

“Oh, Alinochka,” he sighs, all warm condescension, “are you alright, darling?”

“I … I feel funny, papa.”

“Poor little thing,” he leads her over to his desk, takes a seat and then pulls her onto his lap so she’s straddling one of his thighs.

She only has to shift a little to feel a delicious friction between her legs. She rocks her hips instinctively, letting out a little moan when she feels a frisson of pleasure.

The General nods in satisfaction and turns his attention to some of the papers on his desk, one steadying hand on her waist as she continues to rock against his thigh.

It takes her a few minutes to find a good rhythm, but she can feel something building.

“That’s my good girl,” the General murmurs almost absent-mindedly as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, “keep going, Alinochka.”

She does as she’s told and, about ten minutes later, her vision goes white when the sensations overwhelm her, a wave of pleasure crashing over her as she presses her face into the General’s chest and cries out.

“Papa,” she gasps, her hips still rocking gently against his thigh as she rides out the aftershocks, “papa.”

The General strokes her hair, holding her close, “there now, darling, don’t you feel better.”

“Yes, papa.”

“And what do you say, Alinochka?”

“Thank you, papa.”

“You’re welcome, darling. Now, why don’t you fetch that box in the corner. I bought it specially for you.”

Everything aches, especially her backside, but she knows better than to refuse, especially since he’d made her feel so good even after he had to punish her.

She brings the box back to his desk and opens it carefully under his watchful eye.

Peeling back layers of tissue paper, she pulls out a beautiful gown.

Pure white silk, embroidered with golden thread. And a lace veil too, delicate and lovely.

“It’s a wedding dress,” she whispers.

The most magnificent she’s ever seen. But does this mean he’s sending her away?

“Yes, Alinochka and you’ll be the prettiest little bride for me, won’t you?”

“For … for you, papa?”

He smiles, tapping her nose with a smile, wrapping his arms around her, “of course for me, darling. I’d never give you away to anyone else.”

Chapter Text

They serve the sun goddess and god of shadows.

Light and darkness, two of the fundamental principles of the world. Balance and harmony.

They honour their two patrons and, in return, their small community thrives. They receive blessings and good fortune and success in their endeavours.

But such things come at a price. Their gods are ancient, primal beings and they are not satisfied simply by offerings of fruit and wine and grain and coins.

Their gods want blood. And they want entertainment.

And the Grisha ensure they get it.

Mal stares wide-eyed at the young woman in front of him, weeping and wringing her hands.

“A … a baby?”

“Yes!” she wails, “my birth control must have failed and you refused to wear a condom and now I’m pregnant.”

“Right, um, Alana … no, Alia … no …?”

“Alina,” she sobs, “my name is Alina.”

He can’t for the life of him remember meeting her, but she knows all about him. And it’s true that he has been enjoying some rather black-out nights the last few months.

“Do you need, like, money for an abortion?”

“What!” she screeches, hands curling protectively over the curve of her belly, “no! I couldn’t do that. But my father, he found out I was pregnant, and he’s furious, of course. He’s demanding I bring you home so you can sign the papers?”

“What papers? Child support?”

Fuck, this is bad. He doesn’t have the money to be going towards a kid.

But Alina shakes her head, “no, he considers you an outsider. You aren’t part of our congregation and so he doesn’t want you involved. The papers are to sign away your rights to the baby.”

Mal breathes a sigh of relief, “sure, yes, I’ll sign that.”

After all, he’ll take ten minutes with an angry dad if it gets him out of child support payments for the next eighteen years.

He doesn’t even think what congregation Alina might be part of until she brings him to a gated community on the outskirts of the town that is infamous in the area.

“You’re one of the witch freaks?”

She frowns at him, “we’re not freaks. We believe in the balance brought about by the –”

“Yeah, look, I’m sure it’s exciting and all,” he says, “but can I sign these papers and be done with this. I’ve got a date tonight.”

“Alright,” she says quietly.

She’s silent as she leads him through the empty roads of Grisha Avenue, right to the largest building.

Instead of taking him in the front door, she leads him through a gate emblazoned with the sun and moon, into a small courtyard that has two doors.

When Mal turns to look at her, she’s grinning widely, eyes glittering.

“What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly a little nervous about being alone with one of the Grisha freaks.

“You didn’t really think I’d ever have slept with you, did you?” she sneers derisively at him, “but I knew the idea of you having got me pregnant was something that would panic you enough to come with me without letting anyone know where you were going.”

“You lied to me?”

She rolls her eyes, “it was so easy. I’d had a different idea in mind when I first started planning for the Summer Solstice celebration, but then Sasha and I were blessed and I needed to go for a different angle.”

A man suddenly materialises next to her, dressed all in black. Mal recognises him as the Grisha’s de-facto leader Aleksander Morozov. Mal has never liked the man.

“Choose a door, Malyen,” Morozov says.

“Shadows,” Alina gestures to a door engraved with an eclipsed sun.

“Or sun,” Morozov points to the other door, engraved with a blazing sun.

“Hurry,” Alina’s grin is all teeth, “and maybe you’ll survive the night.”

Mal surges forward, yanking open the door with the sun on, stepping into a sweltering room that nearly blinds him with its brightness.

He stumbles inside, and doesn’t hear Alina follow him.

It’s morning when Alina steps back into the courtyard, sweaty and drenched in blood, but triumphant.

A cheer goes up at her appearance. Aleksander takes her into his arms and kisses her, his hands coming to rest protectively over her belly.

“How did it go, solnyshka?” he asks.

She smiles at him, “the gods will be pleased with the offering. He made for entertaining prey, despite my concerns.”

He nods proudly at the success of her first sacrifice, “my fierce little wife, what a wonder you are.”

“I need a shower,” she sniffs slightly as she looks down at all the blood, “I don’t want him on me for any longer than necessary.”

“Shall I join you?” he presses a kiss to a spot on her neck clean of blood.

She takes his hand and pulls him towards the door that leads to their room, “I’d like nothing more, Sasha.”

Chapter Text

Alina Starkova is sickly and shy, trailing after Mal Oretsev like a lost puppy, desperate for scraps of affection from him.

She’s quiet and keeps her head down, never putting herself forward and always overly humble about her artistic talent.

And then, suddenly, she’s different.

More confident, standing up for herself, answering questions in class, accepting praise with a smile, distancing herself from Mal Oretsev.

She loses her sickly look, no longer as frail – hair glossy, skin glowing and golden, curves where she was previously almost universally known at Keramzin High as Sticks.

No one can figure out what’s going on, but the rumour mill goes wild speculating.

When the news breaks, it spreads like wildfire.

Alina Starkova is pregnant.

Keramzin High is not at all unfamiliar with teen pregnancies, but it’s usually obvious who the father is.

No one knows now.

Mal Oretsev, who had been as interested in the changes in Alina’s figure as the other boys in school, is now quick to deny any responsibility, keen to avoid the fate of boys before him – married out of high school to a girl he doesn’t care for, unable to go to university because he has to support a family.

Alina appears unconcerned about the speculation, and impervious to the unflattering names she is called both behind her back and to her face.

She cradles her growing belly proudly, not displaying any of the shame usually associated with a high school pregnancy. In fact, she seems smugly pleased about it all, almost like she wants it.

Regarding the father, she remains stubbornly tight-lipped, despite taunts and curious questions and well-meaning prodding from teachers and the guidance counsellor.

Very few people are kind to her.

Alina has always been something of an outsider, but now it’s even worse, and she has no friends to defend her.

She simply continues on as she always has. No attempt to get her peers on side or share confidences.

Alina only does her assignments and works on her paintings and writes frequently in a small black leather notebook decorated with an embossed golden sun.

What she writes in there is anybody’s guess.

“I can’t believe she actually came to prom,” Dubrov nudges Mal and points to the school gym’s entrance.

Alina wears a form-fitting gown, gold lace hugging her figure and showcasing her pregnancy.

She looks hot, Mal has to admit, and it’s a shame she got herself knocked up or he’d be willing to make some time for her.

“Whores aren’t welcome here,” Ruby announces loudly from the opposite corner of the room.

“Oh,” Alina stares, cool and calm, “then why are you here, Ruby?”

“You little bit –”

Her friends grab hold of her before she can storm over to Alina. Ruby is too mad to see it, but the other girls seem to sense Alina’s disconcertingly mocking amusement.

“Let’s all be friendly, girls,” one of the chaperones – a newly qualified teacher easily intimidated by the students – steps forward with a shaky smile, “this is a night for everyone to enjoy.”

The prom, however, is anything but enjoyable.

Most of the students don’t seem to have turned up yet, and even the chaperones vanish soon enough in search of those who haven’t arrived.

And then it’s just Mal and Ruby and their friends.

And Alina.

Ruby has been drinking vodka someone snuck in. She’s belligerent and jealous of the way everyone stares at how fuckable Alina looks right now, giant belly aside.

“No one around to protect you now, freak,” Ruby mutters, storming over to Alina, “you think you’re better than us, but you’re just a stupid slut who got herself knocked up by some guy who didn’t want to know you after.”

Alina only smiles, eyes glittering, unmoved by Ruby’s insults.

And then the lights go out.

Except that’s not quite right. It’s more like the shadows rise up higher and higher until they blot out all the light.

The screaming starts seconds later.

Mal runs for the exit, but he never makes it.

Alina is there, glowing in the darkness, a wickedly sharp knife in her hand and blood splattered across her golden dress.

“We … we’re friends, Lina,” he reminds her, “best friends.”

“Oh, Mal,” she shakes her head in pity, “don’t lie. We haven’t been friends in a long time.”

“Lina, please …”

She raises the knife, “goodbye, Mal.”

Alina hums to herself as she strolls through the darkened forest.

In the distance, she can hear sirens and shrieking.

The shadows coalesce into a tall figure as she licks blood from her fingers, “you were magnificent, solnyshka.”

“I think the baby likes the taste of blood,” she tells him as she tilts her head up to accept his hungry kiss, “he’s got his father’s appetite.”

“And his mother’s too, I believe,” Aleksander watches as she licks her bloody thumb clean.

Alina shrugs, “there’s something poetic about growing strong by gorging on the blood of your enemies.”

“Quite right,” he agrees.

They can hear police dogs and shouting, heavy boots getting closer and closer.

“Are you ready to go, solnyshka?” Aleksander asks.

She nods, “there’s nothing left for me here.”

They step into the shadows together, leaving only their footprints in the mud.

Chapter Text

Alina has never been on such a fancy holiday.

Two weeks in a beautiful Italian villa with a sea view, two pools, a sauna and a private chef.

It’s not something she and Mal could afford on their own, but her boyfriend has recently connected with some distant cousins, the only family he has left.

One of them, Aleksander Morozov, is apparently extremely wealthy and successful.

Truthfully, Alina had been embarrassed by Mal’s behaviour the one time she’d met Aleksander, when they’d all gone out for dinner together.

Mal had clearly been angling for money from his cousin and it had mortified Alina to see how sulky Mal had become when it was made clear that he wouldn’t be getting free handouts.

As something of a peace offering to sooth Mal’s grumbling, Aleksander had offered them use of his villa for two weeks, flights and expenses all taken care of.

It’s the first foreign holiday Alina has ever been on, and it had been a thrill to apply for her passport in anticipation, a process Aleksander had kindly expedited for her so she and Mal didn’t have to delay their trip.

Mal goes on ahead a day early, secretive and quiet about the reason.

Alina doesn’t ask questions, but she feels a rush of anticipation, hopeful that he might be preparing some sort of romantic surprise. After all, Aleksander has been messaging her, asking about the food and flowers she likes, and she thinks Mal is being sneaky, checking her favourites through an intermediary.

There’s a small room for her use when she lands at the airport, where she is able to shower and change into the beautiful strappy black lace dress that is waiting for her, together with pretty gold sun earrings and a delicate gold and obsidian bracelet.

An expensive town car takes her from the airport to the villa. As they slow to a stop, the driver hands her a black silk blindfold, “for your surprise, Miss Starkova.”

Alina beams, excitedly fastening the blindfold so she can’t see a thing.

Mal usually says surprises are stupid, so he must be going to a real effort to make this holiday special for her.

The driver helps her out of the car and guides her towards the villa. He pauses while she slips off her shoes and then guides her up a set of stairs and down a carpeted corridor to what must be the bedroom she and Mal will be using.

“He’ll be with you momentarily,” the driver tells her.

Alina shivers in anticipation as she sits on the chair the driver had led her to.

The romance between her and Mal has been a little lacking the last year or so. He’s smug and pleased with himself if he remembers to get her the correct order from their local takeaway, or if he washes a couple of dishes up.

It’s nice to have him making an effort for once.

The door creaks open and she lifts her head, although she can’t see anything through her blindfold.

Alina wants to talk, but she thinks it might ruin the mystique of the moment, so she stays silent.

She hears the clink of bottles and then there is a glass at her lips. Carefully, Alina opens her mouth and tastes blackberry, plum, vanilla and a hint of coffee. Mal’s always chosen white wine for her before and she’s so pleased that he’s finally listened to all the times she’s told him she prefers red.

There’s a low groan somewhere to her left when she licks her lips, chasing droplets of wine, and she flushes pink.

Mal still doesn’t talk, but he brings bite-sized pieces of food – cheese, braised pork belly, steak, roasted peppers and more – and further gulps of wine to her.

It’s a sensuous tasting experience. She can truly savour the food, which she assumes has been prepared by the villa’s private chef, given how delicious it is.

After, there are forkfuls of a decadent chocolate cake for dessert, and she can’t contain the long moan she lets out as she tastes it.

That’s the first time he touches her, his fingers brushing across her collarbone, feather light. Mal’s touch is usually careless and almost sleazy in the way he gropes at her when he wants to have sex, but it’s as if he’s learned the art of foreplay overnight.

When she finishes her dessert, Alina goes to remove the blindfold, but suddenly a hand grips the silk and tugs, keeping her eyes firmly covered and tilting her chin up.

His other hand caresses her jaw, spanning across her neck.

A large hand, she suddenly realises. Larger than Mal’s hand.

His scent is different too, a woody aftershave that is nothing like the cheap products Mal likes, which burn her nostrils when he sprays too liberally.

Alina freezes as lips press a brief kiss to her forehead before he slants his mouth over hers.

This isn’t Mal.

Whoever it is, he kisses her hungrily, like he wants nothing more than to devour her whole.

She’s never been kissed like this in her life, savoured like the most wonderful of treats.

His hand on her throat, thumb brushing soft and delicate skin, ought to make her afraid, but she realises she trusts him instinctively.

“Let me, Alina,” a low voice croons.

A familiar voice. One she’d heard at dinner, asking all about her work and her hobbies and her life, sounding interested in a way Mal never really has.

“Aleksander?”

“Let me,” he repeats.

“Yes,” she whispers it, but without hesitation.

His hands go to the thin straps of her dress and he slides them down as he presses kisses to her bare shoulders.

The blindfold falls to the ground as he helps her to her feet and leads her towards the bed.

Alina doesn’t think of Mal at all.

Chapter Text

The Darkling’s coup is swift, vicious and bloody.

Royal guards killed. Nobles who continue to resist executed. Every person with Lantsov blood slaughtered.

Every person but one.

No one knows why Grand Duchess Alina lives.

The sickly only child of the tsar’s second marriage to a Taban princess who perished in childbirth, the Grand Duchess might have her mother’s looks, but she also has Lantsov blood in her veins.

A man married to her could claim the throne in her name.

Her survival baffles the Lantsov loyalists. After all, the new Black Tsar has publicly claimed that he will only ever wed the Sun Summoner, and so he cannot be keeping the Grand Duchess to marry and thus claim legitimacy for his coup. Leaving her alive is a loose end and the Black Tsar does not usually make such mistakes.

The fact of the matter, though, is that she is alive, living as the new tsar’s ward and retaining her royal title.

She is alive and, at eighteen, ripe for marriage.

The Lantsov loyalists still have hope.

Irina hates the Darkling.

Her home had once been a vast estate, with three summer dachas to choose from when the weather was warm. Her father was an earl, and a close confidant of the true tsar. She had jewels and splendid dresses and a future duke as a fiancé.

And then the coup robbed her of it all. The true tsar was murdered, along with his sons. Her father was executed when he tried to stand against the Darkling, along with her older brother and her fiancé. Their lands were confiscated and they were left with a pittance to live on, enough only for a shabby fifteen-room townhouse with just four servants.

When an old friend of her father comes to their home and speaks of a plan to restore order to Ravka, Irina is eager to help.

The Grand Duchess still lives, after all. If she can be married to the right man, then everything can be as it once was. They might not be able to bring back those who lost their lives, but the status quo, at least, will be restored.

All Irina has to do is watch and wait in the Grand Duchess’ household.

By all rights, Irina ought to be a chief lady-in-waiting, but here she must mask her true identity and take on a humbler role as maid.

It stings, to see upstarts and Grisha freaks of nature tend to the most royal, noble lady in Ravka, but Irina must endure it. The poor Grand Duchess puts on a brave face, never showing the disgust and fear she must feel, and Irina takes her stoic resolve as her own model.

She had expected to find the Grand Duchess a prisoner in all but name, confined to her rooms, languishing under the Darkling’s oppressive shadows. Instead, she seems healthier and livelier than Irina remembers seeing her at court during the true tsar’s reign. Her golden skin glows, her previously sallow complexion much improved, and she appears to have far more energy than she used to.

She is allowed to roam the palace and its grounds, which she does frequently. She likes the library, a place Irina finds dreadfully dull, but at least she enjoys the gardens too.

Unfortunately for the Grand Duchess, the Darkling seems to impose himself upon her frequently. He is forever inviting her to ride with him or take a turn around the gardens or join him in hearing petitions or share dinner with him or spend the evening in his private sitting room. Irina cannot understand why he would do such a thing, if not to make the poor lady’s life even more of a misery, and to taunt her with tales of how he butchered her family (right in front of her, some of the gossips whisper). Irina, sadly, cannot report anything that goes on in these meetings to her fellow loyalists, because only Grisha and oprichniki ever accompany the Grand Duchess when she is with the Darkling.

“He is alone with her often?” she is asked when she returns home for a short holiday and reports her findings.

Irina nods and the others at the meeting seem troubled.

“Do you ever see any marks on her body when you assist her?”

“There are bruises sometimes, but the Grand Duchess says she is only clumsy.”

One man shakes his head, “the Darkling is a depraved, cruel creature. It seems he chose to keep the Grand Duchess alive so that he might debase her and make her his concubine. It is a daily insult to the Lantsov family!”

“You must find out for sure,” another man tells Irina, “if she has been ruined, then we will need to pin our hopes elsewhere.”

“I will discover the truth,” she promises.

She only hopes the Grand Duchess has not been made to suffer such indignities as those here have suggested.

Irina sees smooth, bare skin and hears lewd moans and watches as the Grand Duchess throws her head back in ecstasy, clearly enjoying the Darkling’s touch.

It is obscene. That dark creature has corrupted the true tsar’s once innocent daughter and now she is a wanton harlot.

If only the people could see this. They soften towards the Darkling, speaking of how he dotes on his ward, but it is clearly an illusion to hide how he corrupts her.

And then, the worst happens.

The Grand Duchess lets out a high-pitched moan and she glows.

The last remaining royal of Lantsov blood is a Grisha freak.

Irina nearly weeps with sorrow. What will become of their once great country now?

Suddenly, a hand clamps around Irina’s arm and yanks her out of her hiding spot.

Ivan Kaminsky, the Darkling’s right hand, gives her a vicious grin as he drags her towards the dungeons where so many disappear and few ever return.

“Time to spill all of your secrets, little spy.”

Chapter Text

Alina’s grandmother is a superstitious woman.

She salts the earth at the boundaries of her home; bolts her doors with iron; wears her clothes inside out if she feels the faeries are near; plants St John’s wort and four-leaf clovers and red verbena and daisies in her garden to ward off faeries; and prays to the saints at least four times a day for protection.

“It’s not just minor mischief,” she tells Alina, “the fae are a vicious, bloodthirsty race.”

Alina’s grandmother watches Keramzin’s newest resident with suspicious eyes.

“Too handsome by half,” she mutters as Alina helps her bake bread, “no man who looks like that ever brought a girl anything but trouble.”

Her grandmother is speaking from personal experience. A dalliance with a handsome young man just passing through the village when she was nineteen had resulted in a hasty marriage to a rather dim but besotted village boy and a baby – Alina’s father – born a little too big for being a month and a half early.

Her grandmother likes to grumble about having been dazzled by faeries, but Alina always thought she simply got swept off her feet by a charismatic man who was long gone before she ever realised she was pregnant.

Ever since the mysterious Mr Morozov arrived, though, her grandmother has seemed paranoid and jumpy. She invents chores for Alina that take up most of her day, and plays up her infirmities (she is not yet sixty, and in good health) to keep her granddaughter inside.

Alina has only ever seen Mr Morozov from a distance. She has yet to make his acquaintance the way most of her friends have.

“He dresses very smartly,” Genya tells her.

“He’s so handsome,” Marie sighs dreamily.

“And he has such a way with words,” Nadia adds.

“A silver tongue,” Nina winks cheekily, “I’d like to see what he could do with it.”

“My grandmother doesn’t like him,” Alina frowns, “she keeps finding reasons to keep me in the house.”

“Oh, but he’ll be at the dance Mr Nazyalensky is holding,” Genya reminds her, “and you must go to that, for there hasn’t been a dance here in a year and who knows when the next one will be.”

Her grandmother tries very hard to stop her attending the dance, but Alina insists.

“Everyone will be there, and you know Mr Nazyalensky is very good at heading off any trouble.”

“You do not understand what the consequences could be, Alina. If he sees you properly … if he senses it …”

“If who senses what?”

Her grandmother only shakes her head, “promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Of course I –”

“I mean it, Alina. Do not eat or drink anything Mr Morozov offers you. And do not go off alone with him.”

Alina promises. It seems so important to her grandmother, after all.

“May I have the next dance?”

Mr Morozov is as handsome as everyone said, with a face that must have been carved by the saints themselves.

His eyes unnerve her a little, though. Bottomless pools of darkness that seem to see into her very soul.

He behaves just as he ought. Asks all the proper, polite questions. Gives the appearance of a true gentleman.

And if he holds her a little too tight and his gaze is disconcertingly intense and his wide smile shows flashes of unnaturally sharp white teeth … well, she’s probably just letting her grandmother’s superstitions mess with her head.

“Can I fetch you a refreshment?” Mr Morozov asks when the set is over.

Alina hesitates, her grandmother’s warning ringing in her ears.

“I am quite well, thank you, sir,” she replies, but the croak in her voice from her parched throat betrays her.

He does not challenge her lie, though, only bows with a touch of mocking condescension.

Alina returns to her friends, only half-listening as Genya’s mama – their chaperone for the evening – coos over Mr Morozov’s manners and looks.

She keeps her gaze firmly on the tiny glass of lemonade she’d snagged from the refreshment table.

But she feels Mr Morozov’s eyes on her for hours afterwards.

He asks for her hand for the final set.

Alina looks around, hoping to see one of the young men she’s known from childhood who would not question it if she said they had already claimed the set. Unfortunately, they’re all in the card room or already partnered.

She can only say yes, or risk a scene.

“You do not like me,” he speaks plainly.

“I do not know you,” she corrects.

“No, it is more than that. Someone has warned you away.”

“I do not listen to fanciful tales, sir.”

“Oh,” his eyes dance with amusement, “but who said they were fanciful, Miss Starkova? And who said they were wrong?”

Alina freezes, “I don’t know what you mean,” she murmurs carefully.

“Your grandmother means well, solnyshka, but she cannot save you from your destiny.”

“Solnyshka … what does that mean?”

“Sunshine, like the sun that courses through your veins, although it lies dormant for the moment.”

Quick as a flash, he takes off one of his gloves and brushes his thumb over her bare arm. For a moment, she could swear that her skin glows.

She suddenly realises Mr Morozov has danced them into a corner of the room, one no one seems to be paying attention to.

The shadows around them grow higher and higher and, in the flickering candlelight, Mr Morozov looks entirely otherworldly.

“What are you?” she whispers.

“You know what I am, solnyshka.”

Fae. Ancient and powerful and dangerous. The bringers of both great fortune and terrible tragedy.

“Why are you here?”

He brushes his hand across her cheek and she feels a jolt of warmth rush through her, “like calls to like, solnyshka.”

When he takes her hand and leads her outside into the empty garden, Alina lets him.

Despite her grandmother’s warnings, Alina knows that sometimes there is no fighting fate.

Chapter Text

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

4th March 1813

La, such a commotion at the recent Safin ball.

For who should grace the occasion but the infamous Viscount Morozov.

To enlighten those of you who may have perhaps been living under a rock, Viscount Morozov is handsome, wealthy, charismatic and intelligent. One would think this would make him a prime target for the marriage-minded mamas of the ton. Alas, Viscount Morozov is also considered something of a rogue – it is not just the whispers that he is a very dangerous man (some say he is responsible for the deaths of the Duke of Lantsov’s eldest son and General Zlatan, among others), but also the rumours that he is the artist known as the Darkling, whose notoriously graphic works have created quite a stir these last five years.

Viscount Morozov is invited to almost every soiree, for few wish to offend him, but he has not attended a ball in over four years.

And yet, at the Safin home, there he was, dressed in his signature black, looking entirely unconcerned about the commotion he was causing.

The viscount seemed amused by the stares, rather than annoyed.

He made no mention of the Darkling’s most recent piece, depicting a disturbingly realistic murder scene, which has been purchased by Lady Nina Helvar nee Zenik, who does so love to cause a sensation.

A certain Mr Malyen Oretsev, a distant cousin of the viscount, apparently attempted to ask the surprise guest to leave. The Viscount’s response was a derisive laugh and nothing more.

Of course, this Author must now report the most exciting news relating to Viscount Morozov’s presence.

He danced!

And not only did he dance, but he did so with only one particular young lady.

Not Miss Genya Safina, the season’s diamond. Not Lady Zoya Nazyalenskya, outspoken and proud and courted by a prince.

No, Viscount Morozov danced with Miss Alina Starkova, an estimable young lady, but one who does not usually court infamy.

Perhaps the two spoke of art? After all, Miss Starkova is known to be an avid painter. Whatever the topic was, though, the pair were certainly engaged in intense discussions.

Miss Starkova’s chaperone, her strict and pious great-aunt, seemed entirely horrified at the scene unfurling in front of her, but was unable to reach her charge before Miss Starkova took to the dance floor.

I imagine, dear readers, that the young lady received a stern lecture in the carriage on her way home.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

15th March 1813

Since my report on the 4th of this month about Viscount Morozov’s extraordinary appearance at the Safin ball, I must now report that he has attended his fourth social event of the season!

This Author is as surprised as you are, dear reader. No one could have predicted this turn of events.

The Viscount continues to pay marked attention to Miss Starkova, in spite of her great-aunt’s vehement disapproval.

This Author does not know how the two are communicating under Mrs Kuya’s watchful eye, but they must be doing so, for they seem so very familiar with each other.

Rumour has it that Miss Starkova has presented the Viscount with a small painting of sunflowers that he has had framed. This Author also hears talk that a package was delivered to Miss Starkova bearing no return address and containing an original work by the Darkling, the subject matter of which caused Mrs Kuya to shriek loudly enough to be heard by the whole street. This painting was apparently saved from burning in the fireplace and smuggled away to be kept safe by one of Miss Starkova’s friends.

Is it a coincidence that Miss Starkova has received a gift of one of the Darkling’s works right as Viscount Morozov appears to be courting her? This Author thinks not.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

31st March 1813

Miss Alina Starkova has eloped with Viscount Morozov.

They left for Gretna Green two days ago and will by now be wed.

This Author is not particularly surprised by such news, for it seems the natural conclusion to a courtship so opposed by the lady’s guardians.

Mr and Mrs Kuya are said to be furious, but there is little they can do now. Perhaps they will take comfort in the knowledge of how well provided for their great-niece will be, but somehow this Author doubts it.

After all, a little bird whispered to this Author that Miss Starkova accidentally left behind a few sketchbooks containing certain drawings of a very salacious nature. If Viscount Morozov is indeed the Darkling, then it seems he might share his provocative taste in art with his new viscountess.

This Author, for one, wishes the newlyweds every happiness.

Their marriage, at least, seems based on mutual affection and love, which is something few ton marriages can truly boast.

Chapter Text

The Grisha Commune seems like the perfect place to rest for a few nights during their tour of Europe.

Mal calls them all hippies with a derisive sneer, but Genya – the young woman Alina met in a nearby village and got talking to – is so friendly, and the prospect of free accommodation before yet another long train journey is too good an opportunity for Alina to pass up.

Time seems to pass differently in the Grisha Commune, though. Alina loses track of the days.

There’s very little technology, only a handful of phones and one laptop, and everyone seems so happy and fulfilled.

Alina sees how people can do what they love, while also contributing. Some help grow or prepare food – baking or running the greenhouses or tinkering with agricultural methods. Others are artistic, expressing themselves while also producing paintings, pottery, knitted items and more that can be sold in nearby villages. A few put their organisational skills to use in keeping the commune running efficiently, or support the community with their medical skills, or teach the children.

It really is a true community and Alina loves it.

Their leader, a man named Aleksander, has a magnetic personality, drawing everyone into his orbit.

He is a passionate advocate of embracing your talents and avoiding the toxicity of social media and being your best self.

Mal calls him smarmy and condescending, but he seems earnestly sincere to Alina. And when Aleksander talks to her, it really feels like she has his full attention – he listens and asks pertinent questions and never gets distracted by his phone the way Mal always does.

A few days at the commune turns into a week, which turns into an indefinite stay.

After all, Alina knows what would have happened during the rest of her European trip with Mal. She would have visited monuments and museums alone, while he went out and got blind drunk with random guys he met at the hostels they’d be staying in. At least here, she isn’t alone or trying to corral her intoxicated boyfriend before he breaks the public decency laws.

Mal doesn’t like the Grisha Commune, though. He says he feels out of place and awkward and unwelcome. Alina feels the exact opposite, but she knows saying so would anger Mal, so she stays quiet and agrees to leave with him in two days, despite her desire to stay.

When she wakes the next morning, however, Mal is already gone.

“He asked to be dropped off at the train station earlier,” Aleksander explains, patting her shoulder gently, “he said he’d spoken to you, but I can see now that he took the cowardly way out.”

It’s reflex to defend Mal’s bad behaviour, but Alina doesn’t bother this time. Aleksander has only spoken the truth, and she’s not sure if Mal is anything to her anymore, not when he’s run off without a word.

She moves from a guest room to her own small suite that evening.

Genya helps her personalise it with trinkets she’s collected and gifts received from the friends she’s made here.

Briefly, Alina thinks of home. She and Mal had given up their rented apartment before their trip, and she has only a few boxes in a storage locker far away, which she has no immediate yearning to go and collect – the thing about being an orphan, passed around foster placements and group homes, is that you learn to keep the few precious things close and not get attached to the rest.

The Grisha Commune is the first place that has ever felt like home since her parents died. She finally feels like she can put down some roots.

Two days after Mal leaves is the Summer Solstice.

“We celebrate every year,” Aleksander explains as he walks her towards the small building, which everyone calls The Little Palace, that they use for formal occasions.

The gate that leads to the Little Palace is wrought iron, decorated with golden sun and moon symbols.

“We celebrate the Winter Solstice too. We’re big believers in balance in life – light and dark, sun and shadows, relaxation and work.”

The main hall of the Little Palace is decorated with golden banners and glittery suns painted and decorated by the children from the commune’s school in honour of the Summer Solstice.

On a small dais are two thrones, one draped in black silk and the other in gold silk. Alina’s eyes widen in surprise when Aleksander steers her towards the golden throne before he takes his seat on the black one.

He holds up a hand to stall her protests, “I cannot think of anyone who represents sunshine more than you, Alina. It’s only right that you are Sol Koroleva for this solstice.”

They have a grand feast to celebrate, with dozens of wonderful dishes.

“What’s this?” Alina asks as she tastes the tender slices of perfectly seasoned meat that Aleksander has placed onto her plate.

“Ah, that is the solstice sacrifice,” he tells her.

“Oh, like slaughtering the fattened calf?”

His mouth twists into a slightly strange grin, “yes, something like that.”

“Well, it’s delicious,” she takes another bite, “my compliments to whoever prepared it.”

Aleksander’s grin widens, “Ivan will be pleased to hear it. He isn’t too interested in day-to-day cooking, but he does enjoy helping to prepare our ritual feasts.”

“Well,” Alina says with a shy smile, “hopefully I’ll be here to experience many more of the solstice feasts.”

Aleksander reaches over to take her hand and squeezes it softly, “I hope so too, Alina. I think you’re right where you belong.”