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Chapter Text

Everyone knows that the Black Tsar has a very specific taste in women.

Petite, with dark hair and warm brown eyes and golden skin. Pale imitations of the Sun Summoner who fled and has been in hiding for almost five years.

They never last long. They’re never her.

The day Ivan brings intelligence of a sighting in Novyi Zem, the Black Tsar does not hesitate to chase that lead.

Look-alikes are all well and good as fleeting distractions, but he’s determined to have the real thing, no matter how long it takes.

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“I’ve got a secret,” Alina whispers, drunk and giggly.

“Oh?” Genya murmurs, “what is it?”

“I can’t tell, Gen! It’s a secret.”

“You can tell me,” she coaxes her friend.

She has suspicions that make her nervous, and she wishes Alina would put her mind at rest and admit to some harmless fling with a frat boy rather than what Genya fears.

Before her friend can speak, though, Aleksandr Morozov is at her side, his usual silent shadows behind him with their hands resting where Genya knows guns are hidden.

He tuts affectionately at his drunk step-daughter, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her as she stumbles towards him with a bright smile.

“I’ll take it from here, Miss Safina,” Morozov says, his dark eyes resting briefly and suspiciously on Genya before he turns his attention to Alina.

Genya watches them together, his fingers brushing her cheek, her leaning into him, his possessive hold, her kiss that lands a little too close to his mouth.

Alina has admitted nothing, but Genya is sure she knows her secret anyway.

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His Sun Summoner is close. Aleksander can sense it.

The tether has been there since they met in his tent, from the moment they first locked eyes.

She is close and he will have her, whatever it takes, however many interfering trackers he has to kill, whatever atrocities he must commit.

Alina is his.

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Aleksander has spent centuries perfecting his plans for the Sun Summoner. Considering every scenario and variable, ready to ensure they are either absolutely loyal or totally under his control, preferably both.

Then he meets Alina, with her sarcastic quips and sweetness under a prickly exterior and sunshine smile. And, suddenly, all his plans fall to pieces.

He never meant for his heart to get involved. Truthfully, he’d almost forgotten he had one.

She makes him feel in a way he hasn’t since he was so young and idealistic.

“You and I will change the world,” he murmurs to her, “you are my balance, my equal.”

And he finds that he truly means it.

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The sky is blue, the sun is shining and Alina finally feels – after months of worry and fear – like she and Mal may be safe.

But they only get to enjoy it for a moment, before the sky darkens.

“Little saint,” a voice calls from the darkness as the shadows curl around her ankles, “I’ve missed you.”

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With a new husband who is handsome, charming, intelligent and wealthy, Alina’s mama sees everyone as rivals.

But the one person she never thinks to watch is her own daughter, oblivious to the looks passing between them.

Keyen has never seen Alina for who she truly is, but Aleksander certainly does.

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“Can you smell burning?” Aleksander asks Ivan as they walk past the kitchens after a late meeting.

They find the little Sun Summoner inside, despairing over a burnt cake.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she sobs to Aleksander, “for your birthday.”

“Don’t worry, solnyshka,” he says, touched by her sweet gesture, “it’s the thought that counts.”

In the end, Ivan finds a chocolate cake and a single candle in one of the cupboards, Alina sings a very long Happy Birthday song with three extra verses that she makes up on the spot, and they all gorge themselves on cake.

Aleksander doesn’t bother to make a wish when he blows out the candle. This is already his happiest birthday.

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“Yeah, Lina was all over me. I popped her cherry and –”

Mal is cut off by a fist in his face that sends him sprawling to the floor.

“Talk crap about my sister like that again, Oretsev, and you won’t play football for the rest of the year.”

“What’s all the commotion, Sasha?” Alina asks when she walks over to meet him a minute later.

“Nothing for you to worry about, malyshka,” he presses a kiss to the crown of his step-sister’s head, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her towards the parking lot, “Oretsev is just learning not to spread lies.”

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All Alina has ever wanted is somewhere to belong, a true home.

She once thought she’d found it with Mal, but their paths diverge when Alina summons the sun.

The Little Palace, though, becomes more familiar and beloved every day.

With Aleksander by her side, she starts to feel like she has a home.

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It’s not really hitchhiking if it’s someone you know.

Ok, she doesn’t really know Mr Morozov that well, has only met him briefly twice before, but he’s Mal’s dad and not a total stranger.

And what choice does she have? The sun is high in the sky, she’s run out of water and her phone has died. It’s really so lucky that it’s him who came by, almost a hundred miles away from the town where they both live.

“Hop in,” he smiles at her, looking enviably cool and unflustered in his wonderfully air-conditioned car.

She thanks him profusely, but he waves her off, “I’m happy to help, Alina.”

“I’m really very grateful, Mr Morozov.”

He pats her leg, his hand lingering even as he starts the car, “please, call me Aleksander.”

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“What’s got you thinking so hard, Linka?”

“Mal wants to get hitched.”

“Oh?” her step-brother’s expression darkens, “he thinks he can do that? He’s not even working.”

“He says he’s got a job lined up.”

Aleksander snorts derisively.

“Sasha!” she frowns.

“Not a chance,” he tells her, “Oretsev won’t take care of you the way you deserve.”

“Well, it’s not like this town has an abundance of eligible men, Sasha.”

“You’ve got me,” he tells her, tugging her down into his lap, his lips pressed to hers, possessive and hungry, “you don’t need anyone else.”

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“Ivan,” he calls out, “have you seen my boots?”

His answer comes a moment later, when the little Sun Summoner rushes in, giggling and nearly tripping over in the boots and kefta that are far too big for her.

“I’m the General today!” Alina grins, "and I'm in charge, so I get all the cake I want."

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"You can't keep me locked up in this house forever," Alina grumbles.

Aleksander just smiles as he sets the alarms that monitor her every move for him, "it's for your own good, Alinochka. The world isn't safe for Grisha."

Alina nods, but she can't help but wonder if he is being entirely truthful.

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The moment the chain is loosened, Alina is off, sprinting across the throne room, the blinding light in her palms forcing people to make way for her.

But she can’t outrun Aleksander’s shadows. They wrap around her wrists and ankles before she reaches the door and then drag her back into her husband’s stifling embrace.

“If you wanted some fresh air, Alinochka, you only needed to ask,” he pets her hair and smiles in the frustrating way he reserves for her, indulgently condescending, “I’ll take you for a walk in the grounds tomorrow.”

She snarls at him, but he just tuts as he gestures for a Fabrikator to reinforce the chain, “and no trying to slip away again, little wife, or I’ll start to think you need a training refresher."

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Fairytales always have much to say on the subject of wicked step-mothers, but Alina never really finds anything about step-fathers.

She’s seventeen, though, too old to worry much about being banished to the kitchen or locked in an attic. Truthfully, she expects Aleksander to mostly ignore her.

What Alina doesn’t predict is that he might be wicked in a very different way to the fairytale step-mothers she used to read about.

Wicked smirk and gleam in his eyes when he watches her. Wickedly smug when she blushes under his attention. Wickedly and deliciously wrong when his hand finds its way under her skirt at dinner.

Alina finds she rather enjoys having a wicked step-father.

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“Thanks,” the girl – only a year or two younger than him – beams as he helps her pick up the parcels she’s dropped, “I’m Alina.”

“Aleksander,” he says, feeling somehow compelled to give her his true name, not the alias he’s currently going by.

She offers his hand and he hesitates for a moment, his mother’s warnings about his amplification ringing in his head.

But he can’t stand to see Alina’s smile start to fade in confusion, so he takes her hand.

The moment their skin touches, he feels a rush of power and looks in awe as his shadows rise to entwine with the tendrils of light coming from Alina’s hand.

He beams, shocked and delighted all at once. His wish has been answered and he’ll never be alone again.

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He’s big. Too big, really.

That’s how Alina likes it.

“You’re so small, malyshka,” he always coos as he works her open, “a little kukolka. A brute would just shove right into you, but daddy knows best, doesn’t he, malyshka? He knows just how to manage?”

“Yes, daddy,” she always whimpers as he painstakingly works one finger, then two, then three inside her.

He takes his time, pets her until she’s warm and soft and so wet that she drips all over the bedsheets.

And it’s all worth it in the end, all the time and patience.

In the end, she is entirely stuffed, snug around him, full in a way she’s never been with anyone else.

She never feels safer and more loved than in those moments.

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Alina notices him immediately in his moon mask, a twin of the sun one that she wears.

Hers is a family heirloom. His must be too.

She's heard tales of the Morozovs and their ancient alliance with her own family. she'd been told they had all died out.

It seems the alliance may need to be renewed.

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Protocol dictates that all kneel before the Shadow Emperor, but he reaches out the moment Alina goes to do so.

“Not you, solnyshka,” he murmurs, taking her hand and guiding her to the place at his right hand, “you are my equal, my balance, my eternal partner. You kneel to no one, not now, not ever.”

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“Kneel to your tsar, Oretsev.”

The tracker shakes his head defiantly, “I’ll never bow to you!”

Aleksander sighs. Young people can be so recalcitrant sometimes.

With barely a flick of his fingers, tendrils of shadow wrap around Oretsev’s limbs and force him to his knees.

“Where’s Alina?” the boy shouts, “what have you done with her?”

Aleksander smirks, “my sweet little tsarina is right where I left her – naked in our bed.”

It’s crass, not something he would announce to a full court, but Oretsev is a special case and he can’t resist the urge to torment the boy.

“No,” the tracker shakes his head disbelievingly, “she wouldn’t … you’ve forced her.”

Aleksander’s smirk widens smugly, “oh, I assure you, Oretsev. My Sun Summoner is entirely willing in our marriage bed.”

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One cider turns into two turns into three turns into four.

"So good, Sasha," she throws her arms around him, "you're a cider gen– ... a cider genius!"

"That's a lovely compliment, milaya, but how much did you drink."

"Only one glass ... plus three more."

"Saints, Alina. Come on, let's get you home."

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To call Mr Morozov’s expression cold when Alina introduces him is an understatement. It’s practically glacial, and Mal shivers.

“So, you are Malyen,” says his girlfriend’s boss, clearly unimpressed.

“It … it’s nice to meet you, sir.”

Mr Morozov says nothing in return, just ignores him and turns to Alina.

“A word in my office, Alina. I have an urgent project to discuss with you. Don’t worry about Malyen – Ivan will look after him.”

Ivan turns out to be a surly man who looks like he belongs in a special forces unit rather than an office.

“Do you … err … think that Mr Morozov will be long with Alina?”

“Yes.”

“Oh … it’s just we’ve got reservations and –”

“Cancel them.”

“But surely –”

“You may as well give up now. Mr Morozov always gets what he wants.”

Mal looks over at Mr Morozov’s office.

The door is closed and the blinds are pulled down.

But Alina wouldn’t …

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“When was the last time we had peace and quiet?” Ivan asks Fedyor tiredly as they watch the little Sun Summoner run around the snowy grounds of the Little Palace.

“Alternatively,” his husband points at their General, who has a wide smile on his face as Alina smashes a snowball into his face, “when was the last time we saw our esteemed General so happy?”

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“How are you still so skinny?” Genya asks as she selects two of the doughnuts Alina has brought to their Christmas party, “with your sweet tooth and a baker for a wife.”

“Oh,” Aleksander turns to wink at Alina, “don’t worry, we find many extremely pleasurable ways to burn off all the calories.”

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“Do I want to know who helped you with this little getup?” he asks, drinking in the sight of the shiny red ribbon against her golden skin, feeling ridiculously jealous of whichever friend assisted her.

“Don’t worry,” she winks, “it’s easier to put on than it looks. And if you tug that ribbon there –”

She nods gestures to the little bow tied across her breasts. He gives it a little pull and the whole thing unravels, leaving his wife gloriously naked in front of him.

“A very Merry Christmas indeed,” he grins.

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The Sun Witch is due to be executed at dawn.

A dozen Drüskelle guard her. She lies in a drug-induced haze, her hands bound.

And yet when the morning comes, she is gone, her guards cut down, darkness slithering through their veins.

The King of Fjerda’s severed head is nailed to the wall as a message.

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He’s a little mean.

It’s justified, he thinks. After all, she ran from him without trying to hear his side of the story.

He won’t allow anyone to touch her or speak to her.

Let her experience just a fraction of the loneliness he has.

Give it some time, and she’ll welcome rather than scorn his touch.

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She nearly trips trying to get away and he uses her momentary unsteadiness to wrap his arms around her like iron bands.

“Moya zhena,” he croons, “my sweet little wife, did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

“Sasha, please –”

He kisses her neck, “it’s time to come home where you belong, milaya.”

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Alina shivers.

At first she thinks it’s the chill in the air, but then she realises it’s a familiar presence, shadows creeping towards her.

“Mal,” she hisses, “we have to go now. Get to the stag before he does.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that, my Alina,” a voice croons from the darkness, “far too late.”

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“I got some new Christmas stockings, Sasha.”

“Why?” he asks as he fusses with the ornaments, “Ivan knitted these for us and he’d be sad if –”

He turns and his voice trails off as he takes in the Christmas stockings she’s wearing.

“Oh,” his confusion turns to a smirk, “very festive indeed, milaya.”

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His nephew Malyen is coming to stay for Christmas.

A tiresome boy, too entitled and lacking any work ethic. But, for Ulla's sake, he doesn't complain.

And then Malyen brings his girlfriend with him. Sweet Alina, who is far too good for his nephew.

As it turns out, every cloud has a silver lining.

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“Drink up, ptichka.”

The figure above her is blurred, tall and dressed in black, his features hidden by the shadows.

The broth is hot and delicious, gentle on a stomach that hasn’t had much food recently.

She means to ask who he is, but she’s so sleepy that the world goes dark before she can speak.

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At the gallery, she finds herself pausing at one particular statue, the marble woman bound with golden restraints. She’s intrigued and somewhat aroused.

“Roses of Restraint,” Aleksander reads out, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, “is that what you’d like, milaya.”

“Yes,” she says, voice breathy and excited, already imagining herself in the same position, Aleksander watching her with his dark eyes.

His hands settle on her waist, and as he stands behind her she can feel that he’s as aroused by the idea as she is.

“Well then, milaya, I’ll arrange everything.”

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She always knows when he’s come to visit her by the familiar scent of a forest in the midst of an icy winter.

“Hello, solnyshka. Are you ready to behave now, and take your rightful place by my side?”

She always refuses. Shuns him with sharp words or silent glares.

But her resolve weakens, during her long, lonely days. And she comes to desire his familiar presence, rather than despise it.

One day, she’ll say yes to him.

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He’s irritated and on edge, not looking forward to his cousin Malyen’s visit.

But then the door opens and he’s hit with the most mouthwatering scent.

Mine, his brain screams, my omega.

She’s so sweet, and ripe for the taking. Malyen won’t present any challenge, a weak beta easily ripped apart if he tries to protest.

Mine.Mine.Mine.

Malyen’s girlfriend gasps at the same time that Aleksander does.

A delicious little whimper and a rush of arousal she can’t hide.

“Alpha,” the word spills from her mouth, even as she tries to stop it.

Aleksander smirks, and then he pounces.

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Everyone knows the fearsome Darkling wears only black.

Then the little Sun Summoner takes up knitting as a hobby and handmakes all her Winter Solstice gifts.

Still, even with an unevenly-stitched golden scarf wrapped around his neck, and wearing garish mittens, the Darkling is as formidable as ever.

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Princess Alina receives many gifts for her birthday, but one is left in her bedroom rather than presented in the throne room.

A beautiful black and gold rose, a bloom she’s never seen before.

When she reaches out to admire it, she pricks her finger on a thorn and suddenly feels lightheaded.

Sleep, little princess, a voice murmurs in her ear, I’ll take good care of you.

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It’s deepest winter and a foolish time to be travelling through the mountains, but Alina has no choice, nowhere else to go.

She’s desperate enough when she sees the light to ask the stranger – a man wrapped up in a thick fur-lined black cloak – if she can share the warmth of his fire for a while.

He’s more generous than she expects, giving her a blanket to fight the chill and offering her a share of the meat he’s cooking over the fire.

It’s a hearty meal and she says he must be a good hunter. This makes him chuckle, although she isn’t sure why.

She’s so tired that she falls asleep by the fire.

“I’m so sorry,” she flushes pink when she wakes up, embarrassed by how she’s taken advantage of his hospitality.

“No worries,” he smiles and she feels warm under his appreciative scrutiny.

He hands her a man’s wool-lined jacket, too big for Alina but too small to belong to him, “saw a few travellers a day ago,” he tells her, “and one of them left this behind. Might as well go to good use.”

It’s madness that someone would have left behind such a warm, well-made garment, but Alina isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Why don’t you travel me with me,” the stranger – Aleksander, he adds when she asks, but tells her she can call him Sasha – says to her, “it’s safer in pairs. You hear scary stories about these mountains, and I’ve got plenty of meat to share.”

“I thought animals were scarce in these parts.”

“Oh, you just need to know where to look, milaya, and there’s plenty of sustenance to be found.”

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They met six weeks ago.

It’s no time at all, really, and yet Aleksander knows she’s the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

And when you know, you know.

What use is there in waiting?

He wraps her presents carefully. She has his heart, and for Christmas he will give her a diamond ring.

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“What’s he doing here?” Nina hisses, eyes wide with panic, “the boss never comes to the holiday party – he always locks himself in his office and works. Fuck, are we all getting fired?”

“Relax, Nina,” Genya says, “see where he’s gone.”

Right over to the corner where Alina Starkova – newly single after a nasty break-up – sits alone.

Mr Morozov has never been one to waste an opportunity.

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Alina makes five batches of a dozen sugar cookies with festive sprinkles for Irina’s school Christmas party.

She knows the sweet tooth her husband and their daughter share.

By the time those cookies make it to the school, there will hopefully be enough for the thirty children to have just one each.

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Mistletoe is seasonal. It’s practically expected.

And if Aleksander happens to hang it strategically, in a way that will ensure that he and his sweet step-sister are constantly caught beneath it, then that’s his own business.

It’s not like Alina has to follow the tradition. Whatever she might say, she kisses him because she wants to.

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Fuck, Alina thinks, she should never have agreed to do Genya a favour and play Santa's Elf in this tiny little costume, with a sexy Santa that she's wanted to jump since she arrived.

And he knows it too, given his smirk.

She tries to leave quickly when the event is over, but he catches her wrist and tugs her onto his lap, "come on then, Alinochka, tell Santa what you want for Christmas and we'll see if I can give you what you desire."

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With their family in the kitchen, Aleksander sneaks a bow and tag from one of his presents and sticks it on his favourite cousin's head.

"Looks like you're my present this year, Alinochka," he smirks and slips his hand under her pyjama top, "I look forward to unwrapping you later."

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Most girls ask for a pony or jewellery as a present for their eighteenth birthday.

His Sun Summoner asks for a country.

It's a gift that Aleksander is more than happy to give her, together with a golden kokoshnik, the head of the (now deposed) Lantsov tsar and a promise to stand by her side forever.

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"And where are you going all dressed up, Alinochka?"

"Mal's throwing a party, papa."

Anton Starkov frowns, "will there be drinking?"

"Err ... I promise I won't have any alcohol, papa."

"I'm not sure you're old enough for parties, Alinochka."

“I’m seventeen, papa.”

“Still, I’m not sure – ah, Aleksander, perfect timing.”

Her step-brother steps into the room, shooting Alina a smirk before turning back to his step-father, “Anton?”

“Alina wants to go to a party. What do you know about Malyen Oretsev?”

She nearly curses. Her step-brother has never liked Mal.

“He’s something of a troublemaker, I’m afraid.”

“He’s not,” Alina insists, “you don’t even know him, Sasha. You graduated three years ago.”

“I still hear stories, little Linka.”

“Papa, please, it’ll be fine.”

She turns to glare at Aleksander, whose smirk only widens.

“You know, Anton, I happen to be free this evening. I’d be happy to take Alina to the party, keep an eye on her.”

“No!”

She’ll never get a moment alone with Mal if Aleksander comes with her.

“What an excellent idea,” her papa smiles as if this settles it all, “very well, Alinochka – you can go as long as Aleksander goes with you.”

“I might as well not go at all,” Alina grumbles as she stomps up the stairs, Aleksander humming cheerily as he follows.

“And you’d be all the better for it, Linka. You’re far too good for Oretsev.”

“I love Mal.”

Her step-brother snorts derisively, “don’t be so ridiculous, Linka.”

“I do.”

He sighs and grabs her around the waist, tugging her into his bedroom and tossing her onto his bed, “you know that boy can’t give you what you need, Linka. Do you require a reminder?”

“We said that we wouldn’t do that again.”

“No, you said that, Linka. I made no such ridiculous promise.”

“It’s wrong, Sasha. I was … confused.”

Another sigh, dripping with condescension as he pushes her skirt up, “it looks like you do need a reminder, Linka.”

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New Year. New Love.

She posts the photo to Instagram. No showing Aleksander's face yet, but announcing that there is someone.

It's aimed at Mal. He's been hounding her to get back together and she's hoping he will stop with clear proof that she's moved on.

And if not, there's always the ring photo.

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Alina has never owned anything new, only hand-me-downs from the orphanage and the army.

But now she has a whole wardrobe of keftas tailored just for her.

She ought to be delighted, but it makes her shiver to see a sea of black embroidered with gold.

In theory, all Grisha serve the tsar, but these keftas send a clear message.

Alina belongs to the Darkling.

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“Personalised Christmas crackers,” Genya trills, setting a black and gold one in front of Alina.

Something about the colour combination makes Alina pause, but she can’t figure out why.

She pulls the cracker with Marie and examines the contents.

A golden paper crown, a joke about the Black Heretic and a heavy, ornate clawed ring.

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When Alina leaves, there are two dozen beautifully iced Christmas cookies.

When she returns home, there are five.

“They were quite small,” her blushing husband says, “only a mouthful or two each.”

“They were delicious, mama,” her energetic daughter grins.

She needs to hide the sweet treats better.

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"His name is Sunny," Aleksander straightens the bow on the neck of the yellow bear beanie baby before handing him over, "I know you collect them."

"I love him," Alina beams, cuddling the bear.

So many men have mocked her collection, but not Aleksander.

He kisses her forehead, "I'm glad, solnyskha."

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Alina tries to keep it to a brief peck, wishing this farce of a wedding to be over as soon as possible.

Morozov clearly has other ideas, though, deepening the kiss into something heated and possessive, his hand on the back of her neck to draw her closer.

"Don't think you can escape your marital duties, moya zhena," he murmurs as they break apart, “this marriage will be consummated tonight.”

“Over my dead body,” she hisses.

“No,” he laughs meanly, “over your old sweetheart Mal’s, if you choose not to cooperate.”

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It’s just a quick peck, Mal thinks to himself as he watches Alina with his older brother.

On the mouth.

Still, it’s only a friendly gesture. Alina is a friendly girl. Of course, Aleksander doesn’t normally take to someone so quickly, but surely it’s good that his brother and his fiancée get on well.

It’s fine. Really.

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“I’m not drunk,” is the first thing she says after she kisses her ex-professor.

“I didn’t think you were, Miss Starkova.”

“Well, I just wanted to … you know … make sure you knew that this isn’t a trick or a dare or anything.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“I don’t care that you’re twenty years older than me. I’m an adult. I’ve graduated now and you were only my professor for one semester and that was two years ago. And –”

She pauses to stare at him, “you’re not arguing.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Of course not!”

“Then there’s nothing to argue about. You are an attractive and interesting young woman, Miss Starkova.”

“Call me Alina.”

“Alina, then. And I suppose you ought to call me Aleksander.”

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“He was such a gentleman, Nina. It was pouring rain, my Uber never showed up and some idiot sped past and soaked me with muddy water. Then he swoops in like a knight in shining armour and insists I share his fancy town car and go to dinner with him. He loves art and history, just like me, and he never talked over me – actually listened when I spoke!”

“Already miles better than Mal, then. So, did you, you know …?”

Her friend makes an unmistakable gesture and Alina blushes, “we didn’t … it wasn’t like that … I mean, he asked for my number and I gave him my card, but he’s not going to call.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It was a magical evening, but fairytales don’t last, Nina.”

“Well, this one might, Alina. Because I can see a guy asking for you at reception and he looks exactly like the man you described to me.”

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She nearly screams when he steps out of the shadows, “what are you doing here?”

He looks around at her spacious apartment and sneers, “it seems being the tsar’s pet has it’s perks.”

“It’s not like that, Sasha, I’m trying to change things slowly, from the inside, and you –”

“I am an internationally wanted terrorist, according to the news.”

Alina winces. She’d tried to argue against the tsar releasing such a statement, but she’d been ignored.

“Still,” Aleksander murmurs, already stepping back into the shadows, “I imagine I sleep much more soundly at night than you do, little saint.”

Chapter Text

The beautiful old house is supposedly haunted, but Alina's already fallen in love with it.

The ornate mirror left behind by a former owner is a lovely thing that she decides to keep, regardless of the stories of a vicious, shadowy spirit attached to it.

There's no such thing as ghosts, after all.

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For centuries, Aleksander has had plans for the Sun Summoner. He has goals and won't allow anyone to interfere with them.

But, against his better judgement, despite her stubbornness and refusal to accept who she is, he's charmed by Alina.

He doesn't want to use her. He wants them to work together.