Chapter Text
“You killed him.”
“Yes,” the Darkling nods, offering no regrets, no apologies.
“Nikolai was a good man.”
“Perhaps, but he would not have made a good tsar. He is not what Ravka needs.”
“You didn’t have to kill him. Pyotr and Vasily, I can understand, but not Nik.”
“I might have let him live in exile, but I knew he would never stop fighting me. I imagine you know that too, Alina.”
“Will you kill me, then? I won’t stop fighting you either.”
She says it as fiercely as she can, light flaring in her hands, wondering if she could move quickly enough to burn him, leave a mark even the Healers couldn’t fully remove.
“Never,” his answer is spoken as fiercely as her words, and then, softly, “you know what you mean to me, Alina.”
“Do I? You stormed my wedding, killed the man I was to marry and many more besides, and then seized the throne.”
“Alina,” he steps forward, takes her hands in his, unbothered by their searing heat, which does not seem to touch him, “my Alina. This is for the best, and you will come to see that. We are the only ones who can heal Ravka, make it safe for Grisha. We are bound, light and darkness, two sides of the same coin – we were always meant to be together.”
His charisma and his sincere conviction have always been two of the Darkling’s most dangerous attributes along with his power and his centuries of experience.
Even Alina, aware of many of the worst of his actions over the centuries, is not immune to his charm, to his warm and coaxing manner and the tender way he touches her.
No one has ever wanted her the way he does. No one has ever razed battlegrounds and enacted coups just so she can stand by their side.
She wants to believe she can resist him. She’s rather afraid, though, that she’s fighting a losing battle.