Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"A drop?"

Genya nods, "just one."

So easy to end a life and marriage.

Aleksander caresses the bump she's been carefully concealing, "you can leave after the funeral. I'll follow in a month."

Alina smiles, leans back into his embrace.

She won't miss this town. She won't mourn Mal.

Chapter Text

Genya breezes in with take-out.

“You can’t just drop by unexpectedly,” Alina protests.

“Why? You’re not working. What –”

Genya stops and turns, grinning. She’s spotted Aleksander’s favourite cashmere jumper, two wineglasses.

The red-head sighs happily, “Zoya totally owes me $20.”

Chapter Text

“When did you get this many plants?” Genya asks, “the ficus I gave you was dead in a week.”

He mutters about wanting a change and flees before she can interrogate him.

Isn’t ready to talk about Alina, the pretty artist he’d met, who insists he needs more greenery in his home.

Chapter Text

“I’ll get to the root of the problem,” Dr Morozov promises Ana.

“I’m not crazy,” Alina mutters when her guardian is gone, “I really can make light move.”

“Oh, Alina,” Dr Morozov flicks his fingers and tendrils of shadow twist around her ankles, “you can do far more than that.”

Chapter Text

Tendrils of shadow curl around Alina's waist, keeping her steady when she almost trips over the tree root in her path.

Aleksander sighs. It will be a full-time job watching over the little Sun Summoner.

Still, as he watches her giggle while she summons, he's sure it's worth it.

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“Come out of your hidey-hole, Alina,” Aleksander’s voice echoes around the clearing.

She crouches, frozen, praying he won’t find her.

Suddenly, a hand grabs her ankle and she shrieks as he tugs her out of her hiding place.

His mouth stretches into a shark’s grin, “hello, milaya.”

Chapter Text

"Please, let him live. I'll do anything, I promise."

"You beg prettily enough, moya tsarina, but I don't suffer traitors like him."

Alina screams as the Black Tsar's Cut severs Mal's head from his body. No tears, though - she won't give her monstrous husband that satisfaction.

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"Empty," an oprichnik calls.

"Not quite," Aleksander's shadows find her despite her invisibility, closing in until she loses concentration and reappears.

His hand caresses her cheek, "a valiant rescue attempt, Alina. Now, tell me, what are you willing to do to save your friends?"

Chapter Text

Alina has spent years hearing empty promises from everyone in her life, even Mal.

Not from Aleksander, though. He is determined to exceed all her expectations.

She holds back, scared he'll leave. Until one day she reaches for him without fear of rejection and she learns to trust.

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The house should be empty, but Alina's not surprised to find Aleksander waiting.

"You're not supposed to be here," she reminds him, avoiding his gaze.

"I thought we could talk."

She knows how a talk will end, knows better than to get pulled back into his orbit.

She agrees anyway.

Chapter Text

Alina works long hours in a stressful job. If she wants to have an extremely satisfying, head-empty, all pleasure friends-with-benefits fling with her handsome, intelligent and entirely obnoxious neighbour, then that's her right.

There are no feelings involved at all.

Really.

Chapter Text

Alina can see the banners. The sun in eclipse, signaling the Black Heretic's arrival. She should flee, shouldn’t give him a way to control the Fold.

But she only has her power to bargain with and she can’t abandon her people.

“Saddle my horse.”

She has to try, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

Mal can’t take his eyes off her, his old friend now dressed in finery, surrounded by soldiers with badges showing the sun in eclipse.

“Be careful,” Dubrov warns, “men who look too long at the Black Duke’s wife end up dead.”

Alina looks straight at him, no recognition in her eyes.

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“Mudblood! Stain of dishonor!”

"Ignore mother,” curtains cover the screaming portrait, “she never understood that power is everything. You and I, Alina, we'll change the world.”

Aleksander’s hand is on her arm, power in his touch.

She's entranced despite the dark rumours.

Chapter Text

The champagne makes her bubbly and brave.

On her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lipstick stain left behind.

Then the panic. Will he hate her? Has she ruined their friendship?

But he smiles, "you missed," he murmurs, leaning down to slant his lips over hers.

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Alina wonders how long she's been trapped in darkness, so stained with blood and dirt she thinks she'll never be clean again.

But then ... gentle touch, low soothing voice, shadows shielding her eyes from the light, warm bath, Aleksander's hand holding hers.

She knew he'd come.

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid it is impossible for you to see Miss Starkova privately today, Mr Oretsev. Not only is she indisposed, but it would be quite remiss of me as her guardian to allow a penniless cad like you the opportunity to stain her reputation.”

Oretsev splutters and protests and even pleads, as if Aleksander is the sort of man to be moved by a boy’s lust masquerading as love.

He thinks of lovely Alina upstairs in his bed, sleepy and sated, and longs to return to her.

Not yet, though. He has a special licence to procure and a wedding to plan (Viscountess Kostyk will surely assist there). After all, it wouldn’t do for a possible heir to be born too early into their marriage.

Patience is a virtue. Anticipation makes the end result sweeter. It will be a busy day but Aleksander looks forward to the reward later on.

Chapter Text

Aleksander goes up the fire escape, easily breaks the lock and slips through the window into Alina’s apartment.

Scowling at how easy it is to break in, he makes a mental note to move her somewhere more secure, with a doorman and decent locks. His mistake when he’d last mentioned the issue of her apartment had obviously been in giving her a choice in the matter.

Blood drips down and stains the carpet, but he’s entirely unconcerned by the mess – this place is one small step from being condemned and a bit of blood won’t make any difference.

Alina is a light sleeper, appearing in the doorway of her bedroom with a baseball bat in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. He smiles fondly – always prepared, his darling girl.

“What happened, Sasha?”

“Just a graze, milaya,” he reassures her.

It’s been properly cleaned and bandaged by Ivan. The blood still dripping down is actually from the severed hand stuffed in his jacket pocket, belonging to Vasily Lanstsov and soon to be sent to Pyotr Lantsov as an effective message that the odious man should keep his nose out of Aleksander’s business.

Alina sighs at the blood but puts down the bat and first aid kit so she can lean up to kiss him enthusiastically.

His hands wander, which he thinks is perfectly understandable considering she’s wearing only a tank top and knickers, and because he’s almost painfully and unbearably attracted to her every moment of the day.

“Move in with me,” he suggests, skipping straight from simply finding her a nicer apartment to the even better idea of having her secure in his fortress of a home.

“Too soon, Sasha,” she shakes her head and laughs, “it’s only been three months.”

Silly girl, really. When you know, you know. And Aleksander has always been quick to know what he wants.

Ah well, he thinks to himself, taking her hand and leading her towards the bedroom, just another opportunity to use those skills of persuasion.

And he plans to be very persuasive indeed.

Chapter Text

She seems timid to begin with, the little Sun Summoner, nervous and homesick and a little disbelieving about her own power.

But Alina comes into her in the months that follow her arrival, and soon enough she’s a force to be reckoned with, causing chaos all over the Little Palace, usually with both Genya and Nina in tow.

Ivan threatens to go MIA at least once a week – with flour in his hair or singed eyebrows or a muddy kefta – but Aleksander knows he’ll never really leave … it wouldn’t do, after all, for his second in command to admit he’s been bested by a nine-year-old.

He forgets, for a while, that she’s still just a child plucked from obscurity and subject to pressure from all sides.

She adjusts so well after the first week or so that he doesn’t even realise she might be hiding her struggles until he comes back from a brief campaign and finds the Little Palace in disarray.

“We can’t find her,” Fedyor admits, with a pale face and terrified expression, “she disappeared after breakfast. The oprichniki insist she hasn’t left the building but we’re still searching.”

Panic. The sort he hasn’t felt in centuries.

And then he tries to think rationally, to focus so that he can find her.

There is a bond, a thread between them. Like calls to like, he supposes, and the tether that ties them together became apparent almost as soon as they met, growing steadily stronger the more time they spend with each other.

He uses that now, relieved that he can sense her close by.

Alina turns out to be in his room. In his closet, in fact, curled up with one of his winter keftas wrapped around her like a blanket.

She startles awake when he clears his throat, flushing red and stammering out apologies.

“You had everyone quite worried, myshka,” he leans down to help her out, “why are you hiding away?”

She looks down, as if ashamed, and he frowns.

“Alina, look at me,” he orders her, “and tell me what’s wrong.”

She shrugs, “I just wanted to be alone for a while. I’m never by myself, not really. I love Genya and Nina and Fedyor, and my lessons and riding and games. It’s only … I know everyone is relying on me but sometimes … I … I …”

Alina trails off, seemingly unable to articulate her thoughts.

Aleksander sighs. She has such burdens despite her young age and he does wish she could have more chance to simply be a child. Unfortunately, with the tsar breathing down his neck and enemies on every side, they simply do not have the luxury of time.

Still, he hates that the expectations weighing down on her have reversed time, brought back the timid, scared girl he’d first met rather than the grinning, bright little thing he adores.

“It’s alright to want a break, myshka,” he murmurs, ruffling her hair affectionately, “and you’re always welcome to hide in here. Just … maybe tell someone next time, so everyone knows not to worry.”

Alina nods, smiling now, “is Ivan back too, Sasha?” she asks, “do you think he’ll play a game with me?”

“I’m sure he’d be delighted,” he says, trying to hide his amusement.

She runs off happily, shouting his second’s name at the top of her voice. It’s funny, really, how much she loves to play games with Ivan no matter how often he calls her a gremlin or a beast or a little tyrant. She seems to genuinely enjoy the Heartrender’s company, even though Ivan insists she is purposefully trying to drive him to insanity.

Aleksander goes over to his desk and finds the forms for requesting personal time off, scribbling Ivan and Fedyor’s names down and assigning them a full two weeks off.

Might as well get all the paperwork ready now. He gives it three hours tops before Ivan turns up demanding a holiday.

Chapter Text

A student of architecture, she’s visiting for inspiration. Never expects to be trapped when radical Grisha take over the Ravkan Parliament.

The leader eyes her with interest. His hand grasps her wrist and light spills out.

“Well,” a dark grin, “this is a delightful surprise.”

Chapter Text

She tries to eat neatly, but he can see how hungry she is, how eagerly she makes her way through the soup and chicken pie and biscuits he offers her. She’s tiny, almost frail, shivering in spite of the three thick blankets he’s carefully wrapped around her.

It’s madness for her to have been out in such a fierce storm. He’ll scold her thoroughly for it, once she’s warm and dry and well-fed.

Clearly, the girl needs a husband to look after her. He has been thinking it’s time for him to take a wife, and Miss Alina Starkova is certainly a pretty little thing who is oh so grateful for his hospitality.

It’s obviously a sign that she has wandered into his path on such a night, when he’s craving the companionship and warmth she can provide.

Yes, he’s sure she’ll make him a fine wife indeed.

Chapter Text

Arm a mess of bruises. Difficulty drawing blood.

He fusses, suggests she see his private doctor (“won’t help, Sasha, they all struggle to find a vein”), orders her favourite food, watches a rom-com with her.

Later, she tells him of the confirmed pregnancy. His smile is blinding.

Chapter Text

She turns up at work with a split lip and bruised eye, unable to fully hide them even with make-up.

Aleksander’s jaw clenches, her usually unreadable boss clearly furious.

She gets home that evening and all signs of Mal’s presence are gone.

Alina never asks what happened to him.

Chapter Text

It is easy to see the throbbing vein in Ivan’s temple.

A man on the edge. Eye twitching, knuckles white, body tense, teeth clenched, kefta torn and muddy.

“She. Is. A. Menace,” his second-in-command growls.

Aleksander’s gaze goes to Alina.

The little Sun Summoner’s hair is a bit windswept, and the hem of her kefta slightly stained, but she is otherwise neat and tidy. She is sitting quietly with a book of Ravkan fairytales, behaving as beautifully as she always does when she visits his rooms.

“Alina, solnyshko,” he says, “is there anything you want to tell me?”

She looks up, her expression one of perfect innocence, “we went riding and Sparkles was very good – we jumped three fences today.”

He can see Ivan close to erupting. Whatever else might have gone on, the Heartrender finds the fact that Alina has given her horse – carefully selected from the group Aleksander has been breeding for almost two and a half centuries, and one of the finest mares in the stables – a name as childish as Sparkles to be an affront to good taste.

“Ivan fell off his horse,” she adds, “he didn’t jump any fences.”

“And how did Ivan fall off?” he asks, since the man himself seems incapable of speaking right now, simply getting steadily redder.

Aleksander knows his second is an experienced and capable rider and hasn’t witnessed him fall off a horse since he was a child.

Alina only shrugs, “I think the horse got scared.”

“Why you little –” Ivan begins to interrupt, but Aleksander puts a hand up to stop him.

Ivan, sensing a dismissal, stalks out of the room, probably in search of a bath and a chance to vent to his husband.

As soon as the door closes behind Ivan, Aleksander turns to Alina with a severe look on his face.

He is not a fool. She may have the innocent act very well practiced, but he’s over five centuries old and he knows when she’s lying to him.

She pouts sadly, lower lip trembling.

“Don’t try that one on me, solnyshko,” he warns her, “I’m wise to your tricks.”

“Are you going to make me apologise?” she asks with a frown, as if there is nothing in the world worse than that.

“Not this time,” he says, “it’s good for Ivan to learn how to work in adverse conditions and deal with troublemakers.”

She starts to grin, but he carries on, “however, you will be joining me in some of my meetings for the next few weeks, and you better ensure you pay close attention because I’ll be quizzing you.”

Alina groans loudly and he hides his smirk. Her torment of Ivan may be a learning experience for the Heartrender, but she needs to know that her actions have consequences.

The education of his Sun Summoner is of the utmost importance, but no one said he couldn’t find a little amusement along the way.

Chapter Text

They split up on Monday.

He’s too controlling, jealous of her male friends, intense in a way she struggles to handle after two decades of indifference from almost everyone around her.

She can’t stay away, though. Chemistry has certainly never been their problem. It’s nice to be wanted and taken care of. No one has ever listened to her the way he does, with his attention entirely focused on her.

They get back together on Friday. She shows off a sparkling diamond ring to her friends on Saturday.

Chapter Text

All his employees think they know Aleksander’s secret vice – a glazed donut from his favourite bakery.

None guess his real weakness is tiny human sunbeam Alina, unproductive employee Mal’s fiancée.

And none notice Alina’s regular visits to Aleksander’s soundproofed office.

Chapter Text

Hidden away down a side street, Aleksander's new favourite bookshop.

A wonderful collection, but the real attraction is Alina, a pretty English student who works there.

He never realised how lonely he was until he became addicted to her sunny smile and the sound of her laughter.

Chapter Text

“Alina … Alina!”

A tendril of shadow wraps around her wrist, light pressure bringing her out of her daydream.

She blinks once, twice, and realises Aleksander is waiting for her to speak.

“I …”

“Your eyes were glazed over,” he frowns in disappointment.

“Were not,” she pouts.

“Well then,” he says sceptically, “what was I talking about, Alinochka?”

“Err … cows?”

He only shakes his head at her and sighs.

“Agricultural history is so boring, Sasha. Why can’t we practice summoning?”

“It’s important that you know these things, Alinochka.  You’re going to need them when –”

He pauses then and falls silent, the way he always does on the rare occasions when he forgets himself and then decides he’s said too much.

“When what?” she asks.

“Never you mind,” he tweaks her nose affectionately and then ruins it by passing her a book almost as big as her head, “chapter 10, and no skipping pages – I’ll test you later.”

Chapter Text

“I’ll have two glazed donuts, one pain au chocolat, a piece of honey-cake and three brownies … and what did you want, Alina?”

She thinks of asking him to share, but remembers what happened the last time she suggested that.

“Just two pieces of baklava for me, Sasha.”

Chapter Text

“A diamond in the rough,” he murmurs as Ivan maneuvers Alina Starkova out of the tent and towards the waiting carriage.

 She’ll need plenty of training, but Aleksander is happy to put the work in to acquire the perfect eternal Sun Summoner bride to sit by his side as tsarina.

Chapter Text

The arrival of the mandatory yearly HR sexual harassment training is always met with a groan when they all find themselves inevitably faced with a stammering fool or sour-faced bore telling them things they already know.

Grisha Industries is renowned for their employee wellbeing. The few HR incidents that occur are dealt with swiftly and efficiently (usually by Inej, who is generally sweet and lovely but becomes absolutely terrifying when faced with an idiot who thinks it’s a good idea to stick his hand up the barely-legal intern’s skirt). And yet, each year they still find themselves stuck in a day of lectures and power-points so dull that someone (Nikolai) inevitably falls asleep.

This year, though, Group A (employees are split into groups of about 15-20 people for their HR training) know a secret, and most of them are feeling a little … devilish.

“What is your stance on romantic relationships within the company, say … between the boss and one of the department heads?” asks Nikolai.

The HR rep Anton’s gaze moves to Aleksander Morozov, the CEO of Grisha Industries. He stares back, dark eyes daring Anton to ask him a question.

Next to Aleksander, Alina can’t quite look anyone in the eyes.

“Well of course,” Anton answers, “there are a number of issues to consider there. Nepotism, power dynamics and,” he pauses for a moment, darting another glance at Aleksander before bravely continuing, “err … is there something specific you want to report, Mr Lantsov?”

“Oh no,” Nikolai waves his hand dismissively, cheerfully pretending he can’t see Aleksander’s death stare, “entirely hypothetical.”

“I have another hypothetical,” Zoya has a sly smile on her face, “what might be the proper protocol if one heard two of their colleagues engaging in ... certain acts in one of the unused meeting rooms in the middle of the work day?”

“Zoya,” Aleksander says only her name, but it is warning enough.

A warning she blithely ignores, “certain acts,” she clarifies, “being very loud sex.”

“Miss Nazyalenskya,” Anton looks horrified, “surely no one would –”

Nina lets out a loud snort of laughter, “you’d think a HR rep wouldn’t be so easily shocked. Plenty of people absolutely would.”

Her wink in Matthias’ direction and his corresponding blush both tell an interesting story.

“If we’re discussing hypotheticals,” Fedyor begins.

“Which we are not,” Aleksander growls.

“I have another hypothetical,” Fedyor continues, “and it involves the heinous misuse of office equipment.”

“Fedya,” Ivan nudges his husband in warning, sensing an imminent explosion from their boss.

“Thank the Saints we have such discrete, thorough cleaners,” Genya sighs softly.

Poor Anton seems very much like he does not know where to look.

Aleksander appears to be on the verge of committing mass murder.

Alina is torn between fleeing the room and giggling hysterically.

Nina, Nikolai, Nadia and Jesper begin pestering Anton with increasingly depraved scenarios.

Alina, noting their distraction, feels brave enough to grab Aleksander’s hand and squeeze it gently, “they’re only teasing, Sasha.”

“They know exactly what they’re doing,” he mutters darkly, “it’s all well and good to make jokes when it’s just us, but not with someone from HR here.”

“We’ll be fine,” Alina reassures him, “everyone has been talking about people pairing off – Zoya and Nik; Nina and Matthias; Genya and David; Ivan and Fedyor; Nadia and Tamar; Jesper and Wylan; and Kaz and Inej – in ‘hypotheticals’ for the last few years and nothing has ever come of it.”

“Saints,” she adds after a moment, “we really are all coupled-up. Just Tolya and Marie as the odd ones out.”

“Pretty sure those two hooked up after drinks last Friday,” Nina whispers from two seats away, “and then again at the weekend. Maybe you should open a match-making service,” she suggests cheekily.

Aleksander only sighs.

“Want to sneak away to your lovely soundproofed office,” Alina suggests, “Anton seems entirely distracted by other things.”

Zoya is now scribbling two stick figures in a very compromising position on top of a poorly drawn desk on the whiteboard, and asking Anton lots of questions that are making him splutter and his cheeks flush a bright red.

“Let’s go,” he agrees.

They make it out of the room without anyone but Ivan and Kaz noticing, and they know those two won’t say anything.

“Blissful freedom,” Alina grins, “shall we make the most of it?”

Anton goes off on stress leave that very same afternoon, driven close to a nervous breakdown by all the innuendo and inappropriate questioning he had to endure.

Aleksander and Alina make a bit of a mess in his office.

Nikolai and Zoya follow their example in Zoya’s office. Nina and Matthias cause a rather a lot of chaos in the stationery room.

The cleaners get a nice bonus and a pile of NDAs to sign.

Chapter Text

Childish love turns to hate when Mal leaves, fearful and jealous and disgusted by her power.

And now the meadow and the orphanage are gone, as is the boy she played with and once adored. All consumed by the burning light of Alina’s furious use of merzost.

“I've seen what you truly are," Aleksander says afterwards, eyes dark and full of desire, "and I've never turned away. I never will.”

Everyone flees before her, but not Aleksander. He stays.

Chapter Text

Society nods approvingly at Viscount Morozov.

Hard-working, carefully increasing his already fabulous wealth, handsome and intelligent. The catch of the season, for surely at the age of thirty-eight he wishes for a bride who will give him an heir.

“And just look at what he’s done for his ward,” society mamas whisper, “the best masters, the loveliest dresses, increasing her modest dowry from his own funds.”

The Honourable Alina Starkova is certainly one of the belles of the season. Her looks might not be fashionable, but she is pretty, accomplished and possessed of an enticing fortune thanks to her guardian’s generosity.

For all their charms, though, neither seem to form an obvious or serious attachment as the season progresses.

The Viscount dances frequently with Lady Zoya Nazyalenskya, but seems entirely unbothered when she announces her engagement to Nikolai Lantsov, a great nephew of the Queen.

Miss Starkova appears charmed by the Honourable Malyen Oretsev, only for the gentleman to leave town under a dark cloud following the circulation of nasty rumours about his gambling habits, as well as an unfortunate dressmaker left in a delicate condition following a liaison with him.

Guardian and ward dance twice together at every ball, sometimes in silence and other times in quiet conversation that no one ever manages to overhear. Those are the only moments the pair of them seem entirely content.

Weeks pass by and suitors grumble about interrogations from Viscount Morozov, who coolly says only that he is protecting his ward from fortune hunters and unscrupulous cads.

Ladies sigh that the Viscount never pays calls, not even on the season’s incomparables. And when they pay calls on Miss Starkova in the hope of catching a glimpse of her guardian, they are always disappointed.

Those attempting to approach the Viscount and Miss Starkova on their frequent walks in the park are greeted politely but always wind up feeling like a third wheel, unwanted and superfluous.

No one ever dares to whisper anything scandalous about Miss Starkova, even if they notice that she and the Viscount occasionally emerge from a library or retiring room or study a little disheveled, or see that he holds her a shade too close when they dance, or realise how often the pair look at each other.

Everyone knows what a good shot the Viscount is, and it is clear that he will issue a serious challenge and go through with a duel for the sake of his ward’s honour.

Nobody says a thing.

Not when the betrothal announcement appears.

Not when a special licence is granted so the marriage can take place almost immediately.

Not when the new Viscountess gives birth to a healthy heir eight months after the wedding.

Everybody knows the truth, but none dare to speak it out loud.

Chapter Text

Mal flexes his muscles, showing off the results of his recent gym obsession.

But his girlfriend’s not paying attention. Instead, Alina is deep in conversation with his uncle Aleksander, the two of them standing close together, smiling like they’ve got a secret Mal’s not privy to.

Chapter Text

“I’m very flexible,” she says at her interview, “I don’t mind working odd hours and some weekends or evenings if you need me.”

Alina Starkova is by far the best candidate Aleksander has seen, even without taking into account her sunny smile and pretty face.

In his bedroom, after celebratory drinks at the end of her first week, she proves quite thoroughly to him that work isn’t the only area where she can be flexible.

Chapter Text

Aleksander is walking in the park when the dog bounds up and sniffs at his shoes. Leans down to pet him just as the owner catches up with him.

Dark hair, golden skin, sunny smile. He’s entirely dazzled.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “he can be a bit too friendly sometimes and not everyone is comfortable with it.”

“Mine is just the same,” he blurts out, trying not to make it obvious that he’s managed to become smitten with her after roughly three seconds.

“Oh, what breed?” she asks, smile even wider than before.

“Err … Labrador Retriever.”

“Aww, I love those. Such a shame they aren’t with you today.”

“A shame, yes,” he tries not to stutter.

She holds out her hand, “I’m Alina. This is Sol.”

“Aleksander,” he shakes her hand, “Volcra is with my sister today.”

“Well, I better go,” she says, “or Sol will get restless. Maybe I’ll see you and Volcra around some time.”

“I hope so … I mean, maybe, yes.”

She waves as she walks on, while Aleksander stands there stupefied.

On his way out of the park, he pulls out his phone and dials.

“Ivan … yes … no … look, I need you to find me a Labrador Retriever who is very friendly and can be trained to answer to the name Volcra … no, I haven’t gone crazy … today or tomorrow … no, I will not tell you why.”

Well, he has been thinking for a while that it would be nice to have some company around the house.

Chapter Text

“Oh, milaya, barely a touch and you’re soaked.”

Mal always complained she was difficult to arouse, but with Aleksander it seems as easy as breathing.

She whimpers, needy and wanting.

“Sweet girl,” he kisses her, hand slipping between her legs, “don’t worry, I’ll look after you.”

Chapter Text

Alina is lost, freezing cold and soaked to the skin from the heavy rain.

Her phone is dead, she accidentally left her card at home and Mal ‘borrowed’ the last of her cash before he abandoned her for leggy, blonde Ruby.

She is trying not to panic when a sleek, expensive car with tinted windows pulls up. She starts to back away, having heard far too many horror stories, when the door opens to reveal a familiar face.

She doesn’t know Mal’s uncle Aleksander particularly well, having always been somewhat wary of his penetrating stare and dangerous aura, but she does relax slightly to find that it isn’t a stranger inside the car.

“Alinochka,” he tuts, “look at you, poor thing. Get in and I’ll take you home.”

She hesitates for a few moments. There’s something about his eyes, dark and hungry, that makes her nervous, as if he seeks to devour her whole.

But this is real life, not a fairytale like Little Red Riding Hood, and she’s out of options with Mal and the rest of her friends gone.

Alina takes the hand he offers and climbs into the backseat of the car next to him while he gives instructions to his driver that she can’t quite hear.

As she buckles her seatbelt, his hand settles on the bare skin of one of her legs, fingers toying with the hem of the sparkly mini-dress that now feels entirely too short.

She opens her mouth to ask what he’s doing, but his presence – heavy and powerful and imposing – makes her tongue-tied and she stays silent.

“No need to worry, milaya,” he murmurs, voice soothing and almost hypnotising, “I’ll take good care of you.”

The car door closes and locks with an ominous click.

Chapter Text

They walk home, Irina swinging happily between them. She laughs and jumps around in a pile of golden and reddish-brown leaves.

“Pretty,” she crows, “can I take some home, papa?”

Aleksander nods indulgently. Alina smiles, imagining another autumn masterpiece for the fridge.

Chapter Text

When Aleksander bursts in, knife in one hand and gun in the other, Alina has already escaped the zip-ties and is piling the furniture so she can reach the ceiling air vent. He looks almost disappointed to find he’s not needed.

Alina grins, “I’m a self-rescuing princess, Sasha.”

Chapter Text

Viscount Morozov is an excellent catch on paper – handsome, intelligent and with wealth to rival most of the earls and many of the dukes in the country.

And yet, even the most industrious matchmaking mamas steer their eligible daughters in the other direction.

It is hard to tell precisely why his reputation is so foreboding. There are plenty of rumours, but few substantiated facts. All that is firmly established is that he has some unsavoury connections, he is never to be trifled with and he is one of the most dangerous men in England.

Aleksander has never been concerned about his reputation. Indeed, it has helped a great deal in his business endeavours. He has also had no wish to marry and so has been unbothered to find himself avoided by almost every eligible young lady.

Until now.

Until Miss Alina Starkova.

The daughter of the third son of a baron, she has only a tiny dowry and no particularly great prospects.

But Aleksander has no need of a dowry, and he thinks that if society cannot see what a gem Miss Starkova is then it is their loss and his gain.

Unfortunately, the lady’s family object most strongly to him.

Aleksander considers Miss Starkova to be everything he could want – witty, clever, pretty and accomplished, with a smile like the sun and a refreshing tendency to speak her mind.

Her family, on the other hand, can go directly to the devil for all he cares.

Nevertheless, their objections, while an irritant, are no particular obstacle to a resourceful and intelligent man like Aleksander.

Miss Starkova is a little hesitant but clearly intrigued by him, and she blushes delightfully in his presence. It won’t take much to get her alone in a deserted study or library and give her a taste of the pleasure he can bring her.

Hopefully, it won’t take more than a few tries for his seed to take root, although he’s doesn’t think he’ll mind much if he has to dedicate himself more thoroughly to the task.

And then he will have his perfect bride, her family sure to be desperate to give her over to him so they can avoid a scandal.

After all, no one ties a pair together in holy matrimony faster than the panicked parent or guardian of a young lady who has found herself with child while still unwed.

Chapter Text

Hellish work trip. Grimy hotel, surly colleagues, sub-par food and they don’t even get the contract.

Arrives home craving a bottle of wine. Drops her bags in shock when she finds what Sasha has made for her.

Two hours christening the cosy little nook is all she needs to cheer up.

Chapter Text

Strawberry shortcake in spring. Baklava sweetened with syrup in summer. Pumpkin pie and cream for Thanksgiving. Gingerbread at Christmas. Countless other delicious desserts.

Alina spoils him terribly, indulging his sweet tooth, but he has to take advantage of her owning a bakery.

Chapter Text

Aleksander is eternal. He is more than a mere mortal man.

Nevertheless, he still has baser urges, at least from time to time.

It would be more convenient to avail himself of the many offers he receives from his Grisha and, on occasion, oprichniki, but he does not like to do this, wishing to avoid awkward entanglements with the men and women he works so closely with and knowing that messy emotions can play havoc with the chain of command. He also stays away from the tsar’s court for the most part, finding the aristocracy a necessary evil that he spends as little time as possible around.

Usually, then, it is otkazat’sya outside the palaces that he turns to. Sometimes from a village or city he is passing through, and other times from one of the establishments that cater for these particular urges (provided that they are well-run, clean and as non-exploitative as such places can be).

It is his favourite establishment, a discrete building in the south section of Os Alta, that he is visiting now.

He has seen a parade of young women and men in the last ten minutes – brunette, blonde and ginger; tall and short; slender, curvy and muscled; barely of age, close to forty and everything in between; shy and bold – but none have caught his eye.

None, until the girl who brings the refreshments.

She looks ill. That’s the first thing Aleksander notices. It’s odd, since the owner of this particular establishment has a good reputation for keeping everyone under her care, including the servants, in good health.

There is a sallow sickliness about this one, though, a look he knows all too well from centuries of meeting Grisha scared enough to suppress their gifts.

Wasting sickness.

It burns, that one of his Grisha has been denied a childhood of comfort and security at the Little Palace, has ended up here rather than with people who would have cared for and understood her.

“I want her,” he points decisively at the girl, whose eyes widen in shock and fear.

The Madam frowns, “Alina is a maid here, General, not –”

“I want her,” he repeats in a tone that brooks no refusal.

What the fearsome Darkling wants, after all, he gets.

He would never usually demand an unwilling girl, but these are unusual circumstances and he has no plans to actually bed her, simply wishes to test her in private and discover what power she hides within her.

She is trembling when he enters the room set aside for their use, sitting down on the divan and fiddling with the hem of her dress.

“Sir,” she says as soon as she sees him, “I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I don’t … I’m not –”

“Relax,” he tells her, trying to appear a little less threatening than usual, “I merely wish to speak with you.”

He interrogates her about where she grew up (a village on the Shu Han border, near Dva Stolba, and then an orphanage in Keramzin), if she was tested (yes, though she seems oddly reluctant to talk about the experience), and when her illness began (as a child, not long after the testers came).

“I’m not Grisha,” she insists, “I can’t be.”

“Well, let’s just be certain,” he says softly, knowing she is wrong but in no mood to start a futile argument.

She takes a step back when he reaches out, but stills at the hard look in his eyes, gingerly moving closer and allowing him to wrap his hand around her wrist.

A spark, something powerful there. He digs deeper but she’s still holding back.

No choice, then, it must be done the more difficult way. He gives no warning before the sharp point of his ring cuts into her arm.

She lets out a little cry but Aleksander doesn’t notice, entirely enraptured by the beam of light shooting upwards.

After all these centuries, he’s finally found his Sun Summoner.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers, watching the light with confused awe.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Alina,” he murmurs, “you and I are going to change the world.”

He pulls her closer, envelopes her in his arms, revels in her presence.

The other half of his soul, finally here.

He doesn’t plan to ever let her go.

Chapter Text

“So … how old is he?” Genya asks, curious about the boyfriend Alina has been spending so much time with recently but hasn’t let any of them meet.

“Sixty-nine,” her friend says, totally deadpan.

For a moment, Genya just stares, wide-eyed.

Alina bursts out laughing, “I can’t believe you actually thought I was serious.”

Genya scowls, “I remember that banker six months ago – he was fifty!”

“Fifty and hot,” Alina grins, “besides, there’s a big difference between a 26-year age gap and a 45-year one.”

“You’re still not answering my question,” the red-head narrows her eyes, “come on – spill.”

Alina sighs but Genya can see the sparkle in her eyes. Her best friend hasn’t ever been this content and jovial in a relationship. The less said about Mal, the better, and the parade of steadily older men that followed had clearly been fun for Alina, but not anything long-term. Now, though, Genya thinks it’s serious.

“Forty-five,” Alina admits after a few seconds, pulling out her phone and showing Genya a photo of her and the mystery man, “his name is Aleksander.”

The banker of six months ago had been hot, but this man eclipses him entirely. Incredibly handsome, dark hair shot through with silver, tall and fit, perfectly tailored suit (Genya approves of his taste) and, most importantly, gazing down at Alina like she is the sun, the centre of his world.

“You lucky little bit–”

Alina’s hand over her mouth muffles the rest of her sentence and then the two of them start giggling.

“Honestly,” Genya says when they’ve calmed down, “I’m really pleased for you. You both look so –”

In love, she thinks, but it’s probably too soon to suggest that, especially to Alina, who has always been skittish about getting in too deep, emotionally scarred from years of horrible foster homes and all the rubbish Mal had subjected her to.

“– happy,” she concludes instead, “you look happy.”

“I am,” Alina whispers with a smile, “I really, truly am.”

Six months later, Alina and Aleksander elope.

Genya wins the betting pool.

Chapter Text

“How was your date?” Aleksander asks, saying the last word like it is a curse.

“Fine … nice,” Alina mumbles.

It had been mediocre at best, but she’s not about to tell him that.

“Fine, nice,” he repeats mockingly, “how disgustingly dull.”

Three months since the two of them broke up (he’s too intense, too controlling, always makes her feel too much, and she just doesn’t know how to handle it) and he still won’t leave her alone. Thanks to their mutual friends, she can’t escape him at group events and he always seeks her out.

He says he wants her back, but she isn’t sure he doesn’t just like to needle her.

Alina frowns, “it was great, actually,” she says sharply, irritated by his behaviour.

Aleksander snorts at her words, “sure.”

“It was,” she insists.

He grins then, a shark’s vicious smile. In a matter of seconds, without her even realising how he did it, he has maneuvered her into the darkest corner of the room, where none of their friends will notice them.

One large hand wraps around her waist and tugs her closer, and then he leans down so that his lips are brushing the shell of her ear, “you know what I think, malyshka,” he murmurs, “I think you’re lying to me.”

“Am not,” she protests, but her voice is breathy and lacks conviction.

“I know you, Alinochka,” he croons, “I know what you look like when you’ve been satisfied.”

She flushes pink, even more so when one of his hands starts to creep up her leg and under her dress.

She should stop him … definitely … maybe … probably.

The problem, of course, is that she hasn’t had good sex since they broke up. He always liked to say that he’d ruined her for other men and she’s got a horrible feeling he might be right.

Aleksander shifts and suddenly her legs are half-straddling one of his thighs. She moves almost automatically, searching for friction, uncaring of the fact that they’re in a hotel bar and their friends are barely ten feet away from them.

“I think you’d let me,” he whispers to her as his fingers inch higher and higher, “so desperate for it, malyshka.”

She doesn’t want to break, doesn’t want to give him the reaction she knows he wants.

But she’s always been weak when it comes to him, the tie between them never broken no matter how she’s tried to sever it these past few months.

“Sasha,” she whines softly, “Sasha, please.”

Alina can see his smug expression but she can’t bring herself to care. She needs him, she wants him, she craves him.

He pulls a key-card bearing the hotel’s logo out of his pocket and waves it in front of her, “shall we make our excuses, Alina?”

She nods, not quite trusting herself to speak.

“This isn’t a one-time thing you can walk away from,” he warns her, almost savagely, “you’re mine and I’ll have you, malyshka, all of you. No more silly break-ups or trying to fool yourself that this is a mere fling.”

It isn’t fair of him to make her promise this. Fairness is not in Aleksander’s nature, though – he plays to win and he always gets what he wants.

Besides, he has a point. The last three months have been hard. Aleksander has his faults, but she loved him all the same … she still loves him.

“I’m yours,” she promises, watching his eyes light up in triumph.

And while he might not want to admit it, Aleksander is as much hers as she is his. And really, when it comes down to it, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

“I hate you,” Alina spits, tears in her eyes.

“Perhaps,” Aleksander murmurs softly, “but only because you don’t know any better. You’ll come to understand, in time, and then you’ll love me.”

She wants to deny it, ignore the tether between them, but she’s terrified he’s right.

Chapter Text

Alina looks from Mal’s body to the Darkling, “you’re a beast!” she shouts, “a murderer!”

“I don’t suffer traitors,” he says as she struggles against his oprichniki, “especially those who take what is mine.”

“I’ll never be yours!”

A dark smirk on his face, “don’t speak too soon.”

Chapter Text

A childhood in an orphanage never getting any post.

Now, parcels almost every day for Alina – clothes, jewellery, painting supplies, books.

“I don’t need it all,” she tells him, “I don’t want you to think –”

Aleksander silences her with a kiss, “hush, milaya, let me spoil you.”

Chapter Text

“No tears, ptichka,” Aleksander wipes away the dampness on her cheeks, “it’s only two months and Ivan will look after you.”

“But I don’t want you to go,” Alina wails, stamping her little foot, “and Ivan never plays tea party with me.”

“I’m sure Ivan would love to have lots of tea parties, Alinochka,” he gives his second a severe glance that tells the Heartrender that he will endure as many tea parties as Alina desires while Aleksander is away at the Fjerdan front.

Ivan just sighs. He misses the battlefield.

Two months later, when Ivan is barely hanging onto his sanity and has finally been relieved by Aleksander so that he and Fedyor can take a holiday

"Never again, Fedya," he says to his husband as their carriage heads to Balakirev, "never again."

"But she's such a charming -"

"A menace!" Ivan shouts dramatically, "and the General will never see it because she's a perfect little saint for him."

Fedyor just smiles and nods.

Chapter Text

Looking back, Alina concedes that there were plenty of signs that all was not well.

A dissatisfaction among the people and the court with the first few months of Mal’s reign. Whispers about the state of the treasury. Worries that the country’s defence was being neglected in favour of lavish parties. She had tried to talk to her husband about making some changes, but he’d insisted that it was all under control.

However, Alina is still shocked when her maid barges into her room in hysterics, screaming that Mal’s uncle Aleksander has engineered a coup and beheaded his nephew in the Great Hall in front of a large number of the country’s nobility.

For a brief moment she can’t quite comprehend it.

She’d long grown out of her childish crush on Mal, marrying him because it had been expected and arranged since she had become a ward of the crown when she was barely a year old. He was her oldest friend, though, even if they’d managed to grow further, rather than closer, apart since their wedding a year previously, and she felt a strong pang of loss.

And then there was the horror. Mal had been murdered within his own castle walls, right where he should have been safest, by a man he should have been able to trust.

Aleksander, Duke of Morozov, the younger brother of Mal’s late father. He’d always been kind to Alina, insisting she be well educated despite the general consensus that too much learning was bad for ladies, teaching her to ride, and offering advice to help her navigate the tricky politics of life in the royal court. Though he had clashed a lot recently with his nephew, Alina never expected this from him.

“You have to leave,” her maid insists, frantically rummaging around to find Alina’s warmest cloak, “they’re looking for you, the Duke’s men.”

Alina goes cold.

Surely, he wouldn’t …

And yet, it is true that Alina might be seen as a rallying point for anyone loyal to Mal. She does not believe she is with child, and she and her husband had lain together rarely in the last few months, but there is still a possibility. And any child of hers would obviously be a threat to the Duke.

Perhaps it would be alright, but it is too dangerous to risk staying, not when she has no idea who she can trust.

She flees through the secret passageways, out of the castle and into the forest nearby.

Her parents have been dead most of her life. There is no safe haven for her to run to. But she cannot just stay still and wait for her fate.

Barely a few feet into the dense forest and she hears dogs barking and soldiers shouting.

She runs and runs and runs, and yet she knows deep down it is futile.

Alina is a mess when they bring her before the new king.

Dress torn, tear tracks on her face, scraped palms, leaves in her hair.

“Leave us,” the Duke barks, even waving away the soldiers that surround her.

When the room is empty save the two of them, he turns to the table and picks up a goblet, “you look thirsty, Alinochka.”

She doesn’t take the drink, not trusting that it won’t be poison.

His eyes narrow, “drink,” he orders.

It is almost a reflex to do as she’s told, the tone of voice a familiar one she knows to obey.

“Now,” he says, “why don’t you tell me why the Queen of Ravka decided to flee alone, on foot and without supplies into the forest.

“I’m not the queen,” she spits out, “I’m fairly sure you made that very clear when you chopped my husband’s head off.”

“Ahh,” he nods coolly, seemingly unbothered by what he has done, “a nasty bit of business but necessary, I’m afraid. Ravka could not thrive under Malyen’s rule and, since he could not be persuaded to change course, I had to opt for the more radical solution.”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me? Cut my head off?” she asks quietly, suddenly very tired and scared.

His eyes widen and then he actually has the audacity to laugh at her, “you believe … what a silly thought, Alinochka. I wouldn’t dream of harming the best queen this country has ever had.”

“I don’t understand,” Alina whispers, frowning at him.

She’s still reeling from Mal’s death and now trying to process the fact that she is not going to be executed as she had feared.

“I see no need to change what already works, Alinochka.”

He winks at her then, more like the charming man she remembers from her childhood than the darker, more serious figure he’s been the last few years.

“I … what … how.”

He sighs, stepping forward and brushing his hand over her cheek, “we will be married tomorrow, Alina. There is no reason not to keep such a clever, delightful little queen.”

She tries to speak, but something about his close proximity is making her head fuzzy. It’s an irritating feeling that reminds her a little too much of when she was fifteen and couldn’t talk to him without blushing profusely.

“I will take that as your agreement, Alina.”

“No … wait … you can’t.”

His eyes darken, “I can do anything I like, Alinochka. I’m the king, after all.”

He leans down and presses his lips against hers, warm and firm and possessive. She melts a little, even though she knows she shouldn’t.

It’s all happening so quickly that her mind is in a spin and she’s not sure what she feels.

“I’ll see you at the Cathedral tomorrow,” he murmurs as they break apart, “I’m so looking forward to it … and the wedding night that will follow.”

He leaves her there, trembling, unsure, nervous.

And more aroused than she’s ever been in her life.

Chapter Text

Mal texts her that his flight is a bit delayed. She settles down at the airport to wait, sure it won’t be more than an hour or so.

A message from Nikolai three hours in. Thought you should see this. I’m so sorry.

Screenshots of a group-chat. Photos Mal has posted just thirty minutes ago, on a beach with a beer in hand and a half-naked blonde girl in his lap.

He’s supposed to be in Virginia Beach for a work conference.

Feels traitorous tears threatening to escape and wipes her face furiously.

She clearly doesn’t matter to him so why should she care about him.

“Alina, is that you?”

Looks up to see her boss, looking far too put together for just coming off an almost ten-hour flight. She’d forgotten he was getting back from his trip to London today.

He frowns at her red eyes, “what’s wrong?”

The whole story spills out. She probably sounds pathetic but she’s never been able to lie to Aleksander.

His frown deepens and his lip curls into a slight snarl. He’s never really liked Mal.

“Why don’t you let me buy you dinner,” he suggests, “to make up for your bad day.”

It’s a dangerous offer, really. Alina has always been aware of how attractive her boss is, flattered by his gentle flirtations in the office, but there’s something in his expression right now that suggests he has more in mind than dinner.

But so what if he did? There’s no way she’s staying with Mal now – they’ve had problems for ages and this is the final straw for her. Ignoring the possible HR implications, is there anything stopping her from letting Aleksander distract her from the day’s events?

“Sure,” she says, “thanks.”

His eyes darken and his smile is all teeth. She can’t help but shiver a little.

His hand rests proprietarily on her back as he leads her out to the waiting car, moving to rest on her thigh as he settles down into the seat next to her.

There is a tension in the air, a knowing sort of atmosphere.

Alina hasn’t felt this excited in years.

The next morning, lying sated and deliciously sore in the massive bed in Aleksander’s penthouse apartment, Alina carefully selects a photo from the night before – tasteful, but still obvious enough that her now-ex will have no doubt as to the meaning – and sends it to Mal.

Don’t bother coming back to the apartment. I’m changing the locks and you can get your stuff from Dubrov’s.

With a smile on her face, she curls back against Aleksander and falls into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Delay. The word Ivan dreads.

Unforeseen circumstances. Heavy fighting. Flooded roads. Incompetent First Army.

He nearly weeps at being instructed to inform Alina that the General’s return has been delayed by two weeks.

He only hopes the little Sankta doesn’t blind the messenger.

Chapter Text

“That girl needs a muzzle,” Ivan snarls as his husband uses his rudimentary Healing skills to fix the bite marks along his arm.

Fedyor looks over to where Alina is curled up next to the General, summoning figures made of light to match the characters in the story he’s reading her from a book of Ravkan fairytales. She is the image of a perfect little Sankta.

Of course, Fedyor had also seen her half an hour ago, covered in mud and near-feral as Ivan had tried to corral her inside for a bath.

“Perhaps if the two of you could just learn to get along …?”

Ivan shakes his head vehemently, “she’s a demon, Fedya.”

Fedyor sighs and wonders if the General will agree to him taking his husband away for a short holiday. All of this really isn’t good for poor Ivan’s blood-pressure.

Chapter Text

Large abandoned house, no one else for miles. The perfect place for Alina to take refuge.

Except … not as empty as she believed.

And the handsome ghost with eyes like swirling darkness would quite like her to stay forever ... and is prepared to go to great lengths to keep her.

Chapter Text

Aleksander catches up to Alina eventually. Perhaps it was always inevitable.

A hand over her mouth when she goes to shriek, “make a sound and you’ll regret it, milaya,” he threatens, “you’ve led me on a merry little chase and I’m not in the mood for more of your defiance.”

She stops struggling and he removes his hand from her mouth, although he keeps a tight hold on her. She glares fiercely at him, looking around carefully for any opportunity to slip out of his grasp.

“Behave,” his dark eyes glitter as he gives his warning, “or I’ll put a muzzle on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she spits out.

His gaze is heavy and furious, “you don’t know half of what I would dare, milaya. I wanted to court you properly and instead you ran – if you continue in this stubborn defiance then I will be forced to take more drastic measures, a muzzle being only the beginning.”

“I’ll never stop hating you if you do,” she whispers.

His laughter is harsh and mocking, “you are strong, Alinochka, that’s true, but young and untrained. I am over six centuries old – give me time enough and I will break you until the only thought in your pretty little head is to please me.”

He pauses to allow the horror of his words to sink in for her.

“Of course,” he continues, “I’d much rather we work together for the good of Grisha and Ravka. You are, after all, the only one capable of being my equal. Now, Alinochka, will you be a good girl for me?”

He offers her his hand and she knows that if she takes it then he will see it as an agreement, one he will hold her to.

But what other choice does she have? Better an (eventual) equal than some sort of pet. She has to pick her battles and at least if she cooperates now then she might be better able to help Ravka in the future.

Still, as she tentatively reaches out and places her hand in his, as she sees his mouth curl into a wide, satisfied smile, Alina can’t help but feel that she’s making a deal with the devil.

She only hopes that he and his shadows don’t swallow her whole.

Chapter Text

A shrill whistle pierces the air and everyone in the room turns to look at Genya, who is currently wielding both a clipboard and her phone like weapons, “come on people, we have to get moving. There’s only twenty-four hours until this wedding begins.”

“Why did we put her in charge again?” Alina asks.

“She’s your best friend and she’s terrifyingly efficient.”

Alina nods, “right, that’s why.”

She knows she shouldn’t complain. She doesn’t know how her and Aleksander’s dream wedding would have come together so perfectly without the red-head’s help.

Still, her best friend can be a bit much at times, and she tends to shift into drill-sergeant mode when stressed.

“We could always elope,” Aleksander suggests.

“It’s tempting,” Alina mutters, “but Genya would murder me, and Zoya, Nina and Inej would all help her.”

He sighs, “you’re sure you can’t at least be persuaded to skip the enforced separation tonight?”

“You’re welcome to try and talk Genya round, Sasha, but I doubt she’ll budge.”

“Still,” she adds with a sly grin, “our rooms do have balconies that aren’t too far apart.”

“If I break my neck, milaya,” he laughs, “just know it was all for love.”

Genya shouts for Alina, so she leans up to kiss him quickly and wink, “see you later then.”

Genya is furious when she finds Aleksander in Alina’s bed the next morning, but the bride-to-be really is too relaxed and blissed-out to care.

Chapter Text

It’s supposed to be easy. Gain the Darkling’s trust and kill him when his guard is down.

She never expects the tether, or how he looks at her when she summons, or the feeling of coming home. She cannot betray him.

In the end, they rule together and all fall before their power.

Chapter Text

Aleksander usually goes for the bolder women, experienced and confident.

This one is clearly as innocent as a newborn lamb, tugging at the hem of her dress, fiddling with her bag, uncomfortable next to her more outgoing friends, likely not even old enough to drink yet.

He imagines her spread out on his bed, doe eyes looking trustingly up at him as he teaches her all about the pleasure they can find together and nearly groans out loud at the thought.

He tosses back his whiskey and makes his way over to the girl, who is standing alone next to the bar since her friends have moved to the dancefloor.

“Didn’t want to dance?” he asks.

She flushes a delightful shade of pink, “I’m not really any good at this kind of dancing.”

“Neither am I,” he tells her with a wink, “I’m Aleksander.”

“Alina.”

“Well, Alina,” he draws out her name and grins as her eyes go darker, “why don’t you tell me about yourself.”

Her expression lights up, like she’s surprised to find someone who actually cares enough to ask about her. Poor girl must be surrounded by idiot boys who just like to brag about how much they can lift at the gym or their beer pong records.

Aleksander, on the other hand, wants to know everything he can about sweet little Alina. He’s almost positive that one night with her won’t be enough to satisfy his craving.

This one, he thinks, he might well keep.

Chapter Text

Where did it all go wrong with Mal, Alina wonders.

Best friends. Childhood sweethearts. Married as soon as Alina turned eighteen.

They were happy, to begin with. Alina looked after their home and supplemented their income with painting commissions, while Mal worked as a police officer.

It seemed to happen gradually. More arguments, Mal’s late nights and increased drinking, then the lipstick stains on his collar in shades that Alina has never owned.

The affair with Mal’s uncle Aleksander is never planned. He simply stops by one evening to find her crying and coaxes the whole story out of her. Her husband’s neglect, his cheating, how angry (and sometimes violent) he gets when he is drunk.

What begins as comfort soon turns into something more, Alina finding the stability and care with Aleksander that she’s long since realised she will never find with Mal.

And then Alina misses her period. Wonders if it’s just stress, only to panic when it happens again for a second month.

She knows in her heart that this baby is Aleksander’s, not her husband’s. She and Mal have been sleeping together less and less, and most of the time he falls asleep in a drunken stupor before he can even finish.

What can she do? Mal is just spiteful enough to make difficulties if she asks for a divorce, especially if he finds out that her baby is his uncle’s. And yet, she can’t stay, not now.

In the end, it’s not planned.

She’s taken out a large leg of lamb from the cellar for their dinner, hoping that with a full stomach, Mal might be more amenable to a discussion about their relationship. If she can get him to accept that neither of them are really happy, maybe they can get things sorted before the pregnancy becomes apparent.

He storms in, though, clearly having had a bad day at work, and seems furious at her for having dared to bring out the lamb.

“It’s far too much for two people, Alina, and I’m going out anyway.”

She argues back, sick of him expecting her to just take it. They go back and forth in hisses, determined even in their anger not to let on to the neighbours that they’re fighting.

It’s almost like a fog descends. At least, that’s how Alina thinks of it when she tries to remember the moment. He steps forward menacingly, hand raised as if he is about to strike her, and she grabs the one weapon she has to hand.

And so, Malyen Oretsev dies through a blow to the head with a frozen leg of lamb. Undignified and really rather deserved, in Alina’s opinion.

When the shock of what she’s done has worn off, Alina starts to think practically.

She can’t go to prison, not when she’s got a child on the way, not when she’ll finally be able to be with Aleksander properly (at least once a socially acceptable mourning period is over).

She looks at the lamb, looks at the body, looks at the oven and then she smiles.

She goes to the grocer, talks about what she’s planning to make for Mal’s dinner, smiles and laughs like it’s just an ordinary day.

When she returns, the smell of slowly cooking meat filling the air, and finds Mal’s body right where she left it, she lets out an almighty scream, forces some tears out and then calls the police.

Alina is familiar with the two policemen – Dubrov and Mikhael – who arrive, since they’re Mal’s best friends. She’s never liked either of them, but she’s careful not to show it, not wanting to arouse any suspicion or ill-will.

They pat her awkwardly on the back, offer their condolences and search the house, never once even considering that Alina (poor, grieving, newly-widowed Alina) has anything to do with the murder.

In the end, they conclude Mal was killed by an intruder with a large blunt object and assure her that as soon as they find the murder weapon, they’ll have their killer.

The oven pings and Alina turns to them, eyes damp, “you’ve both been working so hard and the two of you must be absolutely starving. This … it was meant to be our dinner and I just couldn’t eat a bite of it, I’m so broken up about Mal … But I don’t want the meat to go to waste – it’s such a lovely leg of lamb, you know.”

They accept the offer of a meal gratefully, working their way through it as Alina sits next to them and periodically lets out a small sob that has them looking at her with sympathy.

“You know,” Dubrov says with a mouth full of meat, “I bet the weapon’s right under our noses, we just haven’t spotted it yet.”

Mikhael nods his agreement, “absolutely right. Stashed in the house or somewhere nearby, I’m sure.”

Alina excuses herself to the bathroom, carefully shuts the door and begins to giggle quietly.

If only everyone knew how easy it was to get away with murder.

Chapter Text

He finds her at the Guest House an hour into her 21st Birthday party, “you snuck off quickly.”

She snorts, “like I wanted this. None of my friends, just my parents’ stuffy business associates.”

"Stuffy, am I?"

"Not you, Sasha."

"Mm, well let's see if I can make you feel better."

Chapter Text

“I think we need to intervene,” Ivan says to his husband as they watch Aleksander and his newest girlfriend Alina, a University of Ravka student two decades their boss’ junior.

“I think they look pretty happy,” Fedyor says, turning away as Aleksander mouths at Alina’s neck, his hand sliding up her thigh and under her minidress.

“They’ve been dating barely two weeks and she’s only been back to her dorm twice. Half her clothes have migrated into his wardrobe and she’s all over him all the time. That girl has serious potential bunny boiler vibes.”

They both glance over again, looking away quickly as they realise things have gotten very explicit despite the fact that the pair are in a semi-public booth at Aleksander’s most popular club.

“You know how intense Sasha can get,” Fedyor reminds his husband, “I think he might be into her obsessive personality. It’s not like he’s been complaining, after all.”

Ivan has to admit it’s true. Aleksander hasn’t been this cheerful since he engineered a successful hostile takeover of the Lantsov empire ten years ago. Their boss has had so many relationships fall apart because his exes don’t like his need for control and his desire to know where his partner is at all times. Feral, possessive little Alina Starkova might be a match for him.

For good or for bad, though, it’s clear this relationship is going to be Aleksander’s most explosive one yet.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here, Mal?” she hisses, “if you get caught then he will kill you.”

“It’s all sorted,” he promises, looking far more confident than he should as the second most wanted man in the country after Nikolai Lantosv, “we’ve got a distraction sorted, but we have to go now.”

She shakes her head, stepping back, “he’s not an idiot, Mal. Nothing happens in this palace without his knowledge.”

Mal frowns a little petulantly, “it sounds like you want to stay here.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Mal. It doesn’t matter if I want to stay or go. What’s important is that if I run, he will hunt me to the ends of the earth and destroy anything and anyone in his path.”

“We can –” Mal starts, only to fall silent as tendrils of shadow wrap themselves round his body and cover his mouth.

“You should listen to your tsarina, Malyen,” a low, dark voice says, “alas, you won’t live long enough to learn that lesson.”

“Please,” Alina begs, watching as Mal struggles, “don’t kill him.”

Another tendril of shadow rises to caress her face with a far gentler touch than the suffocating grip that the shadows have on Mal.

Aleksander sighs, “such a gentle heart, moya tsarina. However, I cannot suffer a traitor to live.”

Why, she thinks despairingly, why did you come, Mal?

Because the truth is that she can’t stop her husband. Now, two years into their marriage, there is enough trust between them that he’ll take her counsel on many things, but Mal has always been a sore subject and is a leader of the rebellion that Aleksander is determined to violently and permanently suppress.

And so, she turns away as the oprichniki enter to take Mal away, too ashamed to look into the face of her oldest friend.

It’s better this way, the ruthless side of her says, less horrific than running with him and bringing ruin to everyone we meet.

She feels Aleksander move behind her, possessive hands on her waist, leaning down to press his lips to her collarbone, right next to the pieces of bone jutting out of her skin, “he’ll die at dawn, milaya, and we should both be there to present a united front.”

A cruelty, really, to force her to witness Mal’s execution, but she expects nothing less of Aleksander. In his own twisted way, he probably thinks he is doing her a kindness, forcing her to confront the reality of her life now.

“Of course,” she whispers, tears dripping down her cheeks.

The last two years have shown her multiple sides to her husband, have allowed their connection to grow, have made her realise that she is attracted to Aleksander and does care for him, in spite of everything.

Sometimes Alina forgets that he is a monster as well as a man. Right now, however, the darkness that lurks beneath his handsome exterior is clear.

This is Alina’s twisted fairytale and she has to learn to live with it.

Chapter Text

Mal stands in the garden of his childhood home, hidden by the old oak tree.

Through the window he sees his father and his best friend locked in a passionate embrace.

He burns with jealousy, envious of his father, yearning for the girl he didn’t truly see until it was too late.

Chapter Text

Aleksander sees the little orbs of light out of the corner of his eye, floating through the door to hover almost nervously next to him.

Always a bit worried about disturbing him, this is Alina’s way of checking she is welcome to enter.

It makes him sad, that she thinks she needs to ask. As if he would ever turn his little Sun Summoner away.

Unfortunately, Alina’s years at the orphanage before his testers found her seem to have left her convinced that she is a bother and he hasn’t quite managed to dissuade her of this notion yet, despite the fact that she’s been at the Little Palace for almost a year.

He flicks his fingers and tendrils of shadow slip out of the room.

He smiles when he hears Alina’s giggling as the shadows corral her inside his study.

“You should be in bed, solnyshko,” he reminds her, although his words lack any sense of chastisement.

“I had a nightmare, Sasha,” she mumbles, inching closer so that she can bury her face in his kefta, “where the light wouldn’t come.”

He wraps an arm around her, cursing the tsar and the damn court and everyone else who piles unreasonable pressure on Alina, feeding her anxiety and disturbing her calm.

He stands then, reaching out for her tiny hand, “I know what will make you feel better, solnyshko. How about some Hot Shokolad?”

Really, it’s as much a treat for him as it is for her, but Aleksander knows from experience that the best way of calming Alina after a nightmare is by distracting her with a warm drink and a conversation about something she enjoys, like her painting or riding lessons.

Her eyes light up and then she frowns slightly, “but the cooks will be in bed, Sasha.”

“I think we can manage,” he tells her with a conspiratorial grin, “it’ll be our secret.”

He sighs softly to himself as they walk towards the kitchens, thinking of difficult days to come, wishing every future problem and trouble that Alina will experience could be solved with something as easy as a mug of Hot Shokolad and quiet conversation.

Alas, real life isn’t so simple, but Alina has Aleksander to watch over her and he vows that he won’t let any true harm come to his Sun Summoner.

Chapter Text

Mal doesn’t call until the fifth day of his holiday, “you feeling better, babe? You’re missing out on a great laugh.”

Alina almost snorts, but turns it into a cough instead. She hates skiing and, even more than that, she can’t stand the idea of spending a week cooped up in a log cabin with her idiot husband (always sneaking off with Ruby and thinking he’s being so stealthy) and his incredibly irritating friends (always making rude jokes at her expense).

“Improving, but still not a hundred percent,” she says as Aleksander walks into the room.

Mal, she mouths, regretting it when his mouth curves into a wicked smirk. He puts down the two mugs of coffee he’s made and ducks under the bedcovers.

“I might stay a bit longer,” Mal begins, but Alina misses the next few sentences as Aleksander tugs her sleep shorts down and licks into her without any warning.

She muffles her gasp as Mal drones on about whether or not she’s still contagious and how he doesn’t want to get sick so he might ski for another week, since Dubrov’s parents have said they can have the cabin all month if they want.

“You … you should … do whatever you want,” Alina digs her feet into Aleksander’s back in warning, but he doesn’t relent at all, “I’ll … I’ll be fine … Uncle Sasha’s been visiting to check up on me.”

“Urgh,” Mal groans, “he isn’t boring you to tears about the gallery, is he?”

“I happen to like art,” Alina reminds him, voice pitched higher than usual as Aleksander slides two fingers into the wet heat between her legs.

“You sure you’re getting better, Lina? You sound kind of breathless.”

Since Alina’s illness was simply a useful fiction to avoid joining her husband on his skiing trip, she is in fact in perfect health. But if she plays it up, he’s more likely to stay for an extra week, and so she forces herself to cough.

“I might be having a relapse,” she tells him hoarsely, “but I’m sure I’ll be ok in a week or so.”

“Right,” he says, “well, Dubrov really wants me here for the competition next week, and you’re good at the apartment, right?”

“I’ll be fine, Mal.”

Saints, she wishes he’d get off the phone. Aleksander is doing his level best to work her up and she’s not sure how long she can last before it becomes obvious, even to someone as oblivious as Mal, that she’s not alone.

“Cool, well, I hear Mikhael calling me, so I better go.”

The voice in the background is definitely not Mikhael’s. Alina would bet $10,000 it’s Ruby, fluttering her eyelashes and flirting.

“Bye,” she says, ending the call quickly and tossing her phone to the side, finally able to focus on the delicious sensations Aleksander is causing.

Her hips rock against his face, bucking wildly as she grasps onto his hair, “Saints, Sasha, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop.”

He says nothing but she can feel his grin as he adds a third finger and finally drives her over the edge.

She comes with a scream, vision going white for a few moments as she rides out the aftershocks.

He moves to lie next to her, beard slick and shiny, expression smug, “Malyen extending his holiday?”

Alina nods, still a little dazed by her orgasm.

“I don’t know what you ever saw in that boy,” he shakes his head, “I’m embarrassed to be related to him.”

She shrugs, “we were young and stupid.”

“And Malyen is still stupid,” Aleksander adds, “when are you getting your divorce? This apartment isn’t a complete hovel, Alinochka, but you deserve far better.”

“Soon,” she promises, “Zoya and Nik are at the same ski resort and they promised to get me some good photos of Mal with Ruby. Once I have that ammunition, it’ll make the divorce process far easier, especially since I am of course an angel who is heartbroken by her husband’s affair.”

Aleksander smirks, trailing his fingers across her chest and taking advantage of her decision to go braless by tweaking her breasts through the thin fabric of her tank top, “you could have borrowed my lawyers, you know. I guarantee that Ivan would have made Malyen cry in less than five minutes.”

“An altruistic offer, I’m sure,” she laughs wryly, “but this is fun too. Zoya hates Mal and I’ve promised she can send photos of him with his pants down to everyone she knows.”

Aleksander laugh is deep and rich as he picks up their coffees and hands her one, raising his own so they can clink them together, “to a humiliating ending to your farce of a marriage for Malyen, and a new beginning for us.”

Alina grins, “I’ll certainly toast to that.”

Mal better enjoy his skiing holiday while he could. Life when he returned was going to be very rough.

Chapter Text

When she starts her freshman year at Os Alta University, Alina resolves to try and have what her friends call a ‘proper university experience’.

Her stepfather Aleksander seems sceptical about her desire to share a dorm room.

“Why not stay here, Alinochka. The campus is just around the corner and my driver can take you anywhere you want.”

“No, Sasha, I can’t. Genya says it’ll be harder to make friends if I’m not in a dorm.”

“At least get a private one then, ptichka. I’ve heard awful things about shared dorms, and the bathroom situation must be unbearable.”

She is insistent, though. She has to have a genuine experience. And, in the end, her stepfather capitulates, although with conditions.

One semester to see how she likes it and they’ll re-evaluate at Christmas. She isn’t to let her grades slip, she is never to drink and drive, and if she turns up pregnant then he and Ivan will ensure no one ever finds the boy’s body.

(neither of them bother to consult Alina’s mother. She’s on a long-term work assignment in Novyi Zem and hasn’t bothered to call home in over a week).

For that first semester, Alina lives the dream she’s seen played out in so many movies and tv shows.

Of course, she is conscientious with her assignments, maintaining a 4.0 as instructed and ensuring she gets involved in lots of extracurriculars that will look good on future job applications.

Outside of academia, though, she goes to plenty of parties and football games, tries one cigarette, drinks too much and experiences her first hangover, and even gets high a few times with Genya and Zoya.

It’s shaping up to be what so many people would call the perfect university experience.

And Alina absolutely hates it.

Her two best friends seem to thrive on the social aspect as if they were born to it, but Alina has always preferred her books and her art.

The alcohol served at the frat parties is horrible, leaving a bitter aftertaste. She despises hangovers and the way they steal half her day. The cigarette she tries is disgusting. The first high isn’t so bad, but the other times Genya and Zoya invite new friends to join them and Alina feels skittish and nervous in her vulnerable state. She’s always been more of a tennis girl than a football one, a side-effect of Sasha always looking for a practice partner whenever they go away to Balakirev for the summer. Her roommate is nice, but has a tendency to bring guys back to their room, leaving Alina to wander the halls or sleep in the library. She grows skinnier and looks sicklier as the lack of sleep and the changed diet catches up with her. And the less said about the bathroom situation, the better (she’s always thought girls far cleaner than boys, but she’s starting to wonder).

In the end, Alina is grateful beyond belief to return to the brownstone over Christmas.

She has never appreciated her large room – with the murals she painted herself (the stag, sea whip and firebird of Ravkan mythology) and the ensuite bathroom with opulent clawfoot bathtub and rainfall shower – more than she does in this moment.

The house is blissfully quiet, the peace only punctuated by her stepfather’s voice or the classical music he often has playing throughout the house. Everything is clean and she doesn’t have to worry that the fridge is filled with biohazards or that there are used condoms on the floor or dirty clothes strewn everywhere.

Later, with a mug of hot chocolate in hand, Alina sits at her stepfather’s feet, cheek pressing against his leg. Aleksander gently strokes her hair, the comforting gesture making her brave enough to confess all that she has tried and how much she regrets it.

He sighs softly, “I expected this, Alinochka, but I know little girls sometimes need to make their own mistakes. You see now, that I was only trying to protect you.”

“I know, Sasha.”

He’d seen, clearly, what she had tried to ignore. Alina has always been a homebody, preferring a quiet dinner with her stepfather where they practice her Shu or Fjerdan grammar or debate some philosophical concept, or a trip to one of the many galleries or museums in Os Alta. She’s grateful for the experience of her first semester, though, since it has made it clear how ill-suited she is to that lifestyle.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, ptichka,” Aleksander reassures her, drawing her up so that she can curl up on his lap and bury her face in the soft wool of his jumper, “I’ll speak to the university tomorrow and get everything sorted. You’ll stay here and commute from now on, and soon enough you’ll be better.”

He tilts her chin up so he can look at her and then he tuts quietly, “you’re far too thin, Alinochka, and I don’t like those dark circles under your eyes.”

Alina smiles as he begins to talk about balanced meals and chides her softly about not getting at least eight hours of sleep each night. How nice it is to be back here, with the one person in the world who truly cares about her. How could she ever have thought it was a good idea to stay in the dorms rather than at home with her always-attentive stepfather?

“Tired?" he asks as her eyes begin to droop.

She mumbles an affirmative response and he laughs, hand sliding underneath her shirt to rub comforting circles on her back, “go to sleep, Alinochka, I’ll look after you.”

Her last thought before she drifts off is of how lucky she is to have Aleksander. She really doesn’t know what she’d do without him.

Chapter Text

Alina finds the house - quaint, forest for a backyard, a stream nearby, interior with both cottage-charm and all the amenities they consider necessary, perfect size for their family.

When Aleksander insists on the black paint, she's horrified, but in the end, she rather likes it.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing, papa?” his daughter asks.

“Wrapping presents for mama,” he says as he tries to keep from touching the wrapping paper as much as possible.

The paper is black and gold with glitter all over it – Alina will love it, but Aleksander fears it will take weeks for all the glitter to disappear from his clothes.

Irina sits down next to him, picking up one of the gifts he hasn’t wrapped yet.

“Papa,” she says after about thirty seconds, “why are you getting mama a plug? Is it for the bathtub?”

Aleksander freezes, glances at the box in Irina’s hand and snatches it out of her hand before she can look at any of the other words or, Saints forbid, the picture on the other side.

“That must have gotten mixed up with the presents, Irinochka. I’ll put it away in a minute. Now, why don’t you go and draw a nice picture to give to mama when she gets back.”

Irina skips off happily and Aleksander chastises himself for not having hidden the box away in their room as soon as he arrived home.

He sighs heavily. Saints preserve him from a curious daughter who likes to read everything put in front of her. He really is going to have to remember to keep more … intimate items away from her prying eyes.

Chapter Text

 “No! Absolutely not.”

Irina frowns, “papa, stop being a dinosaur. It’s just a skirt.”

“It’s far too short, Irinochka.”

His daughter rolls her eyes, looking remarkably like her mother, “it’s nearly covering my knees, papa.”

Aleksander looks over to his wife for support, but she just smiles at their daughter and tells her to have a nice time and be back by eleven.

“Ten,” he mutters, and then Alina elbows him sharply in the ribs, “fine … eleven.”

“I can’t believe you let her leave the house looking like that, milaya,” he complains once Irina has gone, “she’s only seventeen.”

“It’s dinner and a movie, and there’s almost a dozen of them going, Sasha. She’s a sensible girl, she’ll be fine.”

“But the skirt,” he says.

“It’s July and her skirt isn’t any shorter than mine was the night I met you.”

“I remember that skirt, milaya, just like I also remember peeling it off you in my apartment later that night.”

“Saints, Sasha, relax. We were older then, this is an entirely different situation.”

As her husband ignores her and starts listing all the possible disasters that could occur on Irina’s innocent evening out, Alina just sighs and takes a large gulp of her wine.

Sometimes, it’s best to just allow Aleksander to rant for a while. She supposes she’ll have to get used to it, what with Ana and Milana entering their teens.

Three girls between the ages of thirteen and seventeen – Saints, they’re going to need all the luck and patience (and wine) that they can get.

Chapter Text

Alina has been pushing him ever since her eighteenth birthday.

Short skirts. Tight tops. Leaving the bathroom unlocked when she’s soaking in the bathtub. Her bedroom door ajar when she uses her vibrator.

She only wants him to touch her, to admit to the tension that’s been growing between them ever since she was unceremoniously dumped at his house by her foster parents once exams were over so that they could go jet-setting around the world.

A lifetime of loneliness, of going from foster home to foster home and knowing she’s unwelcome, and Sasha is the first person who has ever truly taken an interest and made her feel like she’s worth something.

But he never takes her bait, even as she goes from vaguely subtle to almost completely obvious.

“Little girl, behave,” he always warns her, “you’re playing with fire.”

Still, he watches her with dark, hungry eyes, and she knows that he desires the same thing she does, even if he won’t admit it.

The summer passes in a blur of museums and art galleries, dinners in fancy restaurants, quiet conversations, reading while he works in his study, the sort of existence she’s only ever dreamed of.

And then, suddenly, the date of her departure for her first year at Os Alta University draws near and Alina realises she might lose her chance.

Panic makes her desperate, makes her brave enough to strip off her clothes and stride into his study as naked as the day she was born.

He looks. And looks. And looks.

He doesn’t say a word, though. And with every silent moment that passes, Alina wonders if she has made a terrible miscalculation.

But then he stands, walks leisurely over until he’s standing right in front of her, gives her a slow once over and smiles like she’s prey and he’s caught her in his teeth.

“Look at you, malyshka,” he coos, “playing at being a big girl.”

He reaches out, brushes his thumb over one of her nipples. His smile widens when she lets out a breathless little moan.

“Such an eager little thing, trying to be bold,” he murmurs, hand trailing down, skimming the curve of her waist, “looking for some attention, are you?”

“Please,” she whimpers, “Sasha, please.”

“You only had to ask,” he tells her quietly, “that’s all I was waiting for … for you to show me that you were a big girl by using your words.”

That’s all?

All this time, all her plots and plans, and she could have had him if she’d only thought to ask.

Momentarily, she feels foolish, but it doesn’t last, how can it when Sasha’s hands are caressing her body, when he’s leaning down and capturing her mouth in an all-consuming kiss that sets her whole body aflame.

“Ask me, Alinochka,” he whispers when they break apart, “ask me for what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

She looks at him, truly sees him.

Sasha is the wolf. Alina is the rabbit.

He is ready to devour her, to wreck her, and she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted something more.

So, Alina asks the question. And she lets herself be devoured.

Chapter Text

She stirs a little as he carries her, but he's satisfied the drugs won't wear off for a while. Plenty of time to get her settled and ensure all the locks are in good condition.

The cabin, secluded and away from civilisation, is the perfect place to ease Alina into her new life.

Chapter Text

“What are you even doing here, Lina? So pathetic that you have to stalk me?”

“It’s Genya’s birthday and she wanted to have drinks here. It’s got nothing to do with you, Mal.”

He scoffs, an arrogant, irritating sound that had been one of the many things that annoyed her about her ex-boyfriend, “yeah right. Do you want to know what I think –”

“Not really,” she mutters, but he ignores her.

“I think you’re coming here, acting all coy, hoping I’ll take you back, even though you know I’m with Ruby now. Saints, Lina, you’re such a desperate who–”

The rest of the word is lost as a fist plants itself straight into Mal’s face and his back slams against the bar.

“Easy there, Alinochka,” Aleksander wraps his arms around her as she steps forward, fully ready to hit Mal again, “I think you’ve made your point.”

“What the hell, Lina!” Mal shouts, wiping blood from his lip, “I’ll have you arrested for that, you crazy bitch.”

“I’d be careful what you say about my fiancée,” Aleksander warns him, wrapping an arm around Alina’s waist, “and I wouldn’t make such unfounded accusations, especially without any witnesses.”

Mal’s friends are on the other side of the bar, nowhere near the altercation. The only others around are Alina, Aleksander and their friends, plus the bartender.

“Don’t bother looking at him,” Aleksander gives Mal a shark’s grin as he glances towards the bartender, “he works for me.”

It takes a few moments, but Alina sees the lightbulb moment for Mal, the realisation that this is Aleksander Morozov, the owner of this bar and a dozen other businesses in the city.

Mal is outnumbered and he knows it. With one last look of loathing, he stalks off back to his friends.

“I can have him thrown out?” Aleksander offers.

He doesn’t know the full extent of her dysfunctional relationship with Mal (and thank the Saints, because if he did, he’d probably have punched Mal himself, or done even worse) but he knows enough to realise it might make her uncomfortable to be in close proximity with her toxic ex-boyfriend.

She thinks about it for a moment, but then shakes her head, “I think I got it out with that punch. Maybe just have security keep a close eye on his group – Mal and his mates tend to get rowdy when they’re drunk.”

She leans back into Aleksander’s embrace and smiles.

The punch was fun, cathartic even, but Mal’s words don’t hurt her, even if they are annoying.

She’d spent weeks crying over him, until Aleksander had shown her what a real, wonderful relationship actually looked like.

“Come on,” she grins at Aleksander, “let’s go upstairs and traumatise Ivan by doing unspeakable, loud things in your office.”

His eyes darken as he takes her hand and pulls her towards the door with an endearing amount of enthusiasm.

Mal Oretsev is her past and she doesn’t want to waste another thought on him, not when she has her Sasha now.

Chapter Text

The groom looks smug and the bride miserable.

“The most depressing wedding I’ve ever been to,” one woman mutters to her friend.

“I hear she tried to run away but the guards caught her,” another whispers.

When the priest asks if anyone objects, a handsome man dressed all in black stands up. He doesn’t use words, though, only produces a pistol and fires one fatal shot.

Chaos erupts, people screaming and running for cover.

The bride, her white dress splattered with blood, the body of her almost-husband cooling on the floor next to her, finally smiles.

Chapter Text

It’s really quite beautiful, the room set aside for her harp lessons.

Alina lies on the divan, staring upwards at the ceiling, which is covered with painted scenes of doves and hearts and suns and roses.

Her music teacher comes over, pulling his shirt back on and running a hand through his dark hair to try and neaten it a little, and looks down at her, eyes dark with desire.

“Come and put your dress back on,” he murmurs, “or I shan’t be responsible for what happens next.”

She’s rather tempted to try and persuade him to put his head between her legs for a second time, shivering as she remembers his earlier ministrations, but she doesn’t want to risk being caught. They’re lucky that her parents are indifferent enough to let her have her lessons with Sasha unsupervised and in a room far away from their own quarters, but there would be hell to pay if they ever discovered the things their daughter was learning when she should be perfecting her skills on the harp.

He helps her with her dress, the process taking five times as long as usual thanks to his tendency to press his lips to her breasts, her neck and her back as they attempt to make it look as if she has been sedately playing the harp for an hour and a half, not writhing beneath a man fifteen years older than her.

“Excellent work today,” he tells her as he picks up her comb and styles her hair into some semblance of order, “but I believe you may need more attention to ensure you can reach your full potential. Perhaps our lessons should increase to four times a week instead of two? I shall broach the topic with your father, if you are agreeable.”

Alina grins, “I believe you are right, Master Morozov. I do look forward to benefitting from your increased attentions in the coming weeks.”

Chapter Text

Aleksander sees a lot of pretty young women in his line of work, but this one is particular beautiful.

Golden skin, glossy dark hair and an intelligence in her expression that he rarely sees. Not some foolish woman left behind by a married man who took advantage, or a young wife searching for the husband who left for greener pastures.

She takes a sip of the whiskey he’s offered her and places an article on his desk, one he recognises from the morning newspaper, detailing the murder of a young man in his home, his body found by his wife on her return home from work.

A wife who is sitting in front of him now.

“You want me to find out who killed your husband? Do you not trust the cops, Mrs Oretsev?”

“Call me Alina,” she insists, “I don’t like to use my nitwit of a husband’s name. And I want you to find the killer before the cops do, because I want a word with them.”

This is … not his usual sort of request. But she’s lovely enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing a little more of her, and she had handed over his retainer fee without making a fuss, so Aleksander decides he’ll do his best to help.

“May I ask what it is you wish to speak with the killer about, Alina?”

She looks intently at him, gaze assessing, “I’ll be honest with you, Mr Morozov. I’m rather peeved with this murderer, for he quite stole my thunder, you see.”

Aleksander’s eyes widen at his client’s plain and simple admittance that she had been plotting to kill her husband. Shocking, although rather alluringly daring too.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m sure you get plenty of vengeful women in here.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, “although not usually ballsy enough to actually make an attempt.”

“I don’t believe in half measures,” she sniffs, “and, besides, Mal was in possession of a rather valuable necklace that the killer has stolen. I’d quite like it back.”

Aleksander’s eyes narrow, “and did Mr Oretsev come about this necklace honestly?”

She laughs, “why, of course not, Mr Morozov, but I’d like it all the same. I rather think I’m due some compensation for my troubles.”

She shifts slightly in her seat, clearly uncomfortable for the first time in their meeting, and when he looks at her right eye, he can see a faint shadow where her carefully applied make-up can’t quite hide the black eye. He’s only known Alina Oretsev fifteen minutes but he thinks that if Malyen Oretsev were still alive, he might happily stand by, let her shoot the man right in front of him and then offer her a solid alibi.

“Well, Mr Morozov?” she asks, a little impatient, “will you help me?”

He gives her a toothy grin, “I’d be delighted. And please, Alina, call me Sasha. After all, I think this will be the start of a very satisfying partnership.”

Chapter Text

In the tent, when he first lays eyes on her, she’s prickly and uncooperative and nervous and clearly desperate to escape. Beneath all that, however, he senses she is just a girl yearning for affection, for stability, for a place to call home.

It wouldn’t be difficult to turn her into a submissive doll, his own pet Sun Summoner. There is a certain attraction to that plan, for it appeals to his need for control and also to the darker corners of his mind that he is often forced to keep carefully hidden.

Really, it would be easier if he could keep her leashed and tethered to his side, but he finds that he wants something different with Alina Starkova.

Over five centuries mostly alone, his only company a miserable and pessimistic mother who does not support his goals or plans or visions for Ravka. The idea of an equal who will be as powerful and eternal as he is … that is an alluring idea to Aleksander.

Because, at his core, looking past the disdain and hatred he has for the Lantsovs and the nobles and their enemies in Shu Han, Fjerda and elsewhere, looking past his desire to make Ravka a haven for Grisha and to save his people, looking past all that … Aleksander is lonely.

Eternity is lonely and tiring and bleak, even with things to fight for and people he can love (if only for a while).

He wants something permanent, something real, something true, something destined.

The Sun Summoner is his prophesised equal, a match surely blessed by the making at the heart of the world.

It will be a harder, longer road, with plenty of frustrations ahead.

There are things he must do, for the good of Ravka, actions she may not agree with even when he tries to explain them to her.

It will be messy and complicated and the riskiest thing he has ever done, to try and learn to trust this girl who is not even two decades old, and to gain her trust in return.

Maybe he will regret it. Maybe it will kill him or her or both of them. Maybe one day he will wish he had a pretty little doll whose light he controls rather than a powerful equal who could turn into an enemy rather than an ally.

He has to try, though.

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

Chapter Text

“You’re a monster!” she shouts as she tries to escape the firm grasp of the two oprichniki holding her still, “and a liar.”

“Hush, Alina,” he murmurs, “if your screams alert the Drüskelle to our location then I’ll happily leave the tracker behind to distract them.”

“I trusted you,” she whispers hoarsely, “I –”

I could have loved you .

She won’t say it, though, not now, not after what he’s done.

“You claim trust and yet you still ran on the word of a bitter old woman,” he says, something like hurt glimmering briefly in his eyes before his expression goes cold, “a poor show of trust, really.”

“No …” he sighs, “trust is for sentimental fools, I think. I believe something a little more permanent and binding is required in this particular situation.”

Chapter Text

Alina and Mal are pleasantly tipsy, climbing into a taxi to return to their apartment after a night out.

The driver – “please, call me Aleksander” – is handsome, charming and pleasant, and there is easy conversation between them all as they make their way back to –

She frowns, “I think we’re going the wrong way.”

The driver only smiles, a flash of white teeth, “don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”

Everything after that goes hazy.

“Would you die to save him?”

“Who?” Alina asks carefully.

She wants to move, to fight against the restraints keeping her tied to her chair. She remembers, though, how their calm, almost genial captor had turned cold and violent when Mal had made an escape attempt, her boyfriend whimpering in pain as Aleksander dragged him into a different room before coming back to speak with Alina.

“Would you die to save your idiot of a boyfriend?” he clarifies.

“Yes,” she says immediately.

Mal is her true north, her soulmate. She can’t imagine her life without him. She scarcely remembers her parents, but Mal has been there for her from the moment they met.

Aleksander sneers a little and shakes his head, “that boy doesn’t deserve your devotion, milaya.”

She shakes her head, “you’re wrong. You’re sick and twisted and you wouldn’t know what love was if it looked you directly in the face.”

Her eyes widen after her outburst, expecting retaliation, but he only laughs, “we’ll see, milaya, we’ll see.”

He disappears then, for about five minutes, returning with a bruised but still very much alive Mal, shoving her boyfriend into the chair next to Alina and securing his restraints.

Then, Aleksander pulls out his phone and begins to play an audio recording.

“Would you die to save him?”

It’s her, she realises. He recorded their conversation.

When it comes to her definite, immediate “yes”, she looks over at Mal.

He’s never exactly been a romantic, but she expects something from him after her declaration, maybe ‘I love you’.

Instead, he goes pale, looks sick, seems terrified.

The recording finishes. Aleksander presses a few buttons and another one begins, which must be Mal’s.

Aleksander asks the same question.

“Would you die for your Alina?”

And Mal … Mal is silent for almost a full minute.

“Is this some kind of sick game. One of us has to die?”

“It’s a simple question, Mr Oretsev.”

“… Lina wouldn’t want me to die for her.”

“I’m not asking what Alina would want, Oretsev. I only wish to know … would you die for her?”

Silence. The sound of heavy breathing. A foot tapping on the ground. More silence.

Then, so quiet she almost can’t hear it, comes Mal’s answer, “… no.”

Alina’s eyes fill with tears and she tries to will herself not to cry, unable to move her head to hide or brush the tears away.

A hand touches her face, a calloused thumb wiping the dampness away.

Aleksander tuts as he pulls his hand away, “a disappointing answer, Mr Oretsev. Poor Alina seems quite distraught.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket then, pulls out a gun and sighs, “one of you must die. One ready to die for the other, although they may regret that now, and the other wishing for their own survival. It seems logical, then, to shoot the martyr.”

When Alina chances a glance at Mal, she seems him relax almost imperceptibly at their captor’s words, as if he is relieved, as if he is happy that he will survive even though Alina will die. And in that moment, she hates Mal as she has never hated anyone in her life, even the man pointing a gun at them.

The gun goes off without warning.

Alina screams, expecting pain, looking down believing she will see blood.

But there is nothing.

When she turns again to look at Mal, she wishes she hadn’t.

There is a bullet hole in his head, blood splatter on the wall behind him, his eyes still wide open.

She can’t … she doesn’t … what just …

She’s hyperventilating, but she cannot look away from the grisly scene in front of her.

And then Aleksander is blocking her view, and she shakes her head, tells him to go away, to leave her alone, not to touch her.

“You shouldn’t mourn a man who did not value you, Alinochka,” he murmurs as he gently unties her, rubbing feeling back into her numb arms.

He pulls her up onto her feet, turns her head away from Mal’s body, embraces her almost like a lover, “don’t worry, milaya, I won’t make his mistakes.”

Chapter Text

Alina still isn’t quite sure how she ended up the wife of the village’s most eligible man.

Aleksandr Morozov is intelligent, wealthy and powerful. Alina is small, occasionally sickly, a penniless orphan, and more interested in books and painting than flirting.

Still, he chooses her, despite the envious and disbelieving looks of the other girls, and Alina tries to be the best wife possible, to support her husband as he leads the village through the crisis of a monstrous wolf that lives in the forest but has recently begun venturing forth to terrorise them more and more.

The problem, of course, is that Alina doesn’t want the wolf to die.

Alina was born in another village, one on the opposite side of the forest, one that worshipped the wolf as a god and left offerings for it in the hope of receiving blessings.

Here, though, in the village she had been sent to when her parents had died so she could live with her widowed aunt, they fear the wolf as a vicious, mindless beast.

In her old village, only strangers unaware of their ways died by the wolf’s teeth or claws. Here, however, men and women and children are lost every week.

Alina often thinks of trying to warn them, but to do so would be to sign her death warrant.

Instead, she leaves little offerings in secret and prays that the wolf will have mercy on her and those she loves.

In the end, it is carelessness that reveals to her husband her true beliefs about the wolf.

Aleksandr has been away so often recently, leading hunting parties, and Alina accidentally leaves out a sketch she’s done from her memory of one of the books kept by the elders of her old village.

“What’s this, milaya?” her husband asks, holding up the piece of paper that will surely damn her.

She goes cold, wonders if she can flee before he thinks to grab her and drag her before the council, realises that he’s too quick and it’s hopeless.

But he does not denounce her when she admits the drawing is hers. Instead, inexplicably, he smiles. Wide and pleased, bright white teeth sharper than she remembers.

He wraps his arms around her, buries his face into her neck, his teeth scraping across her skin in a way that should be painful but is instead only oddly pleasurable.

“I knew you were special, Alinochka, sensed that you understood far more than the fools in this village. They are not so small-minded elsewhere, are they? And you will be rewarded for your faith, sweet girl, I promise you.”

Alina is confused, unsure what exactly is happening, but she lets him lay her down on their bed, moans and sighs as he spreads her open and feasts until she is wet enough that he can slide easily inside her, enjoys the deliciously enthusiastic way he handles her.

“Mine,” he murmurs as she comes with a cry and he follows with a shout, “mine, mine, mine.”

His teeth graze her neck again, nipping playfully at her collarbone.

“Yours,” she agrees, sleepy and sated.

It is only as he falls asleep next to her that she recognises his scent, one that has always seemed oddly familiar.

Aleksandr smells of the forest right after a heavy rain, of the freshly dug earth … and of the wolf.

Chapter Text

She wakes up tied to a chair, mind still fuzzy from whatever had been used to knock her out.

Aleksander stands opposite her, leaning against the bar, still as devastatingly handsome as she remembers.

The club, usually crowded and noisy, is eerily empty and silent.

He tuts softly as she blinks, trying to remember what had happened, “you took a trip without me, Alinochka. I’m hurt.”

Alina thinks it’s absolutely insane for him to try and claim the moral high-ground here.

“Forgive me for running fast in the opposite direction when I found out you were an assassin,” she mutters.

“Forgiven,” his grin shows teeth, “with conditions, of course.”

“I’m not actually looking for forgiveness here,” she says sharply, “I think fleeing halfway across the country was a clear enough statement that I never wanted to see you again.”

“Ah, milaya,” he leans forward, brushes her cheek with his fingertips, and she holds her breath until he steps back, “you’re a clever girl, you know I can’t just let you go with the knowledge you hold about my profession and no guarantees that you’ll keep quiet. Now, shall we negotiate?”

“I don’t negotiate while I’m tied to a chair,” she hisses angrily.

Aleksander sighs but he does free her from her restraints, knowing she’s not foolish enough to try and run while he’s got armed guards at every door.

He puts the rope down in a pile to the side, “for later,” he winks, “in case either of us wants to work out a little of our frustration.”

She almost bristles at the implication, but there are far more important things to worry about than his innuendo, like how in the name of all the Saints she’s going to get herself out of this situation.

He pours them both a drink, smirks when Alina downs hers in a few quick gulps. He fills up her glass once more, gesturing for her to sit down in one of the booths.

Rather than sitting opposite, he slides into the booth after her, patting her leg and letting his hand linger there.

“You’re not going to seduce me into agreeing to whatever you have in mind, Sasha.”

She isn’t quite sure if using his nickname is the best idea, especially when his eyes darken and she feels an unexpected and irritatingly badly-timed surge of want and lust.

He’s an assassin, she reminds herself, he murders people for money.

He is also, annoyingly, the best boyfriend she’s ever had, the only man she’s truly loved, the person who understands her best.

Assassin, she repeats to herself, do not think about how beautiful he looked when he smiled at you, or how much you laughed when you were with him, or the things he did with his fingers and his tongue and his –

Fuck. She has a horrible feeling these negotiations will end exactly the way Aleksander wants them to.

Chapter Text

"This part of the house is lovely, and it gets a lot of light, but the current owners do say that you lose a lot of privacy if you have the curtains open," the real estate agent admits.

Aleksander smirks, wraps an arm around his pretty little exhibitionist wife, "we'll take it."

Chapter Text

Aleksander has ruled Ravka as the Black Tsar for nearly a decade when the story reaches him of a girl who lives in a forest near Keramzin.

A girl who summons light.

Lucky, that the man who spots her has a sister at the Little Palace, one he remains close with and writes to regularly. The girl brings the letter to Fedyor, who shows it to Ivan, who presents it to the tsar with something that might almost be called a hopeful smile.

This journey is one the Black Tsar undertakes alone.

His oprichniki and Grisha guard wait behind in Keramzin, while Aleksander ventures into the forest in search of the person he has waited six centuries for.

He has no map and no directions, but he can feel her, tugging on his soul, pulling him towards her.

Her home is little more than a shack, far less than what she deserves, but at least it is shelter.

She’s scared and wary when he tries to coax her out, shy when she eventually appears in the doorway, disbelieving when he tells her that he’s just like she is, that they are two sides of the same coin.

Aleksander wonders how long she’s been there, isolated in the middle of the forest. She’s not feral, but she’s quiet and seems almost unsure how to talk to him.

In the end, it is his shadows that gain her trust.

For so long, his power has made him someone to fear, but this girl looks awed when he summons, eyes wide with excitement and delight.

In return, she shows him her light, beautiful and dazzling and wonderful.

Tendrils of shadows and light twist together above them in a lovely sort of dance, but it is the girl that Aleksander cannot take his eyes off.

He offers her his hand, feels a spark when she takes it.

“I am Aleksander,” he tells her, “but you can call me Sasha.”

“I … I’m Alina,” she replies quietly, voice almost hoarse from disuse.

“Alina,” the name feels right, “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

Her smile is blinding and all feels right with the world.

Chapter Text

Dr Aleksander Morozov is the star of Os Alta University’s History Department.

Tenured, charming enough to persuade donors to give generously, widely published in journals and with a dozen books to his name.

It’s a fight to get into one of Morozov’s classes – the serious students want to learn from the best and everyone else wants something beautiful to look at.

No one ever heeds the warnings about Morozov’s teaching style, though, they have to learn the lesson themselves. Cold, calculating, strict and a demanding taskmaster, he has a penchant for surprise quizzes, is frequently witnessed making students cry with sharp words or a verbal evisceration of their papers, and his class numbers always fall after the first week or so (once students realise a handsome face can’t totally compensate for a devil’s personality).

Still, there are never rumours that he is inappropriate like Professor Lantsov, or racist like Professor Zlatan. And Alina Starkova has never minded working hard, finds that being pushed actually helps her do even better.

And so, Alina goes to Dr Morozov’s office hours, which are always at inhospitable times and attended only by the bravest students, and she smiles in satisfaction as, over time, he presents her with more praise and fewer revisions.

As cool and exacting as he is in class, however, Alina finds Dr Morozov surprisingly pleasant company during his office hours.

He is happy to debate and discuss with her (even if they often go past her allotted time), willing to lend her books from his personal library (he seems to guess, somehow, that she can only afford the basic texts, and usually has to take her chances at the university library for the rest) and one evening he insists on giving her a spare jumper he has in his office for her to wear during their meeting when she starts to shiver in her thin jacket.

Alina never realises just how much she’s learnt about, and from, him until she is graduating.

Four years of her degree. Five different classes taught by Dr Morozov.

Knowing how he orders the books on his shelves, about the secret stash of biscuits in his desk drawer, that he drinks black coffee in public but hot chocolate in private, the way his reading glasses tilt forward a little when he’s focused on a paper, the sound of his laugh, how passionate he gets when he talks about a topic he’s interested in, the little pieces she figures out about his family (father dead when he was a baby, mother lacking in maternal instincts, much older sister he rarely sees, fiancée lost in a tragic accident when he was only twenty-four), the way he cares about her without expecting anything in return (lending his jumper, gifting her ‘spare’ copies of texts that she’ll find useful, allegedly ordering too much take-out from the vegan place she loves but can rarely afford and then insisting she that has some while they’re talking through her latest essay).

Four years of someone who actually gives a damn, who sees her and honestly likes her for who she is.

Alina is always aware of how disgustingly good-looking he is, but he never pushes her for anything, doesn’t try and get her to trade sexual favours to persuade him to give her preferential treatment (in fact, he helps Genya file the complaint that starts the process which will eventually get Lantsov fired) and always tries to take care to ensure that, even with all the time she spends in his office, no one can ever claim she’s earned her grades on her back rather than through her own hard work.

It’s Genya who makes her see, in the end.

“All graduated now,” the red-head grins as they’re lining up for photographs, “so … are you finally going to tell Morozov that you’re in love with him?”

Alina gapes and stutters and … realises Genya is right.

Somewhere in those four years, she’s fallen in love.

And now that she knows it, she has to confess, before she loses her nerve entirely.

Alina finds him in his office half an hour later, glances around the room that has become a comforting sanctuary, then at the man who means so much to her.

“Aleksander,” she says his name for the first time, strange though it is to call him anything but Dr Morozov.

“Sasha,” he murmurs, “you can call me Sasha, milaya.”

“Sasha,” she repeats, the name feeling right in a way few things do.

There are no more words needed. She looks at him and knows immediately that he feels the same way she does.

Their kiss, hopefully the first of many, says everything.

This is love. It is real and it is true.

Chapter Text

“So, I’ll be lead author.”

“I don’t think so, milaya.”

“I wrote it!”

“Mmm, but it would have been an incoherent mess without my edits.”

“You take that back.”

“You’re marvellously intelligent, Alinochka, but your writing tends to lack structure when you get overenthusiastic about the subject.”

“Well, at least I don’t sound like a condescending, entitled –”

He covers her mouth with his hand briefly, “now, now, milaya, no need to be nasty. I’m the more established one, I should go first.”

“I told you, it’s my paper. You just helped a bit in between schmoozing donors and teaching classes full of students who spend more time staring at your face than listening to you lecture.”

He snorts, “you’re one to talk. I’ve seen the comments on Rate My Professor – you’ve got quite the legion of fans, Alinochka.”

“Jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous of little brats barely out of puberty when I get to –”

She silences him with a glare.

“You guys do remember we’re in the library, right,” Genya asks tiredly from a few seats away, “the students might not be back yet, but we can all hear you.”

Ivan is scowling, while Fedyor, Zoya, Nikolai, Nina and Matthias are watching the two of them like they’re the most fascinating show ever. Only David, nose buried in a book as big as his head, is ignoring them.

“Also,” Genya adds, “you’re married, remember, with the same title and the same initial. Why does it matter who goes first?”

“I’m Dr A Morozova,” Alina says, “he’s Dr A Morozov. Different names.”

The red-head sighs, “you think the average person, even an academic, is really going to notice that? You know how dumb people can get about gendered surnames.”

Alina shakes her head, “I’m going first. That’s the end of it.”

“But what if I disagree,” Aleksander gives her a sly smirk.

“Urgh, you guys have the worst foreplay,” Zoya grimaces, “just admit that Alina is going to be lead author and go home so you can do unspeakable things to each other in private, away from me.”

Alina grins. Aleksander smirks.

“Bye guys,” they chime in unison, packing up their papers and walking out of the library hand-in-hand.

“Thank the Saints,” Nina mutters, turning back to her book on the history of sugar.

David lifts his head, looks around in confusion, “where have Alina and Aleksander gone?”

The rest of them burst out laughing and Genya pats her boyfriend’s arm comfortingly, “you don’t want to know.”

Chapter Text

The branches whack into Alina as she pushes through the trees, desperate to escape.

She ignores the scrapes on her face and her hands. They are minor, inconsequential wounds, not worth slowing down for, not when Aleksander is sure to be right behind her.

She was supposed to have more time, but the distraction had failed and she was forced to flee, knowing her chances of success were low.

“Alina,” his voice echoes through the forest, “where are you, milaya?”

Her heavy, panting breaths sound as loud as drums in her ears, surely giving her location away.

She pauses for scarcely a second to try and figure out where he is, but his echoing voice gives no clues of his position and she starts running once more.

And then it is over. He is in front of her, moving faster than her human eyes can follow.

She sees his fangs glinting in the moonlight, knows that blood stains his clothes even if the darkness hides the proof.

“Let me go,” she begs, “you don’t need me.”

He’s got eternal life, riches beyond compare, countless properties and dozens under his thrall. What could he possibly want with mousy little Alina?

He shakes his head, “do not tell me what I should value, Alinochka. You were made for me and I will have you.”

She grabs desperately for a branch. It is wood, after all, and might work as a makeshift stake.

Aleksander only laughs, “oh, sweet girl, do not trust every rumour you hear. I am far harder to kill than that.”

“Now,” he is suddenly behind her, arms wrapping around her like a vice, teeth scraping her throat and tongue lapping at the little beads of blood from the scratch, “time to go home, milaya.”

Chapter Text

He invites her to spend a few days at his lakehouse. More a waterfront estate, really, and he owns the whole lake too.

Reading on the deck, swimming in the sun-warmed water, cooking together.

She needs to go back to reality, but when he urges her to stay a full week, she agrees.

Chapter Text

In posed photographs, Aleksander usually looks as imposing, cold and calculating as the public persona he cultivates.

Alina prefers the candid shots she has. His nose crinkling when he laughs, soft smile as he looks at their daughter, adoration in his dark eyes showing his love.

Chapter Text

The trip to Rome – three months to soak in the culture and study the art – is a dream come true for Alina, but she’s on a shoe-string budget and any opportunity to make a little extra cash is welcome.

Aleksander – the cousin of a friend of a friend – is looking for a muse. Alina takes a chance, sure he’ll opt for a girl with more conventional beauty, only to be pleasantly surprised when he dismisses the others and asks her to stay.

He is classically handsome, looking at home among all the recreations of the statues and busts and paintings she’s seen in Rome’s museums. His dark hair is just a little too long to be considered neat, disheveled from his tendency to run his hands through it when he’s concentrating, and he’s chosen dark clothes to hide the paint and charcoal stains.

Alina has never done anything like this before, but he’s patient with her, giving her clear instructions as he tries to find an image that will inspire him.

First, Aleksander gives her heavy gold jewellery to wear but, when he looks at her, he only shakes his head. Then, he has her change into a semi-transparent white shirt that falls to her thighs and smells like him, with nothing underneath – a small smile, when he looks at her, but he insists it still isn’t quite right.

Finally, he asks her to simply recline nude on the divan. Gives her an opportunity to back out with part payment for her time, if she doesn’t wish to continue. Alina doesn’t mind, though. She’s never been a model herself, but she’s been to enough life drawing classes that she’s relatively comfortable with the idea.

It’s rather peaceful, lying there with the sun coming through the window and gently warming her skin. Every now and then, Aleksander asks her to shift her position slightly, move an arm or leg or hand, or he gives her something to hold (a flowering branch, a model butterfly, a fake piece of fruit).

He works like a man possessed, carefully lighting lamps rather flicking on the lights when it gets dark.

When he’s finally finished, Alina stretches out, not in any hurry to get dressed, and he brings over two pieces for her to look at.

The first is a completed simple drawing in charcoals and the second a partly-done, more detailed painting on a large canvas. Both show that Aleksander is obviously an artist with a great deal of talent.

He puts his work carefully to the side, before one of his hands trails across her breasts, down her stomach. His dark eyes have watched her intently all day with the interest of an artist cataloguing his subject, but his expression is something different now, that of a man looking at a woman he is attracted to.

He pauses, waiting for permission, she supposes.

She should probably go. She doesn’t know him, not really, and she could be throwing away a good source of extra income if whatever this might turn into becomes messy.

Alina is lonely, though, in this city where she has many acquaintances but few friends. She’s young and single and she wants to enjoy this time.

She reaches out, places her own hand over his and pulls it lower.

“Are you sure?” he asks, nostrils flaring, eyes black.

“Yes,” she nods, “please, Aleksander.”

“Call me Sasha,” he murmurs, as his fingers trail across the sensitive skin of her thigh.

“Sasha, please,” she begs him, “please, please.”

His smile is wide and open and delighted, his expression alight with desire. He gazes at her in awe, like she is something amazing.

And, in that moment, Alina falls a little bit in love.

Chapter Text

“So, Elizaveta and Ulla are besties, but Elizaveta is in love with Ulla’s boyfriend Kho and steals Ulla’s phone to send messages so he’ll break up with Ulla, and –”

“Stop,” Aleksander puts his hand up, “this is ridiculous!”

Alina shrugs, “it’s a soap, Sasha, they’re crazy.”

Chapter Text

He’s the leading man. She’s just a chorus girl.

He notices her, though, spots the talent everyone else ignores because she’s not showy or tall or skinny or Ravkan enough.

No matter. Palms can be greased, directors replaced, leading ladies mysteriously injured.

You don’t get where he is in showbusiness without learning to be ruthless.

Aleksander Morozov will have Alina Starkova by his side on opening night, no matter what it takes.

Chapter Text

Aleksander spots her out of the corner of his eye when he’s hunting in the forest, a lithe figure with dark hair flowing down her back, wearing a gauzy gold dress.

She’s nimble, but he manages to follow her back to her home.

Nymph or fairy or sprite, he’s desperate to know her.

Chapter Text

When Aleksander's new girlfriend tells him she has a daughter, he pictures a child still playing with dolls, not a mischievous nineteen-year-old with a sunny smile who makes him feel emotions he thought long buried.

He feigns aloofness, but it's clear Alina sees through him.

Chapter Text

The company directors have them all go casual for the new ‘Meet the Team’ photographs.

There are two photographers to speed up the process. One captures Alina mid-laugh. The second snaps Aleksander glancing over at his girlfriend in the zipped jumper she stole from his wardrobe.

Chapter Text

She’s sixteen and the new Art teacher Mr Morozov is the handsomest man she’s ever seen. Not only that, but he’s talented, intelligent and charming – the Principal tells them he is an accomplished and well-known artist who has decided to teach for a few years, and they’re very lucky to have him. He smiles when he looks at her work, and is happy to talk when she lingers after class to ask him questions.

It’s just a crush, one countless other students share. It will pass, in time.

She’s seventeen and Mr Morozov helps her submit one of her paintings for a national competition, clapping and grinning in the audience when she accepts her first-prize trophy at a ceremony in City Hall.

She stays late in the art classroom a lot, already starting work on the portfolio she’ll has to prepare to apply for art school and the scholarships she’ll need. The Little Palace is her top choice, Mr Morozov’s alma mater, and hours pass as she sketches and paints while he tells her stories of his time there.

Alina finds herself opening up, sharing her thoughts and dreams in a way she never has with another person. In turn, she learns little bits and pieces about him – a tragically ended relationship when he was younger, his secret sweet tooth, the masterpieces he can create with a blank page and a piece of charcoal.

She tells herself it’s still a crush, just lingering a little longer than it should. Really, though, who is she kidding?

She’s eighteen and she thinks Mr Morozov might know her better than anyone else in the world.

He’s still her teacher, though, sixteen years her senior. It’s all well and good to fantasize, but trying to make such fantasies into reality would be messy and dangerous and life-ruining.

Alina works in the art room, talks and laughs with Mr Morozov, borrows his biographies on famous artists, listens carefully to his notes and constructive criticism so she can make her work better. Still, the classroom door always stays wide open, the innocence of their interactions plain for any passing teacher or student to see. He points out things on her canvas but is careful to keep a physical distance most of the time.

When she receives an unconditional acceptance and full scholarship from The Little Palace, he is the first person she tells the news to. In the haze of excitement, she never can remember who moves first, only that their celebratory hug is the closest she’s ever been to him. It lasts only a few seconds, however, before he remembers himself and pulls away, quieter and more distracted for the rest of the time she’s in the classroom.

He’s distant after that day, as kind and helpful as always, but missing the intimacy that they’ve built up between them. Alina understands, but it still hurts, because she knows now … it’s not a crush, it’s love, or at least the beginnings of it.

She sees him at graduation but she can’t find him afterwards.

She’s nineteen and thriving at The Little Palace, loving her classes and making wonderful new friends like Genya, Zoya and Nina.

No matter how many handsome, clever, agreeable boys she meets, though, none of them ever measure up to Mr Morozov.

She’s twenty and has two of her works in the Art Department’s Winter Show.

And there he is, looking up at one of her pieces – Sun and Shadow – with the soft smile that she knows so well.

“Mr Morozov!” she exclaims, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He turns, eyes crinkling as his smile widens, “Alina, I think you can call me Aleksander now, or Sasha, if you want.”

“Do you like it, Sasha?” she asks, tilting her head towards the painting.

He glances back at the painting with a look of awe, before he returns his gaze to her, “I love it,” he tells her, “your finest work, I think.”

She blushes, “thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

He shakes his head, “oh, Alina, I think you’ll far surpass me in time. Teaching you was a pleasure … perhaps too much so, in the end.”

He’s looking intently at her, and that’s it, that’s what has been missing from all the boys she’s gone on dates with. They’ve never looked at her like this.

Alina decides to take a chance. They’re no longer teacher and student, after all, and she might never have another opportunity.

“Do you … do you want to get dinner when this is over?” she asks him, a little tentatively, “it would be nice to talk … catch up.”

For a moment, he is silent, and she wonders if she’s ruined everything. Then he reaches out, entwines his hand in hers, “I’d like that, Alina.”

He draws her arm through his and gestures to the rest of the exhibit, “now, why don’t you show me around.”

It’s the start of something beautiful, Alina knows it.

Chapter Text

“To my lost love I gave

Dead flowers for her dreary grave.

Even now I feel her reaching out

At night I think I hear her shout.

I carve a heart on her bedroom door

A symbol of my love forevermore.”

Their twelve-year-old son bows, a pleased grin on his face when they clap enthusiastically.

“It’s your fault,” Alina hisses through her smile, “he didn’t get this penchant for dramatics and wearing all black from me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wearing black,” Aleksander whispers back, smiling so widely his jaw hurts, “it’s classic.”

“If I ever wrote poetry when I was twelve," their daughter mutters, "you better make sure you've burned it."

Chapter Text

When Alina is feeling stressed, she tends to make herself small.

Curls up tightly in his lap, face pressed against his jumper, like she wants to disappear into a world with no cares or concerns to worry her.

Aleksander never minds. He’ll run his fingers through her hair, knead the tight muscles in her back and just hold her close.

Gradually, she’ll relax, the tension slowly leaving her body. Then she’ll be alert and awake again, ready to face the challenges of the day. He’s always glad of that, but he can’t deny he also enjoys those quiet, intimate moments holding her.

Chapter Text

Alina dreams of shadows and blinding light, of eclipses, of bouquets of blue irises wilting, of pale hands reaching out for her, of blood and screams.

It’s enough to drive a person mad, but instead she just goes to the graveyard one night, an invisible tether pulling her towards one grave in particular.

The stone is weathered with age, the name carved onto it indecipherable.

Aleksander, her mind whispers, I’ve found you.

In the morning, the groundskeeper discovers a handbag propped up against the gravestone, containing a phone, wallet and driving licence belonging to Alina Starkova.

The young woman herself, however, is never seen again.

Chapter Text

“I thought you had a price on your head in France?”

Alina turns, gives an elegant shrug, “what is life without a little risk, Sasha? Besides … I have a shopping list.”

Two Pollocks and a ruby necklace for a client. One Vermeer and a lovely diamond choker for herself.

“I could turn you in. Lantsov would reward me richly for it, and even you might have trouble getting out of the prison they’d throw you into.”

Alina’s mouth curves into a knowing grin, barely visible beneath her ornate mask, “we both know you never would.”

His hands settle on her waist, his breath warm against her neck, “I should. It would make my life far easier. But you’re right, I won’t.”

She says nothing, although she radiates a smugness that is clearly so obvious that he pinches her waist in retaliation, “did you wear this for me, malyshka? You know what it does to me to see you in black.”

She really does, has delicious memories of their meeting in Athens six months ago, when she’d worn a black lace lingerie set that had made him momentarily speechless and then extremely (and filthily) talkative.

“I just happened to have it in my closet,” Alina says airily, as if she hadn’t, on learning he was also attending this party, visited over a dozen boutiques looking for the perfect dress to drive him crazy.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, hands sliding down her body, pressing his lips to her neck, “I’m sure.”

If only she had the time to stay and make the most of Aleksander’s presence at the party. Alas, she has work to do.

When she pulls away, it really is with significant regret.

“Alina,” his voice, with a hint of a growl, is a warning.

“We should catch up soon, Sasha,” she whispers.

And then she’s gone before he can try and persuade her to stay.

Hours later, she returns to her rented apartment with the three items for her client, and the Vermeer she’d picked out for herself, frowning because the choker had been gone by the time she’d reached the Lantsov jewellery collection.

Perhaps Tatiana Lantsov had taken it out, but Alina thinks it more likely Aleksander is punishing her for running off.

Her eyes narrow when she flicks the light on. There is just a hint of a familiar cologne, the sense that someone has been in her space.

Her gun is out in a heartbeat, ready to deal with any danger. There is no one here, though, any intruder already gone.

On her bed, however, is the diamond choker in its velvet case, a box with the La Perla logo on it, and a small card with just a date, time and location written in an elegant hand.

Alina smiles.

Chapter Text

Force is an easy weapon to wield. Aleksander does so every day with both enemies and allies.

Alina, though, requires a more delicate touch. Charm, persuasion, temptation. A more finnicky art, but one he has honed well over the centuries. And the reward is certainly worth the effort.

Chapter Text

“You can’t force me,” Alina hisses, looking from Aleksander to the bed with panicked anger.

“Oh, Alina,” his eyes are bright with amusement, “I won’t have to. You don’t yet know the cruelties of time, but you will. You’ll find your way to my bed eventually, and I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter Text

He approaches her towards the end of the evening, as she’s leaning against the pool table with a drink in hand, satisfied by the $400 she’s made off two guys whose egos are now seriously bruised.

“Did you want to play?” she asks.

He’s more than handsome, possibly the most attractive man she’s ever met, but that doesn’t mean she can’t make a little bit of money off him.

He smirks and shakes his head, “I saw you hustle those idiots earlier. I’m good, but I’ll admit you might be better.”

She grins – hot and sensible, this one is promising – and offers her hand, “I’m Alina.”

He smiles back, “Aleksander … but you can call me Sasha.”

Chapter Text

The party should have been fun. After all, it was at the Os Alta Museum and Art Gallery, one of Alina’s favourite places, and she was finally old enough to drink without having to use a fake ID.

But the company was dull, all the good food had gone before she could get to it, the champagne lost some of its allure when it wasn’t being snuck to her by an indulgent Aleksander, and the music really was awful.

Technically, she was one of the hostesses. However, since the other was Tatiana Lantsova, the world’s biggest attention-seeker, Alina figured she would be safe to slip away for a while.

She found her guardian – although, really, the term didn’t apply considering she was twenty-one – in the Museum Director’s office, which Aleksander had appropriated for the day with the same confidence with which he acquired nearly everything he wanted in life.

“Why are you hiding back here, Sasha?” she asked, as if she didn’t wish she could do the same.

He sighed, sipped his whiskey and reached out to grab her hand, running his thumb over the ring she wore.

A ring with the sparkling Lantsov Emerald as its centrepiece.

Alina frowned. Even at her own engagement party, she hated to look at that ring. It really wasn’t to her taste at all.

Neither was her fiancé, if she was being honest. Nikolai was handsome, charming, witty and clever, but there was something missing – no spark, no excitement, no meeting of the minds … not like with –

She ducked her head and tried not to cry.

They’d never actually talked about it, her and Aleksander.

It had all seemed so hopeless to her, the yearning she felt for a man two decades her senior, who had taken her in when her parents had died barely two weeks after her seventeenth birthday.

She’d tried to get over him by dating Mal, then Nikolai, and even when the latter proposed she’d only said yes because it was expected, even though her heart wasn’t in it, and despite the yearning looks Nikolai sometimes gave his ex-girlfriend Zoya.

It was only when she saw Aleksander’s face as she told him the news – his expression the most vulnerable and unguarded she’d ever witnessed – that she realised everything she felt for him was returned in kind. But she hadn’t known until it was too late, until she’d accepted Nikolai’s ring.

“You look beautiful, by the way, Alinochka.”

His voice is low, heavy with regret, but the words are sincere.

She chose the dress for him. Black and gold, their favourite colours entwined.

“Sasha, please,” she stepped forward, in between his parted legs, her hand still held in his.

She couldn’t articulate what it was she was asking for, even in her own mind.

He seemed to know anyway, pulled her down so she could curl up in his lap, uncaring that she might be creasing her dress.

His hands ran comfortingly up and down her calves and Alina shivered slightly, pressing her face against his neck.

Aleksander let out a broken sort of laugh, “I don’t think your fiancé would be too pleased to find you like this, Alinochka.”

Truth be told, Nikolai had never said a word about the amount of time she spent with Aleksander. Dinners at least once or twice a week, constant visits to his brownstone, day-trips to the museums and galleries they both loved. He did look at her sometimes, though, with an almost-knowing gaze.

“Don’t care,” she muttered into Aleksander’s neck, “can’t do it anymore. Nik is nice but … he’s … he’s not you, Sasha.”

A pained kind of groan, and then one of Aleksander’s hands slid higher up her leg, the other gentling tugging her head back from his neck so he could kiss her frantically and hungrily.

“Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely when they broke apart, “Alina, are you sure?”

“Yes,” she told him, breathless but firm, “yes … please … Sasha, please.”

It was a rush, their first time together, desperate and primal even as they tried to keep themselves quiet. Despite all that, it was still perfect.

They were long gone from the building by the time anyone thought to look for either of them, ensconced in the Morozov brownstone and entirely oblivious to the world outside.

Nikolai found the ring on the desk, with a note that just said I’m sorry.

His parents ranted about the embarrassment of a broken engagement, but Nikolai only smiled and decided it was time to be brave and true to his heart like Alina had been.

I’m coming over, he messaged Zoya, I want to talk.

Maybe both he and Alina could get their happy ending.

Chapter Text

“So, this is where you’ve hidden,” Aleksander murmurs.

It’s pretty and quaint, not gaudy like most of the Seelie Court prefer.

In any event, Alina now belongs in the Unseelie Court with him. His shadows creep forward, searching, for he doesn’t intend on leaving without his bride.

Chapter Text

When they marry, the garden is in bloom, sun streams through the windows, and they have picnics and row out on the pond.

Cold and dark and isolated in the winter, but they stoke the fire and spend the freezing mornings in bed.

The next summer, a rosy-cheeked baby joins them.

Chapter Text

Aleksander is stuck in a rut. His muse has deserted him and he hasn’t managed to pick up his paintbrush in three weeks.

And then he spots her. Bone-white hair shimmering like silk, golden skin glowing, wearing an odd combination of a delicate summer dress with clunky black boots that somehow suits her perfectly.

They lock eyes for barely a second, but it’s more than enough.

He sketches and paints for the next month like he’s in a trance, sheets of paper and countless canvases covered with her face, her smile, her eyes, the curve of her cheek, her silhouette, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall.

He dreams of her, goes back to the same place in the park every day but never sees her there.

He finally finds her at one of Genya’s shows at The Fold Gallery.

She’s in an evening dress now, black with intricate golden embroidery, and her hair is piled artfully on top of her head, held there with golden pins and clips that look like sunbursts. She looks different now than she did that day in the park, but just as perfect and beautiful.

He should get Genya to introduce them. It doesn’t seem right, though, going through someone else to get to her.

They meet in the middle of the room, the way couples always do in movies.

He recognises the look in her eyes, sure it is mirrored in his own.

“I’m Alina,” she offers him her hand.

He takes it easily, “Aleksander.”

She smiles and it’s like the sun coming out in a grey sky, “it’s nice to meet you, Aleksander.”

Aleksander barely knows her and yet he is sure of one undeniable truth.

He has been waiting his whole life for her.

Chapter Text

“Please,” Alina begs, “please, just let me –”

Shuddering and whining, she grips Zoya’s long, dark hair as the Squaller licks into her.

A low laugh and she turns to see her husband watching her, his eyes darkened with lust, “not tonight, milaya. You’re being punished, remember.”

No coming at all, no matter how much he’d teased her with his fingers and then invited Zoya into their bedroom to continue this exquisite torture. He’s spent the last forty-five minutes amused and pleased as she writhed on their bed thanks to Zoya’s ministrations and pleaded with him to rescind his punishment.

“You’ll learn now, won’t you, moya tsarina, not to sneak off and meet that tracker without an escort?”

“Just … just … wanted … wanted to see him while he was in Os Alta,” she tries to explain, “he’s my friend … that’s all … I promise.”

“Alina, milaya,” he sighs heavily, “if I believed for one moment that you had delusions of being with that boy romantically, I would have tossed him straight into the Fold. What concerns me is that you left the palace without your oprichniki and without telling anyone where you were going.”

“Sorry,” she gasps out breathily as Zoya does something new and wonderful with her tongue, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you will be, Alina, I can guarantee it.”

He addresses Zoya then, “out, Nazyalensky,” he orders, “I’ll be disciplining my wife alone for the remainder of the evening.”

The Squaller pouts as she sits up, mouth slick and shiny, but she shrugs her kefta back on quickly and then vanishes out of the door, not foolish enough to argue with the Black Tsar.

For a moment, Alina wonders if she might get a reprieve, if Aleksander may show a little bit of mercy now that it is just the two of them.

But then she sees his expression as he sheds his clothes and climbs onto the bed – eyes bright with excitement, mouth twisted into a smirk – and knows the punishment is only just beginning.

It’s going to be an extremely frustrating night.

Chapter Text

In the daylight Alina Starkova is a model daughter.

She studies and paints and practices piano and charms her parents’ guests and smiles at the suitors who come to see her.

When night comes, however …

Her dreams are filled with ghoulish, eerie things. Glasses of blood, skeletons dancing, flowers wilting, fresh pomegranates on a table otherwise covered with half-decayed food.

And always there, lurking in the shadows, a handsome man with pale skin, dark hair and fathomless black eyes.

Each night she stands there in a different dress – deep red, black as the night, royal purple, glittering gold – and he offers her his hand so that they can waltz within the circle of chattering skeletons, talking of art and music and philosophy and anything else she cares to discuss.

And when the music ends, he kisses her hand and whispers to her.

“Soon, my Alina. Soon, we will be together always.”

A month after her eighteenth birthday, one of her suitors requests her hand in marriage.

There is nothing wrong with Malyen Oretsev, really. He will make a perfectly respectable husband. It is only that he is not like the man who haunts Alina’s dreams.

This is the real world, however, and Alina must do her duty. She accepts the proposal with a heavy heart and a feeling of wrongness, trying to smile when Mr Oretsev slips a ring onto her finger and failing entirely.

That night, the dream is different.

Everything is dark, the shadows oppressive. When the mysterious man appears, his mouth is twisted into a snarl and he holds her tightly in the cradle of his arms.

“You are mine, Alina. You cannot belong to him.”

She shakes her head, “but you are here, only in my dreams, and Mr Oretsev is … he’s real.”

The man smirks, pulls her even closer, leans down so his lips brush the shell of her ear, “I am real enough, milaya, even if I choose not to sully myself with the mortal world.”

Alina frowns, “I … I don’t understand.”

“Will you have my name, Alina Starkova?” he asks, “will you be mine for eternity?”

There is a heaviness to his words, a sense that her agreement will mean more than she realises. It doesn’t matter, though. She’s known since the first night he showed up in her dreams that there will never be anyone like him.

“Yes,” she answers firmly, “yes, I will have your name and I will be yours.”

His eyes are alight with triumph, his mouth curved into a wide, satisfied smile, “I am Aleksander.”

“Aleksander,” she whispers the name against his lips, “Aleksander,” a little louder now.

“My Alina,” he murmurs, “forever.”

The next morning, the screams of one of the maids wakes the whole Starkov household.

The body of the daughter of the house lies cold and still in her bed, no sign of why a healthy eighteen-year-old might have died so unexpectedly in the night.

And elsewhere, in a place beyond time and the human realm, Alina and Aleksander enjoy their eternity.

Chapter Text

Her first century passes slowly and Alina is thankful for it, clinging to her friends as they grow older, weeping when she helps to bury them.

Her second century goes by like a dream. She wanders from place to place, trying to find some spot to call home and never quite succeeding. She drifts like a boat unmoored, refusing to put down roots, scared to make friends.

Her third century is easier. Her losses still hurt, but it is a more forgiving ache, not like the raw hurt she endured for so long. Alina makes a few friends, although such relationships can’t last too long and she never can bring herself to open up to them the way she did with Mal and Genya and Zoya and Nikolai and Nadia.

Her fourth century dawns and Alina feels lonely. There are no Grisha now, the Small Science disappearing as technology grew far beyond anything seventeen-year-old Alina would ever have dreamed of. She remains, though, and she knows so does he, their tether always humming in the back of her mind even though she has kept the door firmly shut for hundreds of years. However, the loneliness persists. She learns everything she can and becomes as adept with this new technology as anyone else, but it never feels quite right. She is beyond it somehow, a girl out of time.

Her fifth century arrives and so does Aleksander. Although her memories of her friends’ faces have faded over time, he has always remained clear in her mind. He looks as he did the last time she saw him, handsome and pale, but his dark eyes swirl with emotion in a way she rarely saw from him before. She’s missed him, she realises, as he has clearly missed her.

“Alina,” he reaches out to her.

“Aleksander,” she takes his hand, lets her eyes close as she sighs at the intoxicating feeling of surety his touch always brings.

“What do you do now?” she asks, curious about his purpose (for he is the sort who must always have a purpose, she thinks) now the Grisha are gone.

“This and that,” he smiles enigmatically, “there is always a cause, and Ravka still remains, however changed it may be.”

She nods. It is answer enough for the moment. She will find out more later.

After all, she thinks as the two of them walk off, hand in hand, they have all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

"It's ... colourful."

"We're not having a house painted completely black, Sasha."

"Fine, but does it have to be red?"

Alina shrugs, "I just think the back room would make a lovely nursery."

He looks at her stomach, eyes wide "are you?"

She nods, smiling.

"We'll take it," he says.

Chapter Text

“Where are the others?” Alina asks, looking around the room as if she expects a crowd to suddenly jump out from under the bed or inside the wardrobe.

“Other what, solnyshko?” asks the General – no, Sasha, he’d told her she could call him Sasha in private.

“The other children.”

“Ah. Your classmates are in the student dormitories, Alina. But we have to make sure we keep you safe, and these rooms were set aside for the Sun Summoner when the Little Palace was created.”

Her eyes go wide with shock, “all for me!”

Sasha nods, gently nudging her forward to look around.

A giant canopied bed; a desk, dressing table, small seating area and other beautiful furniture; and the most luxurious bathroom she’s ever seen. Everything clean and tidy and bright, fresh flowers by her bed, the sweet smell of vanilla in the air.

She’s never dreamed of having rooms this wonderful, or a wardrobe full of clothes just for her, no shabby hand-me-downs patched up by someone far too busy to make the stiches neat.

“Are you sure it’s mine?” she asks quietly, “you … you won’t take it away?”

That’s one of the punishments at the orphanage. The children never had much, but it could always be removed if they misbehaved – and if you didn’t have some toy to lose, then you’d simply go without a meal.

Sasha frowns, “of course we won’t take it away, Alinochka.”

“Even if I’m naughty, or I fail a test, or my clothes get all dirty?”

He shakes his head, “there are punishments for bad behaviour, of course, solnyshko, but nobody will take your room away from you.”

“Promise?”

She hates how small she sounds, but she just wants to be absolutely sure.

“I promise,” Sasha says, ruffling her hair affectionately, “now, why don’t you see what there is for you on the bed.”

Alina hurries forward, shyness shrugged off now that her worries have been assuaged, and clambers onto the bed, intrigued by the box she finds there.

She gasps out loud when she opens it up and finds a doll. Brand new, not second-hand or missing pieces or with parts chewed by a younger child.

“It looks like me!” she beams at Sasha.

Distinctly Shu in appearance, with shiny dark hair and wearing a miniature black and gold kefta.

“I’ve never seen a doll that looks at me,” she adds in a whisper.

Another frown on Sasha’s face, quickly wiped away and replaced with something approaching awe when Alina throws her spindly arms around him in thanks.

She’s heard lots of horror stories about the Black General, but he’s so nice that she can’t understand why everyone is scared of him.

She really hopes they can be best friends forever.

Chapter Text

Alina stands in front of Aleksander’s desk, looking entirely unrepentant despite her mussed hair, dusty kefta and the absolute chaos she’s left behind in the Grand Palace Stables.

“Do you want to explain what happened?” he asks the little Sun Summoner.

She shrugs, “Prince Vasily had an accident,” she pauses and then leans forward, as if about to share a whispered confidence, “he’s not very careful with his horses – I think he whips them too much.”

“Alinochka,” he says sternly, “tell me why Prince Vasily is now whimpering in his bed with a broken leg.”

She pouts, nose scrunching adorably, “he was mean about you, Sasha. He called you a freakish monster.”

Aleksander sighs. He’s heard far worse in his long lifetime, and a weak insult from the tsar’s idiot son doesn’t hurt him. Alina, though, is young and far more sensitive to the things she overhears whenever she is at the Grand Palace.

He beckons her forward and ruffles her hair affectionately, “my little champion.”

“Vasily is horrid,” she mutters, “he’s the monster, not you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Alinochka, but what have I told you?”

Alina ducks her head, “I’m not ‘sposed to make trouble. But, Sasha, you’re always telling me I can’t be rude – not even when Ivan makes me do extra work just because I said he needs to smile more – so why does Vasily get to be so mean?”

“It’s complicated, Alina. I’ll explain it when you’re older.”

“You always say that, Sasha. But I’m almost eleven now.”

“When you’re older,” he reiterates with a finality she’s thankfully learned not to challenge (for the most part).

“Fine,” she mutters, not looking particularly happy about it.

He smiles at her, “good girl. Now, what exactly did you do?”

“I only made him trip when he was getting off his horse, Sasha … and it was very funny, watching him fall over.”

Aleksander finds himself rather wishing he’d be there, although he won’t let on to Alina, “does anyone know it was your doing?”

She shakes her head, looking very pleased with herself, “no, I promise, Sasha. They all just think it was an accident.”

“Alright. Well, I hope you’ll remember to behave next time, no matter what the prince might say … Now, I think I may have a few biscuits for you, if you want them.”

“Oh, yes, please, please, please, Sasha.”

He passes them over as she settles into a seat with one of the books she keeps in her study.

His Sun Summoner needs to learn not to take things so to heart. Still, he can’t resist the urge to reward her for getting that brat Vasily confined to his rooms for the next few weeks.

One day, the Lantsov family will no longer have power. For the moment, a little bit of a respite is always a treat.

Chapter Text

Alina Starkova is a pale, thin and sickly child.

“I’m not sure she’ll last the winter,” one doctor murmurs sadly the winter she is eight years old.

But she lasts, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness or spite, even if she does not exactly thrive.

And then she turns eighteen and everything changes.

She slips out of the house at night and does not return until dawn. Her parents do not notice, but the servants do, and they marvel that she does not show any signs of exhaustion from her nighttime excursions.

On the contrary, Alina’s health has never been more robust.

Her hair becomes thick and glossy, her golden skin glows, and she gains a little sorely-needed weight and even the appearance of some modest curves.

“Dancing with the devil, that girl,” an older, superstitious servant mutters, “nothing good will come of it.”

And, indeed, Alina is dancing. Out in the forest, in the shelter of the trees, she dances and dances and dances until her feet ache with a man who is sometimes more insubstantial shadow than flesh and blood.

He walks her home each morning, watching as she wades into the pond near her home, still in her nightdress, to cool her heated, sweaty skin and keep her awake for the remainder of the journey back.

Every night it is the same, and every day Alina gains more colour in her cheeks, more brightness in her eyes, more strength in her limbs.

It is a mirage, though, a clever little trick.

If you look closely, you can see that she’s half gone from the world, her mind always back in the forest clearing where she dances.

No one ever looks closely, though. No one ever sees the truth.

And then, one day, Alina does not return home.

Instead, she dances and dances and dances right into another realm, in the arms of her shadow man.

Exactly where she wants to be.

Chapter Text

Alina shivers as the Darkling runs his fingers almost tenderly over the antler bone pieces protruding from her collarbone.

She wants to pull away, but that feeling of surety and power his touch always brings makes her lean closer without meaning to. She can’t resist it, even when she despises him for what he’s done.

“You have two options, Alina,” he tells her softly, “you can agree to marry me and for us to enter the Fold together, in which case I will ensure your tracker’s death is quick and clean. Or, you can continue with your futile defiance and I will have what I want anyway, only Mr Oretsev will suffer grievously before I end his misery.”

“What kind of choice is that?” Alina cries out furiously, “you have me, so just let Mal go.”

“It is the kind of choice that will cease to exist if you do not give me an answer soon,” he warns her, eyes dark, “and there will be no saving your tracker – that boy has caused far too much trouble for me to allow him to live.”

Alina blinks away furious tears. How can he expect her to answer, when to do so would mean her giving some sort of tacit agreement for him to murder Mal?

She keeps quiet, lips firmly shut. She and Mal can find a way out of this, she just needs time.

The Darkling sighs, as if this is all a minor inconvenience that is wasting a few minutes of his precious time, “I had hoped you would be more reasonable Alina, but this will be a lesson for you, I suppose.”

He stands, brushing his thumb across her cheek, “don’t say I didn’t warn you, milaya.”

He turns and leaves the tent and Alina wonders if she’s made a terrible mistake.

Chapter Text

“It’s lovely, but far too big for just us.”

Sasha turns from where he's been admiring the large back garden and smirks, “I’d be more than happy to put in the work to fill it.”

Alina blushes pink, “let’s maybe wait until I’ve finished uni … but I’m not opposed to practicing.”

Chapter Text

The food here is wonderful, Mal, she writes from her beautiful wooden desk in her new room (all hers – she doesn’t have to share!) in the Little Palace, we have to eat simply, because the General wants us to show solidarity with the people of Ravka, but they give us huge portions. We mix our oats with hot milk rather than just boiled water, and the Fabrikators have something they call a greenhouse to grow fruit all year round, and the meat is never burnt.

I was a bit worried about the General to begin with – we have herring served at almost every meal and he actually likes it! It’s alright, though, because there are other things to eat, and, besides, the General lets me have honey cakes and biscuits when we have tea in his receiving room – I think he might have a secret sweet tooth, but he won’t ever admit to it.

Chapter Text

"A palace for a home and you come here?"

"It's quiet," Alina says, sketching a pair of bunnies, "relaxing."

Aleksander wants to scoff, but he finds himself thinking it does seem rather peaceful.

"Fine, we'll have a holiday," he concedes, "just a week."

They stay three months.

Chapter Text

When exams are over, Alina spends most of the summer at Genya’s house.

Sunbathing outside, swimming in the pool, enduring her best friend’s love of makeovers with a fond sigh, giggling and watching movies.

It’s a little jarring sometimes, being surrounded by so much wealth. Genya’s house has six bedrooms, seven bathrooms and countless other rooms, plus a large pool, beautiful garden and a tennis court. Alina, at The Little Palace on scholarship, lives with her foster mother and three other children in a modest little place on the other side of town that is always chaotic and messy.

Still, she’s glad for the chance to relax in the sun before she and Genya go off for their first year at Os Alta University in a few months.

(later, she’s even more glad for what her constant visits to Genya give her).

She gets talking to the neighbour (incredibly, scarily handsome) one day when he drops by to talk to Genya’s dad. When they’ve finished their conversation, Mr Safin calls Genya into his office discuss something and Alina finds herself enduring an awkward silence before she shyly introduces herself.

By the time the red-head returns, Alina and Mr Aleksander Morozov (“please, milaya, call me Sasha”) are having a spirited debate on their favourite books and she has quite forgotten she was ever intimidated by him.

From there, it all plays out rather like some sort of novel or film.

More conversations when Genya has to run an errand or talk to her parents, getting closer and closer until she has to admit to herself that she’s fallen head over heels.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s almost twenty years older than she is, hair threaded through with a few silver strands, and a successful, wealthy businessman who surely can’t see anything in a relatively unremarkable girl who has only just graduated high school.

But he keeps talking to her, finding flimsy excuses to drop by, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face or touch her arm.

The first time he kisses her, she’s slept over at Genya’s and, restless and unable to sleep, has snuck outside late at night when the moon is bright in the sky.

They murmur quietly together, sat together on his pool deck, legs somehow becoming entwined, her ending up half on his lap without even realising how it happened.

His hands cup her face when he ducks his head and slants his lips across hers as she’s in the middle of a rant about John Steinbeck.

She responds hungrily, a sudden craving she has to satisfy now that her fantasies are coming to life.

When they break apart, he doesn’t say any of the things she dreads – no calling it a mistake or telling her it won’t happen again or laughing and calling her a foolish girl for thinking it meant something.

“It has to be our secret, Alinochka,” is all he says as his thumb strokes the soft skin of her cheek, “at least for now.”

The secret holds for the rest of the summer.

Stolen moments, fingers brushing, clandestine meetings, a hand pressed over her mouth to muffle her moans, sneaking around.

Not ideal, of course, but it’s all worth it.

Sasha will always be worth it, she thinks.

Summer ends. Classes at Os Alta University start.

And the two of them stay strong, stay together, no matter what people say, for the rest of their lives.

Sometimes summer romances last forever.

Chapter Text

“Don’t you want peace, Alina?” he murmurs, shadows wrapping around her like a lover’s embrace, “wouldn’t it be easier to end this silly conflict and come back to me?”

It would, she thinks, tired and worn down by months of fighting, it would be so very easy.

She’s never wanted power or a throne or to be called a saint. It is being thrust upon her, though, and surely it is better to try and balance Aleksander and use her power to help people, rather than simply continuing on as she has been – running, hiding, trying and failing to drum up useful support for Nikolai, suffering sleepless nights with Aleksander appearing through their tether and whispering in her ears about all they could do together.

“We are what Ravka needs right now,” he insists now, “not another useless Lantsov tsar … although this one isn’t even a Lantsov, is he?”

She takes a breath and he touches her face – him now, not his shadows – drawing out her light and filling her with a feeling of calm surety.

“Tell me where you are,” he coaxes, “the throne next to mine is yours … it’s always been yours.”

She shouldn’t. Alina should push him away, close the door on this damnable connection between them.

Instead, she gives him a location and watches a triumphant, delighted smile spread across his face.

“I will see you soon, milaya,” he brushes his lips briefly across hers.

Then he is gone and Alina is left to wonder if she has made the right choice.

Chapter Text

Aleksander never dreamed he could have all this.

First, there was Alina, with her sunshine smile and paint-splattered shirt and generous heart.

He’d thought he had it all. Wealth, influence, power, a successful company. And then she showed him the thing he was missing – the love he hadn’t ever realised he yearned for.

She would have been enough all on her own, his beautiful, brilliant wife, but then she gave him the greatest possible gifts – Irina and Maxim.

Now, there were school plays, and science projects building solar systems, and ballet recitals, and childish drawings hung carefully on the wall because they deserved as much respect as any Van Gogh or Rembrandt or Monet, and mismatched socks because they were too sleep-deprived to notice, and visits to the museums and art galleries, and holidays to the beach, and cuddles on the sofa, and pillow forts, and lazy Sunday mornings, and so many other wonderful things.

Then, at night, they read to Irina and Maxim from the books Alina illustrates so beautifully – fantastical tales of magical rabbits and mystical gateways and fairies and secret gardens and shadow princes and queens who glow with sunlight.

Aleksander never dreamed he could have all this.

And every single day, he was beyond grateful for the life he had now.

Chapter Text

The doctors prescribe a visit to the coast.

Alina doesn’t understand how sea air and regular sea-bathing is supposed to help her memory – blank of anything from the last five years – but Ana Kuya insists on following their advice.

The hotel is lovely, at least, with a beautiful view. And there are fresh roses in her room every day, although no one at the hotel seems to know who organises or delivers them.

She starts to make friends with the other visitors to this resort, nodding and exchanging pleasantries.

There is one gentleman – tall, handsome, always dressed entirely in black – that she sees three times every day. On her morning walk, in the distance when she bathes, and again when she sits down in the dining room to eat dinner.

He never speaks to her, just watches. Perhaps she ought to feel nervous, but there is something almost familiar about him and she often feels the urge to go over and make him talk to her, although she never indulges this desire as she is always under Ana’s watchful eye.

On discrete questioning, Alina finds that no one seems to know the mysterious gentleman’s name, or why he is here. It is strange, in this little town where everyone seems to know everybody else’s business.

Every day, he looks at her.

Every day, she looks back, drawn to him.

Maybe one day she’ll have the courage to ask why seeing him always gives her a sense of déjà vu.

Chapter Text

Storybook house. Good school district. Low crime-rate. Friendly neighbourhood. The perfect place for a pair of newlyweds getting ready to start a family.

The morning after their arrival, Alina greets their new neighbours – who are laden with home-baking, casserole dishes and gossip – with a cheerful smile, "do come in. My husband's out right now, I’m afraid. He'll be so sorry he missed you."

As his wife entertains upstairs, Aleksander, down in the basement, gags the bruised and beaten man (lives a few blocks away, all alone, so no one will notice he’s missing for a few days) who is securely tied to a chair. After all, it wouldn’t do for him to make too much noise and force them to have to move again before they’ve even had chance to fully unpack.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs to their wide-eyed, terrified guest, “I’m not going to kill you … not yet at least. My Alina does so hate the insipid chattering of the dull residents of cookie-cutter neighbourhoods like this, and she’ll need something to vent her frustrations on when they’ve gone.”

The man thrashes wildly against his restraints. A futile endeavor, but amusing enough to watch that Aleksander won’t bother stopping him. Really, they’re more fun like this, when they still have hope they’ll be able to escape alive – once reality sets in, they tend to become dull and boring.

This one seems quite defiant, though, likely to provide hours of amusement, or even days if they have the patience to draw it out.

With a wide smile that shows bright-white teeth, Aleksander selects a small but wickedly sharp knife and settles down into a chair to wait for his wife.

Chapter Text

"No joint shoots," their shared manager Ivan warns, "it never ends well."

"Do you think," Alina says later, "that Ivan's trying to make everyone think we hate each other?"

Aleksander sighs, "we have semi-public sex in a dressing room one time and suddenly we can't be trusted."

Chapter Text

Hook gives her a shark’s smile, “please, Alina, darling, call me Aleksander.”

He’s nothing like the stories Mal has told her, portraying Captain Hook as an old, ugly, bitter monster. The man in front of her is older, to be sure, but not ancient, and still strikingly handsome, his dark hair and beard neatly combed and his all-black ensemble exquisitely made. He’s charming too, pulling back her chair, serving dinner to her first, asking her polite questions about London.

Alina has always thought she wants to stay a child forever, desperate enough to stave off adulthood that she’d flown off to Neverland with Mal. Just an hour in Aleksander’s company, though, being treated like a grown-up and she’s starting to realise that she might rather like being an adult. Mal is sweet, to be sure, but selfish too, and stunted by his refusal to grow up.

When dinner – soup, a delicious roast with all the trimmings and Apple Charlottes, which makes a rather nice change from the slightly-charred rabbit and berries she’s eaten so often with the Lost Boys – is over, Aleksander leans over, the cool metal of his hook tilting her chin up so that she is looking directly into his eyes, which seem almost entirely black to her, and almost hypnotic.

“Now, what is a lovely young lady like yourself doing with a ruffian like Mal?” he asks, shaking his head and tutting disapprovingly.

“Oh, well, you see, Captain …” she stutters.

“I told you, darling, call me Aleksander,” he reminds her.

“Well, Aleksander, I didn’t want to grow up, you see, and Mal, he’d listened at the windowsill to the stories I’d tell and he invited me to Neverland.”

“Not wishing to grow up,” he says, “but, Alinochka, to grow up is the greatest adventure. So many … delightful opportunities.”

“Yes,” she nods, “I … I think I’m beginning to see that.”

“What a sensible young lady you are,” Aleksander pets her hair affectionately, “to have come to this realisation. Of course, I wouldn’t dream of abandoning a lady like yourself, not when I know how … unreliable young Mal can be when it comes to returning his guests from whence they came. He’s such a distractible boy, I’m afraid, always flitting off to see those insipid mermaids, or flying around with that meddling fairy of his, or making eyes at the princess who lives on the other side of the island.”

Alina flushes pink. Mal does have a tendency to forget her, leaving her stuck in the tree-house if he decides to go off on an adventure and doesn’t want her tagging along.

“You are more than welcome to stay here until we can find a way to get you home,” Aleksander offers with a gallant smile, “I believe we have some clothes that will suit you – a few beautiful dresses that belonged to a cousin of mine who no longer has any need for them – and I have a library of books you are welcome to read. I’m sure the men would love to hear your stories too.”

“Such a generous offer,” Alina murmurs.

There is a thought in the back of her mind that something isn’t quite right about this. Aleksander is practically a stranger and yet he is making all sorts of grand gestures – can she really trust he means well?

However, she knows that to return to Mal could leave her stranded in Neverland, and she’s become rather disillusioned about the island in the past few days. It would certainly be nice to be back among people who will knock rather than barging in while she’s in a state of undress, and whose offerings of food don’t run the risk of making her ill.

“Well, my darling?” asks the Captain, holding out his hand to her now, “will you stay?”

Alina smiles, takes his hand and nods, “thank you, Aleksander, I would be glad to accept your offer.

His eyes flash very briefly with something like vicious triumph, but it’s gone then, replaced with solicitous concern.

“I’m so pleased,” he tells her, “I do look forward to getting to know you better, Alinochka.”

Chapter Text

“I’d watch out,” Genya warns, “I think Elizaveta is trying to get her hooks into your boyfriend.”

Alina doesn’t bother to turn around. She trusts Aleksander to get rid of the problem himself.

A few seconds pass and then she smiles when she hears a high-pitched squeal of anger and the sound of heels clattering away.

Aleksander’s arms wrap around her waist a moment later, his lips on her neck, “well, Alinochka, here’s hoping Elizaveta won’t be bothering us anytime soon.”

“What did you say to her?” Alina asks curiously.

She can sense his smug grin even if she can’t see it, “oh, just a few pointed remarks about the qualities I prefer in a girlfriend and how she lacks all of them.”

Alina spins around, presses her lips to his, “I do hope she wasn’t too upset,” she murmurs with faux-sympathy.

Aleksander shrugs, “I’m sure she’ll find a way to console herself. She’ll probably be back with Vasily by tomorrow, bragging about going for a drive in his new Maserati.”

“Well, he’s not got much else going for him, has he?” Alina snorts, “but that’s Elizaveta for you – style over substance. He might have a flashy car and plenty of cash but it really doesn’t make up for his awful personality and the fact that everyone knows he’s got a tiny –”

Aleksander puts a hand over her mouth to muffle the last word, “such language from our possible valedictorian!”

She elbows him in the side, “possible?”

“Well,” Aleksander shrugs, “I have heard that –”

“Be very careful how you finish that sentence, Sasha,” she warns him.

“The competition can be tough,” he says with a wide-eyed innocent look she doesn’t trust, “I remember when I graduated –”

“A century ago,” she interjects.

“Five years ago, cheeky girl,” he pinches her waist, “some idiot actually tried to give half his rivals food poisoning.”

“I’m pretty sure that really was an accident,” Genya pipes in, “a batch of undercooked brownies or something.”

“And let’s be honest,” Alina adds, “if there was ever anyone who would give their rivals food poisoning, it would be you, Sasha.”

“I resent that implication,” he tells her, although he doesn’t deny it, “but anyway, back to your possible role as valedictorian …”

“If you do not shut up, Sasha, you will be sleeping on the couch until graduation.”

“It’s my apartment, milaya.”

“Do you really think that matters?”

He pauses for a moment, looks over at Genya – who is stifling giggles – and concedes the point.

The sound of the door slamming open distracts them and they look over to see Elizaveta strutting back in, clinging like a limpet to Vasily Lantsov.

“Well, that was even quicker than I expected,” Aleksander says, “the girl works fast, I have to say.”

“Fuck, she’s coming over here,” Genya hisses, “I’ll see you guys later.”

The red-head vanishes before Alina can even think to grab her, “traitor,” she mutters.

“Hello, Elizaveta,” she gives the older girl her most saccharine (and entirely false) smile, “and Vasily too, what a … pleasure.”

“Hi Ally,” Elizaveta doesn’t even look at her, batting her eyelashes at Aleksander even as Vasily gropes her.

Alina doesn’t bother to correct her. The best response to Elizaveta’s pettiness is to pretend it’s not even happening.

“Vasily’s got a new Maserati, haven’t you, darling,” Elizaveta coos, “he’s going to take me out for a spin.”

“You may want to wait until tomorrow,” Alina feels obligated to say, noting Vasily’s glassy-eyed expression and the strong smell of vodka surrounding him.

“Have you ever been in a Maserati, Alison?” Elizaveta asks with a nasty smile.

“Can’t say I have,” she responds cheerfully, “aren’t you just so lucky. Now, really sorry to cut this lovely little conversation short, but Sasha and I have to go. I bet him earlier that he couldn’t make me come five times in an hour and he’s determined to prove me wrong. Bye now!”

She cackles as she drags Aleksander away, hearing Elizaveta huff before she turns to find another victim to boast to.

“A bet?” Aleksander asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I couldn’t resist,” she grins, “obviously, since the bet is fictional, I won’t hold you to it. I know at the grand old age of twenty-seven, you might prefer to go to bed, get a good night’s sle–”

Alina squeals as Aleksander swings her over his shoulder as they head outside into the cool night air for their thankfully short walk back to his apartment.

“Don’t think I don’t know what game you’re playing, Alinochka,” he says, “perhaps I’ll make up a counter-bet where you think you can go without orgasms for a week.”

“Sasha,” she whines, “don’t be mean.”

“Well then, what will you give me if I win our fictional bet and make you come five times in an hour?”

She pauses, then leans down to whisper something in his ear.

His lips spread into a delighted smirk, “we have a deal then, milaya.”

(he wins the bet, but Alina doesn’t mind at all).

Chapter Text

He lets her have what she wants initially - vibrant colours, psychedelic patterns, vintage mini-dresses - but at the lingerie stores he won't approve anything that isn't black satin or lace.

He insists she models it all for him. Can't have her wasting her trust fund, after all.

Chapter Text

Photos sent to the group chat with Genya, Zoya, Nina and Inej.

Someone lost a bet with their daughter!

Irina giggles hysterically as she works, carefully pinning bits of her papa's hair and adding sparkly butterfly clips.

"Do not let her near the scissors," he hisses to Alina.

Chapter Text

Tears trickle down Alina’s face as she looks at the still, bloody body of her childhood best friend turned husband.

She flinches slightly as Aleksander wraps an arm around her waist, gun still dangling from his other hand.

“No tears for a traitor, Alinochka,” her father-in-law chides her gently, wiping them dampness from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb, “he doesn’t deserve them.”

“What will happen to me now?” she asks softly.

She hadn’t had a clue what Mal planned to do, though she sympathised with his desire to escape this dangerous life they had been born into for a simpler existence. Still, if she is judged to be guilty too, then Aleksander might well turn the gun on her and end her life in this dreary little alleyway.

“The alliance between the Morozov and Starkov families will hold,” he insists firmly, “we’ll just have to find you a more reliable husband this time around, hm, Alinochka. I suppose it’s for the best that there’s no child to make things … difficult.”

“Who?” she asks, voice trembling slightly despite her attempt to sound calm.

“Well,” she can sense Aleksander’s smirk even if she can’t see him, “I always say, if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Alina tenses slightly as he leans down and presses cool lips to her cheek, “you’ll be sweet for me, won’t you, Alinochka.”

She wants to scream, to have the chance to mourn Mal, to flee and never return. Alina is a realist, though. She knows there’s no escaping this life.

Besides, she can’t deny how Aleksander’s presence makes her feel, the lust she wishes she could push away, how pleased she is when he takes an interest in her studies and hobbies. Even now, after he has shot her husband – his own son – in front of her, she is still inexplicably drawn to him.

“Of course, Sasha,” she answers him in barely a whisper.

After all, there is no other acceptable response.

Chapter Text

He shakes his head, "it's a mess, Alinochka."

"Just look, Sasha," she insists, "forget all the plants and moss, imagine what it could be."

"It could really be something," he admits after a moment, "but it will be a lot of work."

"That's alright," she smiles, "it's worth it."

Chapter Text

"And then we're meeting Ivan and Fedyor tomorrow for lunch at –”

"I'm not free," Alina interjected grumpily, still irritated at her step-father's refusal to let her go over to her boyfriend’s house to study.

She was never going to get the chance to do more than hold Mal’s hand if Sasha kept on with this ridiculous overprotectiveness. He told her Mal could come over to study at their house, but Mal always refused because Sasha loomed all the time. And now Mal was making noises about breaking up because “I don’t want to date a nun, Lina” and she’d waited so long for him to notice her that she couldn’t stand the idea of losing him because her step-father refused to let her have a social life.

She was seventeen, after all, and Sasha had only married her mom six months ago – it wasn’t fair that he got to tell her what to do and her mom just told her to behave and do as she was told.

“Not free?” Sasha asked with a raised eyebrow, clearly disbelieving.

“I’m going over to Genya’s to study,” Alina said, trying not to tremble and give away her nervousness.

“A little difficult,” her step-father mused mildly, “given that Genya is away for the weekend with her parents.”

Fuck. Alina had completely forgotten the trip Genya had mentioned a few days ago (as well as the fact that Sasha worked with Genya’s father and would thus have also heard that they would be out of the city) when rehearsing her alibi for why she had to miss the usual Saturday lunch with Sasha’s best friends. The lunch always went on for hours and she had planned on heading over to Mal’s so they could finally have some quality alone time together

“Right,” she stuttered out, “of course, my mistake. I was planning to study at Genya’s next weekend.”

“Silly girl,” Sasha tapped her on the cheek and shook his head condescendingly, “so clever, but your brain is like cotton-wool sometimes, isn’t it, Alinochka?”

“Sure,” she mumbled, too worried that he might interrogate her about the ‘mistake’ to disagree with him.

“We’ll be leaving just after 12 tomorrow,” he reminded her, “and you’ll wear that nice dress I got you last week, won’t you?”

She nodded. While she was a little resentful that he thought he could dictate her outfit choices, she really did love the dress, which suited her perfectly and was much nicer than anything her mother had ever purchased for her.

“Your mother has some spa treatment planned after lunch,” Sasha continued, “but I thought you and I could visit The Fold – I’ve got to sort some paperwork and you can have a look at the new exhibit before it officially launches.”

She couldn’t help but smile widely, even though she was trying to be angry with him. It was always hard when he was such a dinosaur about Mal but then followed it up with something delightful like the promise of a sneak peek at the new art in his gallery.

Alina wished she could figure her step-father out. He inspired such mixed, confusing emotions in her and she never could quite understand what she was feeling.

It would work itself out, though, she was sure.

Probably.

Chapter Text

Mal gets to the theatre early to ensure everything is ready.

Strictly speaking, there should be no one allowed in yet, but his flirtations with Ruby, one of the maids who cleans the theatre, have given him access without questions for the price of a tumble in one of the cloak rooms and a few insincere compliments.

He’s practically in the rafters, knows that if the performance were going on right now, the actors would seem like ants to him. Still, it’s not a good view that he’s after, not of the stage at least.

He kneels down and positions the rifle, wanting to ensure he’ll have an unobstructed view of his target. He smiles when he sees that it shouldn’t be too difficult a shot to hit an occupant of the Royal Box.

Mal knows that he is risking death, but he has to take that chance. The palace is far too well guarded and this is the best opportunity he’s had to catch his target unawares.

With all the preliminary checks completed, it is a waiting game now.

He sits, still and silent, for hours, carefully ducking out of sight when the staff begin their final checks, only emerging from hiding when people enter to find their seats.

It is not until the lights have begun to dim that the grand chandelier in the Royal Box flares to life and all eyes turn to the theatre’s most esteemed guests. First comes General Ivan Kaminsky, a dour-faced man known for carrying out his tsar’s orders with brutal efficiency. Then Lady Genya Kostyk, the tsarina’s favourite lady-in-waiting, so beautiful that the whole crowd seems to let out a collective sigh when they see her. Next, every person present rises for the fearsome Black Tsar himself, the man Mal hates with a burning passion, the man who …

A rustle of the curtains and an angel appears.

It is Alina, radiant in a dazzling black and gold dress, wearing a magnificent necklace – delicate gold chains looped around and around, all studded with diamonds – and cradling the barely-visible swelling of her stomach.

Mal clenches his fists at the thought of the monster the country calls tsar touching innocent little Alina, defiling her with his darkness.

When his old childhood friend smiles at the man she is forced to call husband, when she willingly tilts her head to receive his kiss, Mal knows she must be weeping inside, that she can only be playing a part for her own safety.

After all, Alina could never love one such as the Black Tsar.

The lights begin to dim fully as the royal party take their seats, and soon the stage curtain is rising, the performance beginning.

Mal longs to make the shot immediately, but he forces himself to be patient, to wait for the right moment when the music will be almost deafening and he might be able to make his escape before anyone even realises what has happened.

He is so focused on staying calm that he never even hears them coming. They say that the tsar’s secret police are as silent as ghosts, but until now Mal has always thought it simply propaganda.

However, he doesn’t even realise he’s surrounded until they are on him, the rifle wrenched from his hands, a hard punch to his stomach, a gag shoved into his mouth, his hands roughly bound together.

General Kaminsky – Mal had never even realised he wasn’t in the Royal Box anymore – sneers down at him, “foolish of you to show your face in Os Alta, Oretsev. You might have lived a few days more if you’d at least made an attempt to run. Instead, you chose this path – more futile even than your pathetic obsession with the tsarina.”

Kaminsky’s mouth twists into a nasty grin now, “we’ve got lots of lovely surprises prepared for you in the palace dungeons, Oretsev, but for now we’ll stash you in a room here that the management have set aside for us. I’m sure the tsar will be absolutely delighted to visit you during the intermission and, you know, the soundproofing in this building really is quite spectacular.”

Mal struggles as they haul him to his feet, trying desperately to get free.

As they drag him away, he turns to the Royal Box, hoping to have just one more glimpse of Alina.

Her face is turned away, though, and she is entirely enraptured by the performance.

The Black Tsar, however, is looking right at him.

And, even in the darkness of the theatre, Mal knows the devil masquerading as a man is smirking at him.

Chapter Text

“No.”

Aleksander is determined to stand firm against his little tyrant of a daughter.

Irina’s lower lip trembles and tears fill her eyes (the exact same shape and colour as her mama’s).

Aleksander sighs, “fine. One more honey cake.”

Alina snorts, “you're such a pushover, Sasha.”

Chapter Text

"Good of you to invite us, Morozov. It is nice to get away from the office."

"Mm," Aleksander murmured, not paying the man any attention.

After all, this part of the balcony gave him a perfect view of the pool ... and Starkov's daughter swimming in her delectably skimpy bikini.

Chapter Text

Everyone had advised Aleksander Morozov to choose another girl as his wife. Even Alina’s own father had shaken his head and suggested she was not strong enough.

He was stubborn, though, her Sasha, insisting he would wed Alina, if she would have him.

It would have been mad to turn down a proposal from a moderately wealthy, decent man, even more so considering the soft way he looked at her and the warmth she felt in her stomach when he kissed her cheek or held her hand.

“I might be ill often,” she warned him before their wedding day, “I struggle in the winter, and even when it’s warm I –”

“I do not care,” he interrupted her firmly, “I would marry you, Alinochka, even if you were bedridden. I have hope, though, that the country air will be good for you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden, Sasha,” she whispered.

“You never could be,” he murmured before he stole a brief kiss.

To everyone’s shock, except perhaps Sasha’s, life in the countryside clearly did suit Alina.

She gained some much-needed weight until she had something of a figure and had to alter all her dresses, her cheeks became rosy, her appetite increased, and she no longer found herself out of breath after just a few minutes of brisk walking.

Life had never been so exciting and wonderful.

Alina had the strength to sew and knit, to cook and bake (she discovered her husband’s sweet tooth early in their marriage and now prided herself on the variety of pies, biscuits and cakes she provided for him), to go for long walks with Sasha, to read for an hour or two without hurting her eyes, and to run errands.

Best of all, she could truly enjoy the delights of marital intimacy with her very attentive husband.

It came as not much of a surprise to either of them when Alina began to let out her dresses to accommodate a growing bump, and to knit tiny little clothes for a very much anticipated baby, not much more than five months after their wedding.

Married life, Alina thought with a smile, really was delightful.

Chapter Text

Alina bares her soul to Mal, confesses the love she's kept hidden deep inside for years.

And he laughs at her, like both she and her feelings are a joke.

The noisy, crowded bar is an attempt to drown her sorrows.

She's only two drinks in when a suited arm stops the bartender handing her another shot.

Alina looks up and her brain momentarily stops working.

Disgustingly handsome. Dark hair with just a few threads of silver. Neatly combed beard. Suit that definitely costs more than her monthly rent.

“I think you’ve had enough, milaya.”

“I don’t know you,” she blurts out, shaking off her haze and glaring at him suspiciously, “and I’ve had two drinks, I’m fine.”

He just hums, small smirk on his face, “perhaps, but more drinks aren’t going to solve your problems, are they?”

“Oh, and a complete stranger knows so much about my problems?” she asks irritably.

“I think I could make a fairly accurate guess,” he says with annoying conviction.

She opens her mouth to tell him where he can shove his guess, but he has the gall to put his finger to her lips, “hush now, milaya, don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

“Oh, I won’t regret it,” she growls, “and if you don’t move that finger, I’ll bite it.”

He laughs, eyes lit up with amusement, “what a delightfully vicious little thing you are. You’re entirely wasted in this place with morose drunks and frat boys.”

“What do you want?”

Direct and cold. Her heart definitely isn’t thumping as she waits for his answer.

“Only the pleasure of your company …”

He trails off, waiting for her to give her name. She considers refusing, but there’s something compelling about him despite how frustrating he is.

“Alina,” she says.

“Aleksander,” he offers in return, “so, what do you say, Alina?”

“You can’t just have ‘the pleasure of my company’ here?”

“I rather thought a more private setting might be appropriate, considering my plans, but if you’ve got an exhibitionist kink you want to explore then I’m certainly open to –”

“What! No!” she cries out, “and why do you assume I’m going to go anywhere with you. I just met you two minutes ago.”

“You know you want to, milaya,” he winks at her with unfairly charming confidence.

Saints, she really does. There’s something about this man that is making her both annoyed and insanely turned on at the same time.

Alina stares at him for a moment, assessing.

“Fine,” she says haughtily, as if she’s doing him a huge favour, “but if you turn out to be a serial killer then I will be the worst poltergeist ever.”

“Duly noted,” he tells her solemnly, “now, come along, Alina” he takes her hand and tugs her out of her seat and towards the door, “I’ll bet I can get you forget whatever useless boy you were drowning your sorrows over.”

(four hours and five orgasms later, Alina isn’t sure she can even remember her own name, let alone Mal’s).

Chapter Text

An intimate dining experience at renowned chef Aleksander Morozov's home.

Delicious food. Sublime wine. The chef charming beyond words.

He doesn't touch the final course, a decadent chocolate torte.

Dark eyes watch her intently, "I've something else sweet in mind for dessert."

Chapter Text

“You sure you don’t want any?” Zoya asks.

Alina watches Sasha cradle Genya and David’s newborn, “well … maybe just one.”

She keeps looking as her husband coos, baby Irina wrapping a tiny fist around one of his fingers.

“Ok,” she concedes, “perhaps two, so they’re not lonely.”

Chapter Text

“I love you, Alina, don’t marry him.”

Mal hovers in the church doorway, wearing an ill-fitting suit, wilted bouquet in hands, smelling of stale sweat and alcohol.

Alina, standing in front of the altar in her beautiful white dress, looks horrified.

As Mal takes a step forward, Alina automatically moves back.

“I don’t think the feeling is mutual, Malyen,” Aleksander sneers, wrapping his arm protectively around Alina.

He signals discretely to Ivan and Fedyor, who move towards their unwanted intruder.

Mal struggles against their hold, “Lina, please. You can’t! Not him!”

“Get out, Mal,” Alina hisses, “we’ve been over for years. I love Sasha and I’m marrying him today.”

“Ali–” Ivan’s hand goes across his face to muffle his voice, hauling him out of the church with a grim smile.

Aleksander’s best friend returns after about thirty seconds and nods to him, signalling that the interloper has been dealt with.

He turns to Alina, harsh expression turning to a soft smile as he takes her hand, “are you alright, milaya?”

“I’m fine, Sasha,” she promises, “I don’t care about him. Let’s just get married.”

They turn back towards the priest, matching grins on their faces, and take the next step in their lives together.

Chapter Text

The locals know to avoid the area, but plenty of tourists ignore their warnings about the dangers awaiting them.

The handsome, dark-haired man swimming in the river, tempting you in for a swim and then laughing as he drags you deeper and deeper into the water to sate his hunger for human flesh.

The pretty young woman who finds you with tears in her eyes and asks for help because her friends have left her behind, leading you further into the forest where the trees are alive and their roots keep you bound and trapped until she needs her next meal.

They come together regularly, these two nightmare creatures, when their desire is for something other than food.

He is mostly bound to the river and she to the forest, but there are loopholes to be found and they take full advantage of these.

Their children move freely between the two places, nipping at the unfortunate men and women their father drowns, or swinging through the trees chasing those victims of their mother who attempt to run from their fate.

It is an infamous place, the Grisha Forest, and yet there are always those who refuse to listen to reason.

And as long as there are foolish tourists who venture into their territory, Aleksandr, Alina and their children will remain.

Chapter Text

It’s a gorgeous villa, far better than her budget hotel.

It’s only … there’s a lot of security and no one will let her leave.

“Safety precautions, milaya,” Sasha murmurs, lips on her neck as he deftly unties her bikini, “no need to worry your pretty little head about it.”

Chapter Text

“Where’s Alina?” Mal shouts, struggling against the two men holding him, “what have you done to her?”

“Stealing has consequences, Oretsev,” Morozov says, dark eyes like fathomless pits ready to destroy and devour, “you take something of mine and I’ll take something of yours in return.”

“You monster!” Mal spits out, furious and fearful at the same time, “don’t you dare hurt her.”

Morozov’s mouth stretches into a wide cruel smirk. He taps at his phone and lifts it so Mal can see the video playing on the screen.

“I’m not sure your precious little Alina would call me a monster,” he says, “and I can assure you that she rather enjoys a little bit of pain with her pleasure.”

Mal watches the clip in horror, unable to look away as Morozov grips Alina’s hips tightly, biting her shoulder so hard he draws blood as he enters her roughly from behind. The camera view switches so Mal can see Alina’s face – her mouth open, her eyes clouded over with arousal and her expression one of pure ecstasy.

“It’s better with sound,” Morozov whispers almost conspiratorially, “but I think I’d like to keep those sweet little noises just for me.”

“My money has been restored to me, Oretsev,” Morozov’s smile is all teeth now, a shark’s grin, “but I’m afraid you won’t be getting your Alina back.”

Chapter Text

Bleak centuries of loneliness and despair.

Dedication to the thankless task of trying to sew together a country torn apart and divided by war, famine, discrimination and the greed of the Lantsov dynasty.

And then a searing burst of light.

Alina.

For the first time in hundreds of years, Aleksander has hope.

Chapter Text

The palace of King Anton held a secret.

Although, to be honest, it really wasn’t much of a secret.

Everyone knew that the king had asked the Oracle if he would ever have the male heir he craved so desperately – four wives and all he had to show for it was one daughter named Alina – and that he had been informed he would never have a son, but that his daughter would give birth to a boy who would eventually kill his grandfather.

Knowing he would be despised for murdering his own child, but unwilling to risk Alina falling pregnant with the child who would cause his death, Anton decided to imprison her in a chamber constructed underneath his palace.

It was a richly adorned suite, full of luxuries, but it was a prison all the same – no doors or windows, just a single sky-light covered with a metal grate as a source of light and air for the trapped princess, and to allow the delivery of provisions.

It was a hellish experience for a young woman, especially one who had always loved to be out in the sun, roaming the palace grounds and nearby forests.

What King Anton did not know, however, was that Aleksander, king of the gods, had spotted Alina as she danced and laughed on the surface, seeing in her a spark of sunlight that was the perfect balance to his control of the shadows.

He watched her every day, becoming more and more infatuated, until he resolved to take her to Olympus and give her immortality so that she might be his bride.

When he found her gone, before he could claim her, his fury was great. At first resolved to simply suffocate the king with his shadows, Aleksander instead decided that a better punishment would be for the Oracle’s prediction to come true.

After all, was it not better to remind the mortals that they could not outrun their fate, no matter what they attempted?

And so, late one night, shadows slipped easily into King Anton’s supposedly impenetrable chamber, coalescing into the tall, dark form of the infamous king of the gods.

Alina, he saw, was fast asleep, laid out on her bed like an offering in one of his temples.

Aleksander always accepted an offering.

Tendrils of shadow slithered towards the bed, pulling back the sheets and wrapping themselves around the princess’ limbs, gently maneuvering her so Aleksander could see her face, untroubled and peaceful in sleep.

Her golden skin and glossy black hair seemed more faded and lifeless than it had been when he had first spotted her, an unfortunate side effect of a month as a prisoner underground. No matter, though, it was easily fixed by some Ambrosia and fresh air. Besides, she was still beautiful in his eyes, still the girl he had vowed to make his queen.

He’d planned to wake her, to introduce himself as her liberator and future husband. He knew she might be a little frightened – gods were intimidating, after all, and there were always disturbing rumours floating around about him, only some of which were actually true – but she would soon see what he did, that they were destined to be together.

Their first time was supposed to be in his palace on Olympus, in the room he’d created especially for her, with sunlight streaming through the windows and everything decorated in dazzling white and gold.

He was tempted, though, by the picture in front of him.

After all, there would be eons to have her in the bright sunshine and, though he was furious that she had been imprisoned in this place, the chamber did rather appeal to his love of the darkness and shadows.

And she looked so sweet like this, pliant and loose-limbed with sleep.

Really, it would be a kindness for her to wake in the midst of so pleasurable an activity, and a delight for him to hear her sleepy little noises turn into keening cries as she writhed beneath him.

Yes, it really would be an excellent first meeting, and a delicious piece of revenge as well, for Alina to conceive the child who would one day kill his grandfather right beneath the palace as the foolish king believed himself entirely safe from the prophecy.

His shadows tugged at Alina’s flimsy nightgown, gradually revealing her glorious body to Aleksander’s eager gaze.

Yes, he thought as he shed his own dark robes and climbed onto the bed to hover above her, she would look magnificent with a diamond and obsidian crown on her head, belly rounded with his child.

His perfect little wife.

Chapter Text

“I hear the old Duke left her nothing in his Will but a paltry allowance.”

“Miserable old mister. That girl deserves something for enduring the attentions of a man nearly seventy for almost a year, and she barely nineteen years old now. I don’t know what her father was thinking with that match – I saw the wedding myself, you know, and she wept the whole time.”

“Five wives over his lifetime and not a single living child to show for it. Probably for the best – a son might have turned out as bad as his father.”

“At least this new Duke – cousin once removed, or perhaps twice – seems like a more sensible sort. And so good of him to let the poor girl stay in the Dower House – she had a little studio there so she could paint, you know, and there are some lovely pictures she’s done of the lake in the rooms there.”

“Very decent of him, yes. He’s an imposing sort, to be sure, but very handsome. Only thirty-eight too – he’ll be looking for a Duchess of his own soon enough, I wager.”

“He won’t have much trouble finding candidates. They’ll all be willing to make the trip from London for a catch like him – it’s not often you get looks, intelligence, wealth and a title all in one gentleman.”

“Mmm, although I think he might have a lady in mind already. My sister says His Grace visits the Dower House almost every day and spends hours quite alone with the young Dowager Duchess. They always appear quite disheveled afterwards, my sister tells me.”

“Well, good for her. Better a sweet girl like her for our Duchess, one who’s lived in the area all her life, than one of those insipid ladies from London.”

“Quite right you are, quite right indeed. And I imagine there’ll be no trouble with an heir there.”

Chapter Text

“I … I still … can’t believe … believe it,” Alina sobs into his shoulder.

Aleksander can’t either. He never thought it would be so easy to arrange a completely unsuspicious car accident.

“We’d only been married a month,” she hiccups.

A shame, that. He’d have preferred it if the wedding had never taken place, but he’d been unavoidably detained by business across the country and only returned two days before the big day, which had meant his plan was delayed until after the newly-weds returned from their honeymoon.

“I just … I always pictured forever with him.”

Aleksander nearly snorts. It never would have worked out between Alina and Mal – his nephew had some charm, to be sure, but he was always too easily swayed by a pretty face and a large chest. Alina hadn’t yet discovered the evidence of Mal’s three-month affair with his colleague Ruby, but she’d find it sooner or later, and that would make it easier for her to overcome her grief.

“You don’t know how grateful I am for you, Uncle Sasha. You’ve been so wonderful with everything – I’m not sure what I would have done without you.”

He runs a comforting hand up and down her back, lets her cry into his jumper. There’s a voice in the back of his mind, telling him to peel away her clothes, to touch and taste, to burrow inside her until all she can think about is him rather than his useless nephew.

“Don’t worry, Alinochka,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the crown of her head, “I’ll always look after you.”

It’s alright. No need to rush things. They’ve got plenty of time.

Chapter Text

It’s a poor excuse for a fashion show, the sort of place he’d usually never be caught dead.

Aleksander Morozov’s haunts are Paris, Milan, London, New York, Tokyo and Shanghai. He isn’t usually to be found in a rural little town with a name he hasn’t even bothered to learn.

It’s a favour to Genya, who insists there is a girl he has to see.

“You’ll thank me, Sasha,” she promises.

He sits through a mediocre hour, almost leaves, and then she appears.

Golden skin that almost glows. Amazingly expressive face. Wearing a sub-par gown as if it is haute couture.

She’s tiny, really, not at all the typical model build. It doesn’t matter to Aleksander. He knows in that moment that he’ll build an entire collection just around her.

(he’ll build a hundred collections around her, if he has the chance).

He breaks.

“What’s her name?” he asks Genya, ignoring her knowing smile.

“Alina … Alina Starkova.”

Alina.

He’s found his new muse.

Chapter Text

"A witch lives there."

"No! A wizard."

"Actually," a deep voice says from behind them, "we're demons."

Alina appears as the two children run screaming, rolling her eyes, "stop scaring the locals."

His smile is all sharp teeth, "just having fun."

"Stick to the tourists, Sasha."

Chapter Text

Seventeen years old and Alina’s whole life is in two battered suitcases.

She eyes the house with suspicion, although it looks nice enough – well-kept and tidy, a distinct contrast to the run-down, overcrowded group home she’d stayed in for the last six months.

There’s a dog on the porch, which looks up and lets out a friendly bark before seemingly going to sleep. Alina has always wanted a dog, but there was never room in the apartment she lived in with her parents.

Then, a man – about forty, dark hair threaded through with silver, tall, handsome enough that her face warms and her stomach swoops – comes out to stand next to the dog, “Alina?”

She looks at him, this godfather she doesn’t remember, now her legal guardian.

“Yes, that’s me,” she says with a confidence she doesn’t feel.

“I’m Aleksander,” he strides over, large hand dwarfing hers in a slightly awkward handshake before he reaches out and squeezes her shoulder gently, “but you can call me Sasha. I really am pleased to see you again, Alinochka, although I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

She’s never liked nicknames, but his is so full of genuine affection that she finds she doesn’t mind it. She knows it won’t be easy, living with this stranger, a man who last saw her fourteen years ago, who was named as her guardian despite the mysterious estrangement her parents never explained to her.

She probably shouldn’t trust him, but Alina is tired and grieving and desperately in need of some stability.

He looks lonely too, no one but his dog in spite of the lovely home with an actual white picket fence.

Who knows … maybe they can be each other’s family?

Chapter Text

Alina doesn’t want Sasha to know she’s struggling.

He’s so good with the baby, a natural father. Alina, on the other hand, feels as if she’s been tossed into the deep end without knowing how to swim and is trying not to drown.

She loves Irina desperately, but motherhood is far more overwhelming than she expected.

The difficulties of breastfeeding and aching breasts; the awful mood swings; teething issues leaving Irina’s gums red and sore; being lonely with just her baby daughter for company during the day (no family to help, Sasha and her friends all at work); panicking when she can’t figure out if Irina’s cries mean she’s hungry or gassy or tired; trying to nap but never managing to fall asleep, her mind racing with too many worries.

As soon as her husband gets home, Alina puts on a smile, spins the story of a fairytale of a day.

Today we watched a Disney film … this morning we learned a new song … in the afternoon we had lots of fun with tummy time.

She can’t let Sasha know that she’s failing, doesn’t want to see the regret in his eyes as he realises he should have married another girl – someone older, more sensible, cleverer, more poised, less prone to letting her negative thoughts overwhelm her.

It all falls to pieces the day Sasha comes home early, clearly a surprise so he can spend all afternoon with them.

Instead, he finds Alina – unkempt and exhausted – in tears on the couch, rocking Irina, who has been wailing for two hours and has only just settled down, snuffling quietly as her teething ring soothes her gums.

Alina waits for the rejection.

She should be used to it by now – dumped at an orphanage at the age of five when her mother died and her father couldn’t cope; too many foster homes to count but never an offer to adopt her; callously rejected by her childhood companion Mal, the only friend she’d kept through those turbulent years, when he decided she was too clingy, far too much work.

It’s always been a surprise, the way Sasha never even hints at leaving, how his declarations of love sound truly sincere, that he is always holding her close like he can’t bear to not to be touching her.

“Alinochka,” a frown creases his forehead as he sits down next to her, arms wrapping around her like a comforting blanket, “milaya, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t want to admit all her failings, but everything spills out unbidden, barely coherent thanks to her tears.

And then it’s like her mind goes fuzzy, everything hazy, white noise all around her.

She doesn’t become aware again until she finds herself tucked into their bed with her stuffed teddy bear (a First Birthday present from her mother, one of the few things she has from her family) in her hands and Sasha lying next to her, rubbing soothing circles on her arm.

“Irina!” she cries, “Sasha, where’s –”

“Hush,” he murmurs, stroking her hair, “she’s in her crib, right there,” he points to the corner of the room, and Alina breathes a sigh of relief when she hears soft breathing, sees the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest as she naps.

“I’m sorry –” she starts, but her husband only shakes his head and pulls her closer.

“No, Alinochka … I’m sorry. You’ve been dealing with so much and I’ve been so caught up in work I never noticed, didn’t even think about how hard this would be on you. Can you forgive me, milaya?”

She wants to protest, tell him there’s nothing to forgive, that he is perfect and she’s just a mess masquerading as a functioning person.

He sighs, like he can read her thoughts, “I love you so much, Alina,” he tells her, “you and Irina. And I never want you to feel like you need to hide from me.”

“I just didn’t want you to think I’m a failure,” she whispers.

“Never!” he says, almost vehemently, “I know how much you love Irina, milaya. I see it in your eyes whenever you talk about her or when I see the two of you together. But it’s ok if you have problems and struggles – parenthood isn’t exactly easy. I’m going to spend more time at home now.”

Her eyes widen, “oh, no, you can’t neglect your work for me, Sasha.”

“Work will be fine,” he insists, “and there’s plenty that can be done from home. Irina won’t be little forever, and I want to have more time with both of you.”

Part of her wonders if he doesn’t trust her with the baby after what he just witnessed, if he’s sugarcoating his words to hide the fact that he wants to keep an eye on her.

No. That’s not Sasha, it never has been. It’s just the nasty voice in the back of her mind that she usually tries not to listen to.

“It’s ok to ask for help sometimes, Alina,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, letting her snuggle against him, “we all do it … yes, even me,” he winks and answers her question before she can even verbalise it, “I’d be lost at work without Ivan, Fedyor, Genya and Nina.”

“You sleep now,” he murmurs, “I’ll take care of Irina for a few hours. And then tomorrow, we’ll all go to the park together. How does that sound?”

Fresh air, family time, listening to Irina’s happy little babbles, buying an ice-cream even though it’s February because Aleksander’s sweet tooth never lets him pass by without getting something.

“It sounds wonderful,” she tells him, her mouth curving into its first genuine smile in days.

At times like this, she feels like the luckiest girl in the world.

Chapter Text

Alina is almost out of the door, but freezes when she hears his voice, "you're not going out in that skirt, Alinochka."

She turns around and scowls at him, "you're not my dad."

He crooks his finger and she knows better than to ignore him, obeying his silent instruction and slinking over with only a slight pout.

Sasha grabs her wrist and pulls her down into his lap. She ignores the gun on the table, right next to his dinner. Her mom has never exactly had ‘safe’ taste in boyfriends, although Sasha is certainly the most dangerous of the lot.

“I’m not your dad,” he agrees, calloused hand sliding under her skirt, higher and higher up her leg, as if to emphasise how very un-related they are, “but your mom’s useless so someone has to take you in hand.”

If she were a better daughter, Alina would be furious about his blatant insult. But he’s right that her mom isn’t much use, and Alina is of the opinion that there’s no point caring about parents who don’t give a damn about you.

She doesn’t think about her mom, though. Instead, she smiles coyly at Sasha.

“So, are you?” she asks, “going to take me in hand?”

She shifts position slightly so his knuckles brush her already-damp underwear, moaning slightly as he swears under his breath.

“You need a lesson or two, little girl,” he growls, fingers already pushing lace aside and probing at the warm wetness between her legs.

Alina doesn’t bother going out that night.

There is far more fun to be had at home.

Chapter Text

A room full of half-dressed models and Aleksander can only seem to focus his camera on her.

“You know I’m just the make-up artist, right?” she asks, slightly baffled expression on her face.

She’s not just anything, he thinks.

This girl is one in a million and he’s smitten.

Chapter Text

The sun is hot on her face and neck, sweat beading on her brow.

It is almost intolerably warm, no shade nearby, but Alina keeps on with her task – the Little Palace has the best strawberries for miles and they are one of her papa’s favourite foods.

“Alinochka,” the chiding voice behind her is as familiar as the rooms of her home or her papa’s anxious reminders for her to wear an extra shawl, “what are you doing out in this heat without a hat or parasol?”

A weight settles on her head a moment later, a wide-brimmed straw hat that instantly offers relief.

“I suppose you think me foolish, Mr Morozov.”

His expression softens as she turns to face him, “on the contrary, Alina, I believe your care and attentiveness when it comes to your father is one of your most admirable qualities.”

“To go along with all the disappointing ones that you like to scold me about,” she sighs.

For a moment, he seems to frown, but then he reaches over to smooth a flyaway piece of hair with the same gentle concern he’s shown her for as long as she can remember, and gives her a brief smile.

“You’re such a clever girl, Alinochka,” he says as he stoops to pick up her almost-overflowing basket, offering his arm so that they can walk back to his home, where cool refreshments will certainly be waiting, “I only wish that you would put those wits of yours to better use than trying to matchmake every man and woman you find.”

“Zoya and Nikolai are so happy together, though,” she protests, “and Genya insists David never would have proposed without my help.”

“Lucky guesses,” he grumbles, “I believe rational, sensible people may be safely left to manage their own affairs, Alina.”

Alina grumpily thinks Mr Morozov is entirely unromantic and not nearly as impressed with her matchmaking skills as he should be.

“Your father is in my study,” he says as they reach the great oak doors of the Little Palace, “we’ll bring him some strawberries and I’ll call for a bowl of water and some napkins too.”

For all his tendency to scold her dreadfully, Mr Morozov really is quite wonderful, always making accommodations for her papa, knowing he would much rather wash the strawberries himself so he can be quite sure they are cleaned to his exacting standards.

Alina squeezes Mr Morozov’s hand, after he has placed the basket down, trying to convey her thanks.

He gives her such a fond look that, for a moment, Alina feels quite odd, almost feverish.

It must be her mind playing tricks on her, though, since she is never ill, a great relief to her ever-cautious papa.

Still, as she and Mr Morozov leave papa with the strawberries and walk to the library – there are two books he is keen for her to read, as he is always trying to improve her mind – Alina finds herself strangely conscious of Mr Morozov’s presence by her side in a way she never has been before.

She can’t understand it. He is just Aleksander Morozov – always present, there in every important memory, teaching and lecturing and huffing in exasperation, praising (sparsely) and smiling (rarely) and sometimes watching her like he considers her a puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

So why, she wonders as he picks out one of the books and begins to tell her about it, does she suddenly yearn to reach out and entwine their fingers together, keep hold of him forever rather than just for a brief moment?

Why, as he talks about Shakespeare or farming or some other topic that she really should be paying more attention to (because he’ll quiz her later, she’s sure of it) does she consider what it might be like to press her lips to his?

Why has she only now figured out that Mr Morozov is not just her friend, her neighbour, her constant companion? He is … something more.

For all her professions that she will never, ever marry, Alina thinks it might be rather nice to discover what something more really is.

Chapter Text

A bright and cheery cottage across the Fold, home of a Sun Summoner in hiding and her son, who mirrors his father in looks and summoning.

When shadows creep into the kitchen, Alina thinks it's only Lukyan practicing.

"Such secrets you've been keeping, Alinochka."

He's found them.

Chapter Text

He spends days holed up in the Fabrikator workshop as Alina grumbles that he’s scared of her pregnancy mood swings.

He reappears with a mobile to hang over the wooden crib.

Shiny black stars, glimmering golden suns and three figures – stag, sea whip and firebird.

It’s perfect.

Chapter Text

Her step-father Sasha leans back on his lounger, hands on her waist as she frantically rides his thigh.

"Desperate little girl needs daddy's help to come," he coos.

One glance out of the window and her mother – chased inside by the cool dusk air – would see.

Alina doesn't care.

Chapter Text

“Grab me a coffee and sort this out, won’t you, Lina?”

Alina sighs, juggling her own things together with the paperwork Mal has just dumped into her arms.

“Miss Starkova is not your maid, Mr Oretsev.”

They both turn around to see Aleksander Morozov, the company CEO. He leans over to pluck the pile of papers out of her hands and shove them back at Mal.

“Oh, Mr Morozov, sir,” Mal stutters, “I was just coming to talk to you about the Lantsov account.”

“Funny,” he raises an eyebrow, “I was just coming to discuss that particular account with Miss Starkova – I believe she has been doing the real work on it.”

Alina blushes, hand covering her mouth to hide her smile as Mal stammers his way through an attempted explanation.

“Enough, Mr Oretsev,” Mr Morozov cuts him off sharply, “tales of your incompetence do not interest me. Miss Starkova, walk with me.”

Mal flees. Alina falls into step next to Mr Morozov.

“So,” she murmurs, once they’re out of earshot of the rest of the office, “you did like The Devil Wears Prada.”

He shrugs, faint smile on his lips, “what can I say, Miss Starkova, you’ve got good taste.”

Chapter Text

“And is she still a maid?” asks the Duke, “I heard rumours of a dalliance with my foolish young cousin Oretsev, before the boy got himself executed.”

Alina’s nails dig painfully into her palm and she struggles to stay quiet as the Duke so casually refers to Mal’s death.

She’d loved Mal for what felt like her entire life, their marriage a seemingly foregone conclusion. And then the infamous Black Duke had arrived with accusations of Mal’s treason against the crown and all their plans had gone to ruin, Mal sentenced and beheaded in a matter of weeks.

Alina grimaces as her father, desperate for a connection with the most powerful noble in the land (probably the most powerful man at all, considering they all know the king is not long for this world and the Duke is his closest relation), almost prostrates himself at the Duke’s feet in his haste to assure their visitor that Alina is “pure as the driven snow, Your Grace.”

As if her father, distant emotionally as well as physically (since he spends most of his time in London and she at one of their country estates), will have a clue what the true answer to the Duke’s question is.

She is a maid, as a matter of fact, but she wishes now that she’d given in to Mal’s pleas for them to marry quickly, if not strictly legally, rather than waiting for their parents to finish squabbling and negotiating over settlements and dowries.

“Enough,” the Duke’s voice is cold as he stops her father’s babbling right in its tracks, “I will speak to Lady Alina alone.”

Her father, who has never permitted her to be alone in a room with any man or boy, exits the chamber rapidly and without protest, leaving Alina to glare at the undeniably handsome but devilishly cruel Black Duke.

“I am not a maid,” she tells him boldly, lying through her teeth, “so you are wasting your time.”

He only laughs, reaching out to tilt her chin up, smirking as she trembles slightly, “oh, I think you are, my lady. Perhaps my useless cousin managed to steal a kiss or two,” his thumb brushes over her lips and she resists the urge to bite his fingers only because she feels sure he is the type who would like it, and might well bite back in return, “but I believe you to be quite the innocent otherwise.”

“I –” she begins indignantly, but he only hushes her, fingers trailing down her neck, brushing the top of her breasts, toying with the lace on the neckline of her dress.

“I can tell a virgin,” he insists, looking her up and down, “but I’ll have you either way, my Alina. A month or so to be absolutely sure you’re not carrying a bastard that will need to be dropped off with a farmer, and then we’ll be married in the Cathedral. Who knows, you may even be queen one day soon.”

She gapes at his casually-spoken treason, his talk of the king’s possible (inevitable) death.

“Why?” she asks quietly.

He shrugs, “because I want you, my lady. As my Duchess. In my bed, warm and pliant beneath me. Round with my child, securing a dynasty.”

He moves as quick as a viper, capturing her lips with his own, heated and passionate where the one kiss she’d shared with Mal had been sweet and brief.

“And,” he adds after they break apart, Alina breathless and her mind fuzzy, “I always get what I want.”

Chapter Text

“You’re insane!”

“Irina wanted a playhouse,” he says, as if that explains everything.

“You had an entire miniature house built for her, Sasha. It has working plumbing and electricity!”

“Our little girl deserves the best, Alina.”

"She's five, Sasha."

"But, look, she's so happy."

Chapter Text

Mal gets the car to drop him off at the end of the winding driveway. He wants his return to be a surprise, so he walks up towards the large, familiar manor that is his childhood home.

He and Alina had rented an apartment in the city when they’d married two years ago, but he’d encouraged her to give it up and move in with his dad when he deployed – she’d been angry with him about his decision to take a long-term assignment (dangerous, very few opportunities to make satellite calls, no guarantee that letters or emails would make it through) without even consulting her, but she’d agreed it would be good for her and his dad to keep each other company while he was away.

He reaches the house in the twilight, spots lights on in the living room, decides to peek in and catch a glimpse of them before he knocks on the front door.

For a moment, all he sees is the back of two heads faced towards the television.

Then, one of the figures stands and turns, and Mal drops his rucksack in shock.

Alina, belly rounded, rubs her hands on her lower back, face contorting as if she’s uncomfortable.

The second figure gets to his feet. Mal’s father Aleksander presses a tender kiss to Alina’s forehead, his hands gently caressing the bump, eyes shining with an emotion Mal has never seen from his stern father.

Perhaps a hopeful man might have called the gestures innocent.

Except … Alina’s stomach is certainly obvious, but not yet huge enough to suggest an imminent birth date.

And Mal has been gone – no trips home, no leave given – for nine months.

Chapter Text

The curtains from the house opposite twitch ever so slightly.

"She's watching us again," Sasha grimaces.

"Miserable old bat," Alina mutters.

"Alinochka," he chides, "be nice, she's almost ninety."

"And yesterday she called us fornicators when you kissed me goodbye on the cheek!"

Chapter Text

Alina has never seen so much silk and satin and lace and muslin in her life. She can’t imagine what it must all cost.

“I’m sure I just need one or two new dresses, Your Grace. I can’t imagine I’ll be invited to many balls.”

She’s the impoverished daughter of a baronet’s third son, after all. She’s not likely to find a match of much worth.

“I told you to call me Sasha, pet, remember? And as for balls, you will be invited everywhere – you are my ward, remember.”

He turns to Genya, the friendly modiste, “I want a full new wardrobe for her. Everything.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Genya smiles and nods, pleased at such a significant commission.

The Duke turns to Alina, hand settling onto her shoulder as he leans down to whisper to her, lips almost brushing the shell of her ear, “now, what do you say, pet?”

“Thank you, Sasha,” she murmurs, a little breathlessly.

“Good girl,” he tucks a piece of errant hair behind her ears with a fond expression on his face.

He moves towards the door, ready to leave her in the modiste’s capable hands, but then pauses just before he exits.

“Oh, and Genya,” he adds, “make sure all the nightdresses are black silk.”

Chapter Text

Mal knows it’s wrong to look up a lecturer's home address, but he really, really needs a last-minute extension for his essay and Dr Starkova is about to go on leave for three weeks and won’t be checking her emails.

Anyway, she's always so friendly and kind that he's sure she won't mind the brief interruption.

Unfortunately, when the front door opens, he finds himself face-to-face with his worst nightmare – Dr Morozov.

"You better have a damn good reason for interrupting my vacation, Oretsev.”

“Sir … I … I mean … you … me … I …”

“Stop babbling like an idiot. You never were any good at coherent arguments – it’s why you barely scraped a pass in my class.”

“Sasha,” a voice comes from behind Dr Morozov, “be nice.”

Dr Starkova appears then, more casual than he’s ever seen her in paint-splattered leggings and what looks suspiciously like a worn version of the shirts Morozov always wears.

“I … you … he … together,” Mal stutters.

“Yes, Mal, Dr Morozov and I are married,” she says calmly, elbowing Morozov when he mutters under his breath about nosy students and how Neanderthals clearly still walked among them, “although we’d appreciate it if that didn’t become common knowledge – we prefer to keep our private lives private.”

Morozov gives him a glare so severe that Mal knows he won’t ever breathe a word of what he’s seen today for fear of being brutally murdered.

Not that anyone would believe him – walking sunshine Dr Starkova and devil incarnate Dr Morozov, actually married!

“I suppose you’re here about an extension, Mal,” Dr Starkova says.

Mal mumbles something about extra football practices and all his essays piling up.

“Just this once then,” she tells him, “because I know how hard the Coach has been working you all.”

“Too soft-hearted,” Morozov tuts, but she just rolls her eyes fondly.

“I’ll see you in class after the break, Mal.”

He nods, recognising the dismissal and quickly gives his thanks before saying goodbye.

He is almost at the bottom of the path when he turns and spots Dr Starkova and Morozov framed in the doorway.

She’s looking up at him, smiling widely. And his hands are cupping her cheeks, looking down with such a soft, sappy look that Mal almost doesn’t believe it really is Morozov and not some clone or doppelganger.

Still, although he might be a bit of an idiot sometimes, Mal knows how to recognise love, and he can see it now, right in front of him.

Chapter Text

She struggles with the oprichniki holding her, spitting curses and threats.

He sighs, lifts a hand to trail his fingers down her cheek, shaking his head at her like she’s a recalcitrant child when she tries to bite him, “you were so much more agreeable back in the War Room, Alina, so warm and willing, so ready to let me fu –”

“Shut up!” she hisses, “you lying monster.”

Aleksander smirks, sensing a weakness, “ah, I see. You don’t want your tracker to know just how eager you were, how close you came to giving me everything.”

He’s right and Alina hates it, despises herself for the fact that she would have let him take her to bed if they hadn’t been interrupted.

She hears Mal swear behind her and knows he’s been listening to every word Aleksander has said.

Alina moves quickly, just fast enough to surprise the oprichniki. While she might not be able to escape their grasp, she is free enough to lift her arm and slap Aleksander across the face with all the force she can muster, her palm smarting at the effort.

When he turns to her, red mark clear on his pale cheek, his eyes are dark and his snarl terrifying.

His hand closes around her throat before she can even blink.

She’s never quite appreciated, until this moment, just how small she is in comparison to him. Back in the War Room, during the fete, it made her feel safe and cherished – now, she is reminded of just how dangerous and powerful he is.

His hands squeeze lightly, constricting her airway a little and keeping her compliant, but not enough to make her feel like she can’t breathe.

“I am exercising a great deal of restraint, Alina,” his words are short and clipped, “in giving your tracker a quick, clean death, and in trying to reason with you rather than putting a pretty golden collar around your neck and chaining you to my side. However, if you do not behave then I will have no qualms about altering my plans.”

The pressure on her throat increases ever so slightly, “well, Alina, shall I have the boy publicly flogged and then hanged? Slowly smothered with shadows? Left to starve in some dismal little dungeon beneath the palace? And you, my pet Sun Summoner, naked save for your collar, sat at my feet, a weapon on command?”

Alina shivers, and she tells herself it is entirely in revulsion.

“So, Alinochka,” he murmurs softly, “will you behave for me now?”

She wants to fight, to scream, to claw his eyes out, to run with Mal and never look back. But she’s trapped here and she knows it.

Slowly, reluctantly, she nods.

His grip loosens enough that she can take a big gulp of air, relief coursing through her body, trembling all over.

“Good girl,” he whispers silkily into her ear.

Alina tries not to think about how those words make her feel.

Chapter Text

She isn’t like the other women he’s dated before, all sharp edges and cold smirks, power suits and almost obsessively career-oriented, caviar and expensive champagne – the kind of woman he’s always thought he should want.

Alina is soft curves and sweet smiles, sleepy kisses and curling up into his lap after a tiring or difficult day, artistic and interested in history, equally happy with a fancy restaurant or a cheap takeaway, easy to read with her beaming grins when she’s happy or her panicked doe-eyes when she’s feeling overwhelmed.

She is everything he never knew he wanted, needed, desired.

And now he’s found his perfect girl, he knows he’ll never be foolish enough to let her go.

Chapter Text

While working with Baghra had simply seemed to cause her stress, it is clear that Alina now blooms like a flower in spring under Aleksander’s tutelage.

It’s easy, with him, like breathing. The light comes out to dance with the shadows, a beautiful sight for those privileged enough to see it.

“You look much better,” Genya smiles, “using your power is clearly fighting the wasting sickness.”

Alina just nods. It’s true that finally embracing her power is making her healthier than she’s ever been, but she knows that there is something else contributing to the skip in her step and the ruddy glow of her cheeks.

Aleksander’s presence sparks something inside of her, calls out to her like he is the other half she has been waiting all her life for. He makes her feel special and cared for and seen.

Alina thinks using her power has done a lot for her, but being with Aleksander has given her even more.

Chapter Text

Alina had been at King’s Landing for nearly two years, since her father became Hand of the King for Aleksandr I Morozov.

Her mother hadn’t wished for her to join Anton Starkov, but apparently the King had been most insistent. She had heard her parents arguing before their departure when they thought she wasn’t listening. Alina was young, but not stupid, and she knew her family had power that might, given time and the right allies, be able to match the King’s – the decision to keep her father busy at court and have the Starkov heiress close at hand was clearly meant to prevent a rebellion.

If she were a hostage, however, at least Alina was well-cared for. She wanted for nothing – dresses, jewels, a horse to go riding, painting supplies, a harp for music lessons, and any books she desired – and was always treated with the utmost respect, even if there did also seem to be guards watching her every move and she rarely saw anyone other than her ladies and maids.

She missed her home, but she didn’t hate King’s Landing the way her father seemed to. It was frustrating that all he ever talked about was how much he wished to be home – she understood he wanted to be reunited with his wife, but he never really asked about how Alina was, even though his duties meant they did not get the chance to see each other often.

Alina was fourteen when her moon blood first came, proclaiming, with stark streaks of red on her white sheets, that she was now a maiden flowered.

Lady Genya paled when she found Alina, groaning in pain and clutching her stomach, hoping the red-head would have a concoction to ease the cramps.

“No, no, no,” Genya muttered to herself as she balled the sheets up, “I thought we had more time.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Alina,” Genya sat down next to her, taking her hands, “you must not speak of this, promise me. If anyone asks you directly, I suppose you will need to answer, but do not give a hint or offer the information that your moon blood has begun.”

She frowned, “I don’t understand.”

“Promise me. It’s important.”

Genya seemed so terribly serious and scared that Alina agreed without question, curious about Genya’s sigh of relief but easily distracted by her promise to fetch a tonic that would help ease her pain.

Five more moons passed.

When Alina’s moon blood came, Genya would take the sheets away herself and provide cloths to protect Alina’s smallclothes from stains. She would provide the tonic that made the cramps bearable and play the harp so that it appeared to anyone wandering in the corridors that Alina was practicing.

Alina, it must be said, did not understand why all the deception was necessary, but she never dared to ask Genya, who looked so grave the first time she ventured to question her.

And then, one day, when Genya had taken the stained bedsheets away, and Alina was still abed in her nightgown, she received an unexpected visitor.

She shrieked when the door opened without a knock, pulling the sheets high enough to cover all but her head – her nightgown was not particularly immodest, but it was certainly not meant to be seen by anyone but her ladies and maids.

When she saw who had entered, however, she babbled apologies for her behaviour, “Your Grace, I am so sorry, I … I was startled.”

“That is quite alright, Lady Alina.”

The King! She could not believe he was in her bedchamber, a half-smile on his face that somehow seemed terrifying. She had met him on her initial arrival in King’s Landing, but had only ever caught glimpses of him since as she was deemed too young to attend court and her father had ordered that she should never leave the safety of the Red Keep.

He pulled a chair over to sit by her bedside, his Kingsguard closing her door with a decisive click.

Alina shivered. She was not supposed to be alone in her bedchamber with a man. It was the King, though, and she could not refuse him, even if she did not know why he had come to see her.

“I believe congratulations are in order, Lady Alina,” he said, voice soft like velvet.

“I … I do not understand, Your Grace.”

“You are a maiden flowered now, are you not?”

Alina’s eyes widened as she remembered Genya’s warning. But this was the King, and a direct question, so there was no way she could do anything but tell the truth, especially as she recalled tales that the King was able to read the minutest of expressions on a person’s face to tell if they were lying.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she ducked her head.

“A happy day,” he smiled with teeth, “you are ready to wed.”

“I … I did not realise a match had been arranged.”

Her father had told her nothing. Was it a last-minute agreement, or had he hidden it from her?

“Sweet girl,” he petted her hair gently, “they have been keeping secrets from you. Do not worry, little Alina, I’ll take good care of you.”

“You …?”

He laughed, although it wasn’t a kind sound, “we are to be married, Alina, a union of the Houses of Morozov and Starkov. Our eldest son shall rule Westeros and our second be the next Lord Starkov.”

It suddenly became clear what her father (perhaps aided by Genya) had been trying to prevent. Not that it had done any good in the end.

“I’m afraid Lady Genya had to leave suddenly,” the King told her, dark eyes momentarily furious, “but I shall send your other ladies to prepare you for our betrothal feast this evening – I believe you’ll look quite stunning in black and gold.”

He kissed her hand and bid her good day, like a prince from the songs, but Alina knew better.

The King was a dangerous man indeed.

Chapter Text

Her parents lock her door and argue downstairs about her recent 'delinquent' behaviour.

Alina opens the window quietly, slips onto the porch roof, jumps onto the grass and then runs to the back gate.

Her parents only realise she's gone when they hear the rumble of Sasha's bike.

Chapter Text

Wakes disoriented and confused.

A gun on the table in front of her. Three figures bound and gagged ten feet away.

Mal. Genya. Nikolai.

And then a terrifyingly familiar scent, like a forest in an icy winter.

Lips brush her ear, “I've missed you, Alina. Shall we play a new game?”

Chapter Text

Alina’s home is light and cheery. On warm days the windows are thrown open and people hear her sing as she paints.

Aleksander’s home, across the street, is a dark mirror – black paint, gothic style, unwelcoming air.

They make it work. An unusual arrangement, but an enduring love.

Chapter Text

Aleksander is older, intense, far too serious. A proper adult with a real job and responsibilities, with silver strands in his dark hair, who pays taxes and saves for a pension and reads the financial papers cover to cover.

Alina is only twenty – all her friends say she’s supposed to date around, stay out all night, make stupid decisions, eat instant noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner three days in a row because she’s got deadlines and no time to cook, stumble around with no idea what she wants in life.

And yet, she always finds herself coming back to him.

His brownstone with reed diffusers wafting vanilla around the rooms, and a kitchen almost bigger than her dorm room with every appliance known to man, and homecooked dinners with a least two different types of vegetable, and a bed with 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and walls thick enough to muffle the traffic noises, and entirely reliable WiFi.

His brownstone with him. Stern façade cracking with a warm smile just for her, deep and soothing voice reading to her from the classics they both love, lively debates about politics and economics and philosophy and history, gentle reminders for her to drink water and eat meals and go to bed on time, soft touches soothing her when she’s stressed, a hundred or more ways to make her whine and scream and whimper in his bed.

She tells herself it’s casual, that he’s too much for her right now, and, besides, there’s no way he’ll want her for long.

Not broken, needy Alina.

And yet, he’s like an itch she just has to scratch, a desire she wants desperately to indulge as much as possible.

It’s a phase, she thinks, just a phase like my obsession with watercolours or my craze for boybands.

The itch will go away if she just gives it time.

One month. Two months, Six months. One year.

It only gets worse. She only wants him more.

And then, suddenly, she’s moving her things into the brownstone, laughing away incredulous teasing from her friends, thinking she might have found a proper home after years of moving around and transporting her things in black plastic bags.

Finally, she starts to realise. This itch she feels, it isn’t bad, it isn’t a problem or a difficulty to be overcome.

It’s a feeling, reciprocated and true.

She’s young, but she knows. And Aleksander swears he knows it too.

This is love and Alina won’t fight it anymore.

Chapter Text

Alina never liked snow before – cold and wet, shivering in a too-thin coat and inadequate boots, no money to put on the heating.

Different now – cosy home with a roaring fire, wrapped in Sasha’s embrace, helping Irina build a snowman.

She finds plenty to love about snow days.

Chapter Text

“What is Oretsev’s life worth to you?”

She frowns, “what do you want?”

A dangerous question. Mal’s life hangs in the balance and he has all the power - he could ask for anything.

“I simply want a chance, Alina,” he says softly, “to show you I am not the villain you think I am.”

Chapter Text

"Fuck,” Alina mutters as the boat’s engine dies.

Supposed to be an idyllic long weekend right by the water, but it’s not going as planned.

“Need any help?”

Tall, handsome, older man, with an impeccable suit and sunglasses, mouth curved into an amused smile.

Things are looking up.

Chapter Text

She knows it isn’t good news when her step-father calls her into his study as she’s on her way up to bed.

Frantically, she tries to think of what she’s done wrong. She and Sasha get on so well usually – he’s got a formidable reputation but she rarely sees that side of him, instead being treated to fond expressions and proud smiles and affectionate hugs and a warm, steadying hand on her back and fingers carding gently through her hair.

His study is his sanctuary, though. He only ever calls her in when he’s disappointed in her, rare occasions like the time she’d come back from Genya’s past her curfew and smelling of vodka.

His gaze is serious as he gestures for her to sit down on the chair opposite his desk.

Alina fiddles with her hands nervously, resisting the urge to bite her fingernails (a habit Sasha despises and which he has almost completely cured her of, except for in moments of great stress).

“Do you know why you’re here, Alinochka?”

She shakes her head, jittery in her seat, unable to keep still.

He turns his laptop around so she can see the screen. For a moment, she doesn’t realise what she’s looking at but, when it clicks, she goes bright red.

Her internet search history from the past day, laid out in black and white.

Innocuous queries like next art show at The Fold and how to get paint out of clothes and where to watch Marvel’s Punisher.

And then the red flags, the reason that Aleksander’s lips are pressed together in a thin line.

Average size of penis and how does penis fit? and how to tell if a man has a big penis.

“I … I can explain,” she stutters out.

He simply raises an eyebrow, as if to say well, go on.

“I just … we were getting changed for gym class and some of the boys came running through without their clothes on – a dare, I think. I didn’t mean to look, Sasha, honestly, but then I saw one … one …”

“Come on, Alinochka, use your words like a big girl.”

“Isawoneofthepenises,” she says it so fast she’s sure he won’t understand.

He does, though, if his dark, burning gaze is anything to go by.

“And who was this boy, Alinochka?”

“Oh, I don’t –”

“Alina,” he snaps darkly.

“Malyen Oretsev,” she mumbles.

He makes a note of the name in his moleskine notebook with his Montblanc fountain pen – she’d thought it odd, when her mother had introduced them a year ago, that he often used a pen and notebook rather than his phone, but now she thinks it simply makes him seem far more distinguished than anyone else she knows.

Maybe she should be worried about what he might say to Mal, or the one word on the notebook page that she can read upside down in his beautiful but near-indecipherable script (homeschooling), but she’s too busy panicking about what he’s going to say about her clumsy attempts to figure out whether Mal’s … thing is the usual size or not (the internet seems to agree that he is below average).

Sasha crooks his finger and Alina rises, coming around the desk to stand next to him.

He pulls her onto his lap, petting her hair gently.

“Such a silly girl, Alinochka. You can find so much trash on the internet these days that you really can’t trust it. You understand that’s why I need to check what you’ve been looking at, for your own good.”

She nods, still too mortified to even try arguing with him.

“And you know that you can always come to me with any questions you have?”

Another nod, although she can’t quite look him in the eyes.

He tilts her chin up so she is forced to look at him, “don’t worry, little Alinochka,” his smile is all teeth, almost dangerous, “I know you’re a curious girl, but you don’t need to worry, I’m here to help you.”

“Really?” the tension in her body vanishes almost immediately at the thought of capable, clever Sasha taking control of the situation, explaining all the things that confuse her.

He presses a kiss to the side of her head, still smiling, and wraps his arms around her waist, “of course, Alinochka. I promise that I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

Chapter Text

“It’s awesome, Lina!” Genya shouts down the phone, trying to be heard over what sounds like absolutely deafening music, “Zo dressed up as a naughty nurse and she keeps stabbing guys who get handsy with a giant needle.”

“Mmm,” Alina mumbles – the Halloween party sounds like insanity and, however much she enjoys watching how Zoya deals with idiot frat boys, it isn’t really her scene – “fun, sure. Sorry, Gen, I’ve got to go – this essay is killing me.”

As she hangs up, a hand slips around her waist, lips pressing kisses to her bare shoulder.

“You’re missing out on quite the party,” Aleksander murmurs.

“You think so? Maybe I should leave and – ahh.”

She lets out a lewd moan as he flips her over in the bed and rocks against the dripping warmth between her legs.

“I think I’ll keep you right here, Miss Starkova,” he says, grunting as she rocks her hips, “I believe a few lessons in manners wouldn’t go amiss.”

Alina sighs in pleasure, grinning cheekily at him, “I look forward to it, Professor Morozov.”

Chapter Text

Despite jokes that Dr Morozov is a devil from Hell, it turns out that his home really is lovely, inviting even.

She won’t let the beautiful surroundings fool her, though, not when he opens the door with a shark’s smile and a dark, heated gaze.

“Hello, Miss Starkova. Do come in.”

Chapter Text

"No, Sasha," she whines, "I'm too sore."

Still, she doesn't protest when he crooks his fingers inside her, just rocks her hips.

"A promise is a promise, Alinochka," he murmurs as a wave of pleasure washes over her, "ten orgasms in one hour."

Saints, he does give the best gifts.

Chapter Text

They hadn’t met until she was seventeen and he twenty-five, Alina thought as she rocked against her step-brother, one of his hands on her back, the other on her hip, helping her find the right rhythm as he mouthed at her neck.

It couldn’t be wrong, not with how right it felt.

Chapter Text

“Sharing is caring, isn’t that right, little brother?”

Mal glowers, silenced by a gag, his hands bound to the chair, while his girlfriend gasps in pleasure and writhes beneath his older brother.

Sasha locks eyes with Mal, all smug pride, "but I think I'll keep this one to myself."

Chapter Text

He watches them, heads bowed as they pray.

One, a pretty young novitiate, fidgets, gaze wandering.

That one, he thinks. It will be a delight to tempt her into darkness.

She looks up, confused brown eyes staring straight at him, as if she can actually see him.

How interesting.

Chapter Text

“Don’t look up,” Mal’s boss warns, “and ignore any noises.”

Doesn’t understand until he’s mowing the lawn by the patio and hears moaning.

Looks before he can stop himself. A brief glance, but enough to recognise Mr Morozov pressing his naked young wife against one of the windows.

Chapter Text

Award-winning musician and record producer Aleksander Morozov sees Ravka's Got Talent as a chance to make easy money with one-hit wonders.

But when Alina Starkova starts singing, he knows she's a star. And he's not about to let anyone else guide and nurture her talent but him.

Chapter Text

The Black Tsar likes to keep his Sun Summoner near.

On his lap, at his side, in his bed.

Some courtiers gossip that she’s simply a pretty pet, shining on command.

Fools, really. They don’t see her whisper in his ear, or the way he shares his papers with her, or how her clever, shrewd eyes watch and calculate.

In the privacy of their bedchamber, he’s often told her he wants an equal, and that’s what he’s got, no matter how it might look to everyone else.

Chapter Text

"You know, your papa and godfather would love to have their nails done, Irina," Alina grins.

Aleksander growls at his wife as Irina runs off to get her new nail kit.

"I will make your life a living hell," Ivan says with a grumpy frown.

But they're all smiles when Irina returns.

Chapter Text

He takes the long route home during his morning walks, always hoping to see her tending to the flowers in the cottage garden, or going on some errand for her aunt.

She always smiles so sweetly at him when he waves in greeting.

One day he’ll work up the courage to speak to her.

Chapter Text

She tries to shy away as he slides his hand up her skirt.

“What’s the issue, Alinochka?” he asks in a teasing tone, “I thought you wanted my help.”

“Not like this,” she hisses, “it’s … it’s wrong.”

“Really,” he murmurs, fingers creeping higher to brush the gusset of her panties, “then why are you already so wet for me?”

“I … I’m thinking of Mal.”

He laughs, pushing the material aside and slipping one finger inside her so quickly that she nearly shrieks.

“I think you’re lying, Alinochka,” he says, voice almost sing-song, leaning down to press a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth.

He’s right, of course, and Alina hates herself for it. Maybe it isn’t so bad, since they aren’t actually related, and they didn’t even meet until Alina was sixteen and Aleksander twenty-one … still, she can only imagine how horrified her dad and his mom would be.

“Let me, Alina,” he croons, crooking his finger so that she moans, “let me make you feel good.”

She succumbs to his touch and the delicious sensations, wonders if this is all just inevitable.

Mal is entirely forgotten.

Chapter Text

They dress her in something that barely constitutes a robe, wisps of black silk, cool against her skin. The pearl necklace, golden bracelets and diamond kokoshnik feel more like weights than adornments.

A beautiful red-head does her hair and make-up – bold lips and dark lashes and glittering gold on her eyelids – and dabs perfume on her wrists and ankles.

In most places it would be obscene to lead a princess through a crowded palace so scantily clad, but this is the court of the Black Tsar and Alina has heard plenty of rumours of the debauchery that occurs – these people are clever and talented and brutally efficient, but certainly not averse to pleasure, nor shy about it.

When they bring her before the tsar’s throne, Alina kneels without hesitation.

She might have her pride, but this man’s reputation is well-earned and if some good behaviour on her part can buy goodwill for her kingdom then she will gladly prostrate herself.

He leans forward, chin resting on his hand, to look at her. In turn, she glances up at him, trying to stop her heart racing as she realises just how strikingly handsome he is.

“What a lovely thing you are,” he murmurs, “your portrait really does not do you justice. It is a shame, though, that it has taken so long for us to meet.”

Alina ducks her head, afraid of what he will say next. After all, it is her kingdom in the wrong, her parents who had violated the agreed treaty by spiriting her away to a convent in the middle of nowhere right before she was supposed to wed the Black Tsar.

Not that it had done them any good in the end. Her parents are cold in the ground, her kingdom subdued and now a mere extension of Ravka, and Alina is kneeling at his feet.

She wonders what he will do to her. She cannot bring much worth to him as a bride anymore, given her kingdom has fallen under his control, and she fears he may seek to punish her for her parents’ actions now they are no longer alive to suffer his anger.

She hears the echo of his boots on the marble floor as he rises from his throne and walks down the steps of the dais to stand in front of her, hand tilting her chin up until their eyes meet, “your kingdom has caused me rather a lot of trouble, little Alina.”

“I … I apologise for the … misguided actions of my parents and their councillors, moi tsar, but I would ask for mercy on behalf of my people.”

“Mercy,” he frowns, as if the word tastes foreign on his tongue, “I could be merciful … with the right incentive, at least.”

His dark eyes roaming over her body, the way his thumb swipes across her lips, and the muffled snickers from the crowd around them, all make it quite clear what his meaning is. Alina straightens her spine and refuses to tremble – this would always have been expected of her as his bride, so she thinks she can stand it now to ensure the safety of her people, especially as he is at least easy on the eyes, if also dangerous in the extreme.

“Whatever you wish, moi tsar,” she whispers.

“Indeed,” his eyes are bright, teeth flashing when he smiles, fingers trailing down her neck and across her mostly-bare shoulder, “I believe I will enjoy you very much, little Alina.”

“Genya,” he calls out, and the red-head who had helped prepare her appears, “take the princess to her chambers and make any alterations required to her dress. Tomorrow we shall celebrate a wedding.”

As Genya nods and the crowd cheers raucously, Alina’s head begins to swim.

A wedding. He’s still going to marry her? She assumed … she thought he would simply take her as some sort of concubine. She doesn’t know why he wants to make her his wife when she has nothing to offer him, when there are surely far more eligible ladies out there.

She meets his eyes once more after Genya helps her to her feet, just before she’s led out of the throne room. His expression is hungry as he watches her, possessive and greedy, signs of a man who wants.

Alina doesn’t understand it and she shouldn’t want him, not after what he’s done to her parents and her kingdom.

Still, she finds herself trembling in anticipation, longing for his touch on her body.

Her wedding night can’t come quickly enough.

Chapter Text

Mal kneels before the Black Tsar’s throne.

“You have a request, Lord Oretsev?”

He glances at the second throne and the tsar’s young ward seated there – unusual, to be sure, to have anyone but a tsarina on that throne, but everyone knows how fond the Black Tsar is of Lady Alina, whose father was one of his most loyal Generals.

“I would request permission to court Lady Alina, moi tsar.”

He hasn’t dared to mention his hopes to Alina, not before receiving the tsar’s official blessing, but he is hopeful of success – they were childhood companions, after all, and great friends.

Alina ducks her head and he assumes it must be to hide any emotions that might be considered unseemly.

The tsar, however, gives him a mocking smile, “I must decline your request, Lord Oretsev.”

“What!” he blurts out, “I mean … may I ask for your reasoning, moi tsar?”

“You presume a great deal, boy,” the tsar reprimands him sharply, “but I will tell you that Lady Alina is not free to marry you. She is betrothed to another.”

“Who?” he starts to ask, but the tsar waves a hand and two oprichniki appear to escort him out.

Halfway across the room, he looks backwards, and sees the tsar pressing a kiss to Lady Alina’s hand as she blushes prettily.

And there, plain to see, the instantly recognisable Morozov family heirloom engagement ring glitters on her finger.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe you're marrying him! You know what he did to my family."

"You are in the Tower, found guilty of treason, Mal. They were going to chop off your head! I did what I had to so that you could be released."

"Exiled from the country, my land and wealth forfeited. What kind of life is that?"

"I –"

She never expected him to be ecstatic about the terms of his release, but she’d thought he might be at least a little grateful to have his life preserved.

"I do hope you are not insulting your future queen,” a dark voice came from the doorway, and both she and Mal froze, “although, I suppose, she won’t be your future queen, will she, Oretsev? You are, as they say, a man without a country.”

“You bastard,” Mal shouted, “you might as well kill me. At least then Alina would be free of you and this wretched bargain.”

“Mal, no,” she hissed, terrified that the king might take him seriously and call for the executioner.

He only laughed, though, her future husband, cold and mocking, “my deal was with the lovely Lady Alina, not you, Oretsev, and I am pleased to say I’m rather delighted with it.”

“Please, Mal,” she begged him, “try and make the most of this chance, please.”

“So tender-hearted,” the king murmured, hand stroking her hair gently.

She wished she could say she hated it, but it was a comforting sensation, and it took all her self-control not to lean into his embrace.

It was one thing for her to realise that she did not despise the king as much as she once had, but entirely another for her to show it in front of Mal, who she had once hoped to marry.

“Have a safe journey,” the king told Mal, with a distinct lack of sincerity, “and rest assured,” he added, as he led Alina away, “I’ll be sure to take good care of Lady Alina.

Mal’s roar of anger echoed through the Tower’s halls.

Chapter Text

She hovers in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of her new husband sitting with her childhood friend.

What is Mal doing here, at the home of the man he’s professed to hate? Every letter he has sent, passed to her by a maid he’s probably charmed, has been burned in the fireplace – she reads them (the same sentiments, ever more desperate professions of love, ridiculous suggestions of running away together) but never thinks of responding.

Sasha turns and smiles at her, “ah, Alina, darling, come and play something for us.”

He gestures to the piano in the corner, perfectly tuned, one of the many lovely wedding gifts he had given her.

Alina does not even think of declining. Sasha is the most attentive husband, but he does rather like to have his way and she can’t stand the idea of him frowning at her.

She picks one of her husband’s favourite pieces, trying to focus on the sheet music rather than the two men sitting behind her. Still, she can’t help but overhear their conversation.

“I was disappointed to learn, Mr Oretsev,” Sasha says softly, “that you have persisted in sending inappropriate letters to my wife.”

Alina stills for a heartbeat at the confirmation that her husband is aware of the letters, but she takes a breath and keeps playing, trying to will her fingers not to tremble – Sasha has always spoken with such pride of her ability on the piano and she hates to make mistakes.

“I …”

“No need to try and deny it,” she can almost hear the dismissiveness in his voice, can imagine the way he’ll wave his hand carelessly, “the maid in question – Ruby, I believe – has confessed and been dismissed without reference.”

“Why am I here, your Grace?” Mal asks tightly.

“I thought I had made myself clear before,” Sasha says, sounding coolly irritated, “but it seems like you need a reminder.”

Alina frowns as her fingers dance across the keys. She can’t ever remember hearing that her husband and Mal had a private interview – glares across ballrooms, and sharp words covered with a thin veneer of civility, but nothing else.

For a few moments she can hear nothing except Beethoven and then, suddenly, she is startled by a crash.

Alina stumbles, pressing down on all the wrong keys and producing a discordant sound that echoes throughout the room.

She turns, a hand covering her mouth to muffle a scream when she sees Mal kneeling on the ground, his face pressed down into the table by one of Sasha’s hands, two smashed tea-cups around him.

“Continue please, darling,” her husband murmurs pleasantly, “you were playing so beautifully.”

Shakily, she returns to the piece, getting lost in the music, refusing to let herself pay attention to whatever Sasha is muttering to Mal.

By the time the piece is over, Mal is gone from the room and her husband has come to stand just behind her, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek as she plays the final notes.

“Sasha,” she says nervously, “I … I didn’t mean to keep the letters secret. I destroyed them all and I never wrote back, I promise, I just –”

“Ssh, darling,” he rubs her shoulders, soothing touch calming her, “I know you didn’t mean any harm. It was Mr Oretsev who did wrong.”

“You … you didn’t hurt him, did you, Sasha?”

“Only a little, darling, as a warning.”

He makes his actions sound so reasonable that it seems bizarre to complain about what he might have done to Mal. Sasha is so much older and wiser than she is, after all, and surely he’d never do anything inappropriate.

“Now,” he adds, “you don’t need to worry about any of that, darling. Why don’t you go and rest for a while – remember, we’ve got dinner at David and Genya’s tonight.”

“Yes, of course, Sasha.”

“And Alina,” he says, “you’ll let me have any more letters Mr Oretsev tries to send, won’t you. We mustn’t let any false rumours tarnish your reputation, darling.”

She nods, tilting her head up to accept his sweet kiss and the “good girl” that makes her blush.

How lucky she is, she thinks, to have such a caring husband.

Chapter Text

"Mal and I are getting a divorce."

"Oh, how ... sad."

"Save it, Sasha. I know you hate him. You warned me and I didn't listen."

"Do you want him dead? I know a guy."

"Ivan is not going to play assassin, Sasha. Can you just come over ... please."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

Chapter Text

"I want a divorce."

Tears well up in Luda's eyes. They've grown apart, but she'd been so sure she could fix it.

But even now, his attention is only half on her. He's looking out the window, eyes drawn to Alina, Ivan and Fedyor's adopted daughter, home from college for the summer.

Chapter Text

The gardener’s cottage is out of the way and mostly used for storage now, the perfect place for a liaison.

“When will you leave your husband, milaya?”

He wants everyone to know that she’s his.

“I left the divorce papers on his desk this morning.”

He beams as he kisses her.

Chapter Text

His head is buried between her legs, licking and sucking with an enthusiasm she finds endearing.

There are plenty of benefits to marriage to a wealthy man thirty years her senior who works away a lot. His charming son, five years younger than she is, who looks at her with stars in his eyes, is top of the list.

“That’s it, Sasha,” she moans, fingers scraping through his hair, “be a good boy and take care of mommy.”

Chapter Text

“Mommy, can you help? It has to be perfect.”

The table is a mess of glitter, coloured card, paint and glue. It will be a nightmare to clean up later, but Alina knows Sasha will appreciate the home-made card from Irina.

“Sure, sweetheart. And don’t worry, daddy will love it.”

Chapter Text

It’s a godfather’s duty to guide and protect and teach and Aleksander has done this faithfully for eighteen years.

(not like her parents are much use, after all, workaholics the pair of them, leaving Aleksander the one who knows her favourite colour and the take-out she prefers when she’s upset, and her comfort film).

So, when Alina seems antsy and concerned, he easily coaxes her into admitting that her boyfriend has been pushing her to have sex and she’s not sure she’s ready for it.

It seems natural, then, for him to show her just how pleasurable intimacy can be and all the ways she can ensure she’s wet and ready so that the act itself will be as comfortable as possible.

“Just the tip, Alinochka,” he murmurs as she whines and trembles in his arms, testing all his self-control, “I know you want to save your first time for Malyen.”

Later, he’ll be able to say he made an honest effort to pull away, to do his duty and nothing further.

But when she clings onto him, lips pressed against his chest, calling him daddy with her plump lips pouting sweetly, begging him for more, for everything, asking him to look after her, how can he say no to her?

She’s his favourite girl, after all, and he’s always been an indulgent godfather, rarely able to deny her anything.

He doesn’t feel bad, in the end. That Oretsev boy is an idiot, after all, who probably wouldn’t have a clue what to do with a sweet girl like Alina.

Aleksander, though, will give his baby girl the world, just as she deserves.

Chapter Text

It was easy really, to get Mal over to her apartment. All she’d had to do was hint that she was ready to go all the way with him and he was there in less than half an hour. He’d been a bit unsure about her tying him up naked, but a few flutters of her eyelashes and he went along with it easily enough.

She blindfolded him before she stripped out of her own clothes. He whined about it, but she couldn’t have him seeing her nude body – it was sacred, after all, to be used only by the dark lord.

The symbols were tricky, and she needed to gag Mal in the end to stop him distracting her as she painted them out with the fresh blood kindly ‘donated’ by an idiot frat boy who had tried to corner her in a dark alley.

Mal, when he began to sense something was wrong, thrashed about like a fish out of water, but Alina was confident in her knots – she’d watched a lot of Youtube videos and read countless Girl Scout guides because a girl living alone really had to be confident in her ability to protect and provide for herself.

The ritual itself was almost childishly simple. The trick, however, was that you had to mean it.

It was surprising, really, how many people thought themselves ready to call upon the forces of darkness, only to discover they would fail every time because they weren’t truly motivated, didn’t want it with every fibre of their being.

Alina, though, she wanted, had done ever since she realised that the darkness that slithered through her dreams at night was not simply a figment of her imagination.

The darkness had a shape, a form, a personality. He had been given many names over millennia, but to Alina he was simply Sasha.

And Sasha needed her help to escape his infernal prison.

This was the final piece of the puzzle, the last death that would break the bonds that bound Sasha.

Each victim had been carefully chosen, but this one meant the most to her. The childhood friend who had abandoned her – forgotten that it was supposed to be them, two orphans with no one else, against the world – and only shown interest again when she’d grown curves and he thought he could use her brains to help him with his classes.

The dagger – ceremonial, dug up from the grave of an eccentric old man with a taste in dark artefacts – came down quickly and confidently, slicing straight through into Mal’s heart like a knife through butter, warm blood spraying across the room.

He gurgled and choked as she drew symbols onto her body in Mal’s blood. His body was still by the time she stood and began chanting.

When he came, the smell of fire and brimstone permeated the air, but he swept into existence like a cool, refreshing breeze.

Tall, dark haired and startlingly handsome, swathed in shadows, his searing gaze landed on her and his lips curved into a pleased smile, “look at you, little Alina, my most devoted priestess.”

“My lord,” she dropped to her knees, “you are free.”

He tilted her chin up, brushed his thumb across her lips, “sweet, lovely Alina. How pretty you look like this, at my feet. For now, though …”

He helped her to stand, ignoring the cooling corpse on the floor as he led her across the room and laid her like an offering on the snowy-white sheets of her bed.

The shadows melted away, leaving him standing there in all his glory. For the first time, Alina felt nervous. This was the binding required to keep him from being banished once more, the conception of a child to anchor him to this realm so that he could begin his eternal reign.

Alina had saved herself for this, untouched by mere mortals, so that she was able to undertake this most important task.

Still, while she knew all the mechanics of sex, she never expected to find herself so … intimidated.

“No need to worry, sweet one,” Sasha cooed as he loomed above her, even more perfectly formed up close, “I’ll take care of you – high priestess, queen, mother of my heir.”

He bent down, his lips hot on hers, his hand slipping between her legs, and Alina soon gave herself up to pleasure and the service of her dark lord.

The reign of darkness was about to begin.

Chapter Text

“Those are serious allegations, Alina.”

“Don’t play innocent! I'm sure it was you.”

“Where’s your proof?”

She leans forward to wipe away the crumbs from his mouth, “I know you’ve got a sweet tooth, Sasha, but an entire packet of biscuits in one hour?"

He just smiles sheepishly.

Chapter Text

“… recent allegations surfaced that Morozov and Starkova spent last weekend away from their castmates in a luxurious and isolated cabin. Inside sources suggest the liaison was romantic in nature …”

“Why are they saying allegations like we’ve got something to be ashamed of,” Alina mutters furiously, “I am a fully functioning adult, thank you very much. I swear, they all seem to forget that I’m twenty-six years old and if one more person makes a stupid comment about cradle-robbing then I’ll –”

He pulls her down onto his lap, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down her back, “relax, milaya. Don’t let it upset you. See … this is why I don’t have social media.”

“You don’t have social media because you are an old man,” she corrects, the sparkle back in her eyes, “I had to explain TikTok to you ten times before you had any idea what it was.”

“My point,” he pinches her playfully, “is that I love you and you, for some mad reason, love me, and all our friends are happy for us. Nothing else matters.”

“Fine,” she agrees, “but I’m still getting Zoya and Ivan to give them hell.”

“I’m sure they are concocting dastardly plans as we speak,” Aleksander smiles, “probably with everyone else’s help.”

“We should let them work in peace, you know,” Alina grins at him, “give them space. I bet they’d be really grateful if we just went away again for the weekend.”

He leans over to kiss her briefly, “I adore you, milaya. I’ll make the reservations.”

Chapter Text

“We need to talk about these allegations, Sasha.”

“Baseless rumours, Ivan.”

“No, this is serious. It could ruin your career. It’s bad enough that you married your fucking nanny less than a month after your wife’s death, but –”

“Luda and I had been separated for a year when she died. And watch your mouth when you’re talking about Alina.”

“I’m telling you, Sasha, as your friend and your lawyer … it looks suspicious.”

“Luda fell, Ivan. A tragic accident. And my career is fine – I’ve got two shows in the next month and my last painting sold for over $9m.”

“Just … just warn me, ok, if people are going to start stumbling upon skeletons in your closet. This is the kind of shit I need to know.”

“Relax, Ivan. You’re far too stressed, you know – you and Fedyor should take a holiday.”

“Stress. And who’s fault is that, Sasha?”

“You know I’d never leave you to clean up any real disaster, Ivan. Now, are you coming for dinner tonight? Alina’s making lasagna.”

“You know your hellion is still a menace, no matter how good her cooking is … no … don’t get that sappy look on your face, Sasha, it’s disgusting.”

“Your expression is the same when you talk about Fedyor.”

“It is not. I hope you’d shoot me before I looked so ridiculous. Besides, Fedyor and I have been married for fifteen years. You are the cliché who married his nanny – a girl twenty-two years younger than you are – three months after she started working for you, and without making her sign a pre-nup – I still think that was a horrendous idea, by the way.”

“Your concern is noted and ignored, Ivan. So, is that a no on the dinner?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course I’m coming. That lasagna tastes like heaven.”

Chapter Text

“You’re so much younger than I am, Miss Starkova,” he sighs, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair, “you deserve a younger man.”

“But I want you,” she murmurs softly.”

It is pointless to try and resist. He's attempted it for months and only fallen deeper in love.

Chapter Text

It's very open-plan for a man who enjoys his privacy. Still, it's nestled into a cliff, hidden by rolling hills and a cove no one visits.

"I've always got to be careful in the city," he says, "cameras everywhere. Here I can be free."

They both can, she thinks as she kisses him.

Chapter Text

Alina's grip on his hand is painfully tight, alerting Aleksander to her distress.

He spots the problem immediately – her cheating idiot of an ex-boyfriend.

He tugs her away, distracting her with a kiss and a warm hug. He can ruin the boy's life later. For now, she is his priority.

Chapter Text

Mr Morozov is the best. Alina's not sure why he chose her (with her unstable magic) as an apprentice, but feels lucky to learn in a house brimming with power, warm and inviting.

And then there is Mr Morozov himself, demanding and sharp, but with a rare, warm smile just for her.

Chapter Text

He tugs on the tether between them and she always answers, lonely and stressed and desperate for someone who understands her power.

It's a whirlwind of passion, a temporary distraction.

"That's the last time," she always insists.

They both know she's lying. She can't resist him.

Chapter Text

Alina meets no resistance as she storms towards Morozov’s office, his security simply stepping to the side to allow her through.

(she tries not to think why he might have given those particular orders).

He’s on the phone when she slams the door to his office open.

“I’ll have to call you back later, Fedyor,” he says, ending the call and raising an eyebrow, “Alina, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What’s this?” she tosses a slip of paper on his desk like it’s a snake ready to bite her.

He picks it up and glances at it, “ah.”

“Don’t ah me,” she snarls, “is this an attempt to buy me, a bribe of some kind so I’ll agree to your dinner offer? I told you I had a boyfriend, Mr Morozov.”

He pushes the pay-slip back towards her, “I am paying you what you deserve, Alina, nothing more. Just because Keramzin Ltd didn’t appreciate you doesn’t mean that Grisha Industries will make the same mistake.”

“So, you aren’t just trying to sleep with me?” she asks suspiciously.

He laughs, the sound deep and rich and unbearably attractive, “of course I want to sleep with you, Alina. If you give me a chance then I assure you that I’ll make you forget your neglectful idiot of a boyfriend. But this is not a bribe, it is your honestly earned and well-deserved salary, because I do not believe in underpaying the employees whose work make this company a success.”

She deflates slightly, feeling unsure and confused. Having resolved to think the worst of him since his flirtatious behaviour at their first meeting, she now has to concede that Morozov may not be a completely morally-bankrupt sleazeball.

“Fine,” she snatches the pay-slip back, trying to stop her hands trembling slightly, “thank you, I guess, for the generous wage … I’m still not sleeping with you, though.”

“Not yet,” he retorts, oddly cheerful for a man who has been repeatedly turned down, “but the offer is open, once you realise what a waste of space that boyfriend of yours is.”

She scoffs, refusing to justify his words with a response, turns on her heel and walks out the door.

“I’ll see you soon, Alina,” she hears him call after her.

She resists the urge to retort rudely, knowing she shouldn’t swear at her boss, but she does glare at Ivan, who is waiting outside the office, his usually grim expression now knowing and teasing.

Alina huffs. She is not going to sleep with Aleksander Morozov.

She’s not.

Chapter Text

It's not his vibe at all. He prefers the penthouse apartments or city brownstones or holiday villas.

Still, he buys it for her, copes with the spotty WiFi and distance from civilisation. Because Alina loves this place and the way it inspires her art, and Aleksander loves her.

Chapter Text

At Genya and David’s wedding, the bouquet ends up in her hands when she isn’t even trying to catch it, while the garter lands on a surprised Aleksander’s head. Genya’s wide, satisfied smile suggests that this is not a coincidence.

They sigh and grumble and make a great show of reluctance when they dance together, playing at mutual disdain.

“When do you think we should tell them we eloped three months ago?” Aleksander murmurs.

“Oh, definitely not until they’re on their honeymoon,” Alina grins, “I want as much distance between us and Genya as possible when she realises we hid an entire relationship and that she won’t be able to plan a wedding for us.”

Chapter Text

One moment the house seems perfectly normal, the next it almost seethes with malevolent power.

It calls to her, though, to the part of herself she's always pushed away.

She climbs the steps, shadows curling around her feet. When she steps inside, the door locks behind her.

Chapter Text

He’s never liked innocence until her, has always thought such women simpering, silly creatures.

But Alina is delightful. Charming blush, eyelashes fluttering, pretty noises coaxed from her mouth.

He’ll be her everything, teach her all she needs to know, his perfect little wife.

Chapter Text

It’s one of Alina’s many talents, the way she can make herself appear to be a fragile, pretty little doll – tears welling up in the corners of her eyes without the use of eyedrops, blushing on command, voice high and sweet, innocence personified – just to see what she can coerce out of men who are a sucker for that kind of thing.

Free drinks. Quick entry into clubs. Invitations to parties. Fancy meals. Train tickets.

Tonight, it’s three finance bros – irritating in the extreme but very flashy with their cash.

It’s not even hard work, really, to bat her eyes at them and nod along like a sweet little fool as they explain their job to her.

She’s got no intention of going home with any of them and is quite clear about that, no matter how much one of them (Mal, she thinks his name is) makes increasingly crass and graphic offers, but they continue to buy drinks for her, so confident they seem convinced they’ll change her mind.

Eventually, when they start to get too clingy and entitled, Alina slips away, ready to go looking for her friends, who are at a club nearby, only to bump into someone as she crosses the room.

She murmurs an apology, only to find herself unable to leave as the man in front of her wraps his hand firmly around her wrist.

“What the hell!” she hisses.

He’s disgustingly good looking, temptation personified, but he looks a little too sharp and clever for her tastes.

“You’re quite the chameleon,” he says, dark eyes alight with interest.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she sniffs.

“Well, here you are, playing the fool, when I saw you only yesterday eviscerating Boris Zlatan in court and securing a $5m settlement for your client.”

So sue her. Alina’s got a high-stress, demanding and intellectually strenuous day job – if she wants to waste her precious free time getting idiot men to buy her drinks and take her out to dinner then that’s her prerogative.

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business,” she tells him.

She doesn’t recognise him, but she’s only a few years qualified and new to the city, hasn’t yet learned all the big players.

“Perhaps it’s not,” he concedes, “but maybe I think it’s a shame you’re choosing to spend time with morons like that lot,” he inclines his head towards the rowdy finance bros.

She bristles, “what the hell gives you the right to –”

He puts one finger to her lips, his audacity shocking her to silence, and then hands over a business card (all black with silver lettering), “why don’t you come and find me, Miss Starkova, when you want a challenge.”

He’s gone before she can bite his finger (and she would have done it, consequences be damned).

She seriously considers tossing the card in the trash, but something makes her keep hold of it.

It might be fun, after all, to play with someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

Chapter Text

Alina creeps across the landing, steps light and tentative, terrified of making any noise.

The door is unlocked. He must have known that she’d come.

“Sasha,” she whispers as she slips into the room, “are you awake?”

Her step-brother sits up, patting the side of his bed that belongs to her, “come on in, Linka.”

She climbs up next to him, their legs tangling together as she presses her face into his chest, relaxing as he pets her hair gently.

“Another nightmare?” he asks, far softer in the darkness than he ever is in the daytime.

“I dreamt that they found out and sent you away,” she whispers, clinging to him even tighter as she remembers the horror she’d felt during the first few moments after waking.

“Hush, Linka,” he kisses the crown of her head and strokes her cheek, “they’re never going to separate us, you know I won’t let that happen.”

“Relax for me now,” he murmurs, fingers slipping into her panties, curling inside her and making her sigh as his other hand presses against her mouth to keep her cries muffled, to ensure their secret stays safe, “I’ll make you feel better, Linka, as long as you’re a good girl and stay quiet for me.”

She lets the pleasure wash over her, lets the comfort of Sasha’s presence next to her lull her back to sleep.

The bad dreams never come when she’s with him.

Chapter Text

It's insane, really, a road trip with a man twenty years her senior, who she only met three weeks ago.

But it feels right and wonderful and freeing, Keramzin vanishing into the distance as Sasha smiles at her excitement.

Alina is finally going to see the world and she can't wait.

Chapter Text

“He’s such a creep,” Mal’s eyes narrow as he watches Alina curl up in her new boyfriend’s lap, “he’s got to be at least twenty years older than her – it’s just sick, really.”

“Looks like she’s into that,” Dubrov shrugs as they watch Alina enthusiastically kiss Aleksander Morozov, his hands roaming all over her short, sparkly gold dress.

Mikhael elbows Dubrov and then turns to Mal, “oh, just get over it. You always insisted that you didn’t fancy Sticks – at least now she’s not hanging around cramping our style.”

Of course, Mal’s only ever thought of Alina as a friend, despite her obvious and long-standing crush on him, but there’s a burning pit inside him right now that feels suspiciously like jealousy. He can’t stand the idea of Alina laughing and smiling at Morozov, whose dark eyes are cruelly smug whenever he meets Mal’s gaze.

Mal tries to ignore the couple, to focus instead on the blonde in a low-cut dress who comes over and starts flirting with him.

He’s fine. He really doesn’t care what Alina does, or who she does it with.

But when Alina and Morozov walk out of the room, hand in hand, Mal grips his glass so tightly that it shatters in his hand.

Chapter Text

She’s almost there … pleasure building, ready to wash over her.

And then he pulls out, leaving her empty and needy.

“Sasha,” she whines, hips bucking, chasing her elusive orgasm.

“Not today,” he murmurs, “this is a punishment, Alinochka, so you’ll remember to be a good girl.”

Chapter Text

Alina was half out of the door when her step-father’s hand landed heavily on her shoulder, “and where are you going?”

“Out to see a movie with Mal.”

She didn’t want to admit it, especially since Aleksander disliked her boyfriend, but he was uncannily good at telling when she was lying.

“It’s Sunday afternoon,” he frowned down at her, “family time.”

“Mom’s not even here,” Alina argued.

He raised an eyebrow, “and what is your point?”

“You don’t have to play happy families while she’s not around to see it,” she huffed.

“Nice try, Alinochka,” he shut the door firmly, steering her towards the kitchen.

“What she hell,” she complained, “I’m going to miss the movie.”

“Don’t whine,” he chided as he pulled on his black apron and handed her the matching one that he’d purchased for her when she and her mom moved in, “and watch your language.”

“I’m seventeen,” she muttered, “I’m allowed to swear.”

“You’ll do as you’re told under my roof, Alinochka, and right now that means making pasta sauce, not being a brat – and pay attention to your measurements, the sauce was a little lumpy last time you attempted it.”

Alina growled something under her breath about annoying perfectionists, only to jump when Aleksander swatted her backside.

“That hurt!”

“That’s discipline,” he shrugged, “now concentrate.”

She grumbled a little more, but she did enjoy learning to cook, however much she denied it when her step-father was around. Anyway, she wasn’t that bothered about missing the movie – some zombie apocalypse thing with gratuitous violence – and even though Mal would moan about it, he wouldn’t even miss her with Dubrov and Mikhael for company.

There was something relaxing about the familiar motions of chopping and dicing and stirring, Aleksander murmuring instructions in her ear every now and then, his hands sometimes resting on top of hers as he corrected the way she sliced ingredients.

And when it was all done, mouth-watering aroma wafting around the room as Alina dished up the meal, there was a pleasing sense of a job well done, the pride of a real accomplishment.

“Delicious,” Aleksander raised his glass (she had iced water, but he’d let her have a sip of his wine “as a treat, Alinochka, don’t get used to it”) and toasted her efforts.

She couldn’t help but beam in response. However frustrating Aleksander could be, however much she chafed against the authority he had over her, she still found that she craved his approval more than anyone else’s, his sincere praise a prize worth having.

They’d probably be fighting tomorrow morning over the length of her uniform skirt, or the fact that she usually forgot to eat breakfast (which he thought a poor start to the day), but for now they could simply enjoy their dinner.

Chapter Text

“There’s just no heat,” Alina admits to Genya, “I’ve waited years for Mal to notice me and now we’re dating and it’s just … meh.”

“Dump him,” her best friend advises sagely.

“Gen!”

“You’ve got to have chemistry, Alina. Dump him and find a guy who really makes you feel something.”

For some reason, Alina thinks of Aleksander Morozov. Irritatingly charming, an absolute pain, her academic nemesis.

But no one can deny there are sparks there.

Chapter Text

Alina snuggles up to Aleksander, burying her face in his soft jumper.

“I can turn the heat up, Alinochka,” he offers as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

Her no is muffled but certainly loud enough.

She’s not cold, after all, she just loves to be close to him.

Chapter Text

The garden wall doorway leads right to the river. It's never locked, constantly opened to feed the swans.

It works in her favour now, as she sneaks out one night, jumping straight onto the boat that will take her and Aleksander away before she's forced to marry someone else.

Chapter Text

It’s a dream come true to work at The Little Palace, renowned chef Aleksander Morozov's Michelin Star restaurant.

He’s got a reputation as difficult and impossible to please, but she soon realises there’s more to him.

And she comes to crave the little smile he has just for her.

Chapter Text

The first time Alina Starkova met Aleksander Morozov – dinner with him and her mom at a fancy restaurant, in a dress that was stiff and itchy because her mom got it for her and Keyen Starkova always seemed to find fabrics that Alina’s skin hated – was the night her mom told her that she and Aleksander were getting married.

Understandably, at least in any sane person’s opinion, Alina wasn’t best pleased at meeting her soon-to-be step-father after he had proposed to her mom and the two of them had made the decision to get married in a month.

“Why wait?” her mom asked as she waved her hand around, her new diamond ring glittering under the lights.

So that I can get to know this total stranger we’re moving in with, Alina thought.

“Who proposes to a woman he only met two months ago?” Alina asked abruptly, after they’d eaten their starters in uneasy silence punctuated only by her mother’s stilted attempts at making conversation.

It was all moving way too fast, after all, and she was sure there had to be something funny going on, even if she hadn’t figured out what exactly it was.

“Alina,” her mother hissed, “don’t be rude – apologise to Aleksander.”

Alina stayed sullenly silent. She wasn’t sorry, after all, and she refused to play nice when her mom had made a life-changing decision as if it was a simple choice like whether to have chicken or beef for dinner.

“I’m so sorry, Sasha,” her mother murmured to Aleksander, “she’s usually far better behaved.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Aleksander patted her mother’s arm, even as his dark eyes never left Alina’s face, “it’s a lot to take in. I’m sure Alina and I will be good friends soon enough.”

She opened her mouth to retort in the negative, but something about his expression made her think twice.

It was the look of a man who was used to dealing with difficulty, and who wouldn’t hesitate in subduing his opponent by any means necessary.

Alina had a feeling that a lot was going to change now.

Chapter Text

Ten years he's been teaching at Os Alta University, resisting both subtle and obvious advances from students and faculty.

He loves his job and he isn't about to ruin it just for a bit of fun.

Then he meets his new TA Alina Starkova and all his self-control goes out the window.

Chapter Text

She stiffens as he puts an arm around her.

"Act naturally," he murmurs, "or I'll be forced to do something you won't like."

"Why are you doing this? Let me go."

"You're my balance, Alina. You can't fight fate."

She's still given it a good try, even if he has now caught up to her.

Chapter Text

Ivan shoves her into the seat next to Aleksander and dumps her case on the floor, "this was in her car."

Aleksander wraps a possessive arm around her, "you planning a little trip without me, baby?"

"Of course not, Sasha."

His hand tightens on her shoulder. He doesn't believe her.

Chapter Text

The family Alina nannies for live off the beaten track.

The quiet means it's easy to hear when a car is coming up the driveway. An advanced warning system when Luda comes home unexpectedly, ensuring she doesn't find her husband in a compromising position with Alina.

Chapter Text

"I will reiterate," the Senior Special Agent says, "they may look like a mild-mannered professor and an Instagram influencer, but these are two of the world's greatest con artists. Now they are known to be working together, they are twice as dangerous. Keep vigilant, folks."

Chapter Text

“I’m late,” she whispers as she sits down in the restaurant.

“Of course you’re not. You're right on time.”

“No, Sasha, I’m late.”

For a moment, she worries she’s broken him. He looks completely shell-shocked.

But then he beams at her and Alina knows everything will be alright.

Chapter Text

He leaves his men talking and comes over to her, "why the frown, baby?"

"He's an innocent man, Sasha, not a criminal. Just leave him alone."

His eyes darken, a warning to her, "I hope you're not getting too fond of Malyen Oretsev, Alina. You know I don't like to share you, baby."

Chapter Text

A month into her first semester at the University of Ravka, her roommate Genya’s father visits.

Alina’s always been into older men. Daddy issues, a therapist might say, if she bothered to see one.

Aleksander Morozov is tall and handsome, with faint crow’s feet and silver threaded through his hair. He’s clever and charming and funny too, just to make it even worse.

Alina flutters her eyelashes when Genya isn’t looking, blushing when Mr Morozov’s dark eyes watch her with interest and his mouth quirks into a dangerous smile.

A warning of sorts, perhaps, but Alina has always had a bit of a reckless streak.

She slides closer when Genya leaves the dorm to fetch something from the kitchen and he gives her a shark’s grin, “you’re in over your head, little girl.”

“Maybe I don’t care,” she murmurs.

When Genya gets back, Alina has slightly swollen lips, a hidden mark on her neck and a new contact in her phone.

Chapter Text

Tyrants or Visionaries is the only 7am Monday lecture that’s always full.

Dr Aleksander Morozov is an excellent reason to get up early.

Too bad, Alina thinks smugly as she sits in the front row, bite-marks on her thighs from last night hidden by her leggings, he’s taken.

Chapter Text

It’s been centuries since Aleksander opened up to another person, closing off his heart out of self-preservation.

And then … Alina.

Wanting makes him weak and he tries to push his feelings aside, but she’s so lovely and bright, like the light she summons.

Falling is inevitable.

Chapter Text

They go out to his Tuscan villa – absolutely stunning, surrounded by rolling hills and vineyards, with a pool and tennis court and countless other amenities – for their honeymoon.

Alina loves the place to begin with, but it loses its charm when it becomes clear that Aleksander has no intention of allowing her to return to the US, especially when her belly begins to round.

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” he murmurs, fingers digging almost painfully into her skin as he holds her hips while she rides him, occasionally lifting his head to nip at her bare breasts, or moving one of his hands to caress her stomach gently.

She’s always known his life and work are dangerous, but never expected him to go this far. Perhaps she should have predicted it, though – he’s a possessive, protective man, after all.

She’s two months pregnant when she sits in a recliner on the veranda as the sun begins to set, watching as he drives his car down winding roads, away from her and off to the airport for a business trip to New York, scheduled to last a week and a half.

And Alina is simply left to wait, to wonder if love is enough to endure a lifetime confined mostly to this beautiful prison.

Chapter Text

Thrown down in front of the Black Tsar’s throne, Alina spits curses and insults, determined not to submit to her country’s conqueror.

He rises from his throne and comes to stand in front of her, “such a foul mouth for a little princess.”

He grasps her chin to force her up until her face is level with the bulge in his trousers, “let’s see if we can put it to better use.”

Chapter Text

Alina remembers countless nights with her moans muffled by a pillow as her step-father rocked into her while her mother slept just two rooms away.

It’s different now – a new city, new home, new life. Matching wedding rings on their fingers. Her bitter mother forgotten.

Now, her cries echo throughout the house and Aleksander encourages her to be as vocal as she wishes.

After all, there’s no need to be quiet or hide anymore.

Chapter Text

The Black Tsar inspects the room full of young ladies. All simpering smiles, fluttering eyelashes, expensive dresses, low-cut bodices, elaborate hairstyles, dripping in jewellery.

Except for one, almost trying to hide, clearly considered unremarkable despite the fact that her golden skin glows and her eyes sparkle with real intelligence and passion.

He doesn’t know her name, her family, her dowry or her connections, and he truly does not care.

There is no one else who holds a candle to her and he wants.

Chapter Text

Locals have always said the forest is magical.

Alina doesn’t believe it until one twilight evening when the pond's rippling mirror image is identical except for one thing.

It is not her own reflection staring back, but the interested, dark gaze of a handsome man all in black.

Chapter Text

Alina sleeps over at Genya’s at least once a week, a regular feature in the Morozov-Safin household for years.

A Friday evening routine. Homework, maybe working on their college applications. A movie with popcorn. Gossiping together. Then fast asleep in Genya’s bunk-beds.

Sometimes Alina wonders what her best friend would think of the recent addition to her routine. Slipping out of the bottom bunk as soon as she hears the red-head snoring, sneaking across the landing to Aleksander’s room.

Genya’s step-brother is five years older than them, just graduated from University of Ravka, and back home while he sorts out an apartment. Tall, handsome, charming and clever, Alina’s had a crush on him for as long as she can remember.

For so long he had seen her only as an extension of Genya, ruffling her hair and calling her kiddo. It’s all changed since he came back, though, since she caught him looking at her with interest.

It’s not like they’re technically doing anything wrong. Alina is eighteen, just. There is no reason she shouldn’t strip off her pyjamas and climb into his bed, let him bring her to trembling, teary orgasms with his mouth and fingers while she muffles her cries in one of his pillows, let him fuck her hard into the mattress until she’s an incoherent, mewling mess of a girl.

It’s not like they’re technically doing anything wrong, but she still pulls her pyjamas on when she’d rather lay sated and spent in Aleksander’s arms, she still sneaks back into Genya’s room and the bottom bunk as if nothing has happened, they still barely touch outside the confines of his rooms, they still haven’t found the words to tell Genya the truth.

Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s right.

All Alina knows is she can’t stop.

Chapter Text

Sasha’s hand settles heavy and hot on Alina’s thigh, their usual signal.

“I’ve got an early meeting so I’m gonna head home,” she tells her friends, to a chorus of drunken groans and no, stay!

Pecks Mal on the cheek and her husband has had far too much to drink to notice that her lips barely brush his skin, “you stay,” she tells him, “have fun.”

Mal won’t remain with her friends long, he’s never much liked them, but she has no doubt he’ll stumble over to whatever dive Dubrov and Mikhael can be found in tonight and drink even more with them.

She waits on the street corner just down the road from the bar, five minutes shivering in the cold until a heavy jacket is draped across her shoulders.

Sasha tsks affectionately, “when will you remember to bring a coat, milaya?”

She looks up at him through her lashes, “why should I bother when you’ll always look after me, Sasha.”

Leans up to press her lips sweetly to his, but he deepens the kiss, almost consuming her, his hand on her waist the only thing anchoring her to reality.

“My place tonight,” he growls when they break apart, tugging her towards the car idling on the curb, waiting for them.

His apartment has better soundproofing and fewer nosy neighbours. All the better to be loud. No sneaking around avoiding anyone who might tell Mal that she’s been entertaining other men in their flat (she’d only say it was a friend, but she doesn’t want to deal with the irritation and drama of having to explain herself).

The driver is used to their antics, a privacy screen up before they even enter the car, no complaints as she whimpers and whines while Sasha fingers her to an intense orgasm in barely five minutes.

“When are you leaving him?” he asks as she unbuckles her seatbelt and settles herself at his feet in the spot between his legs.

She doesn’t answer his question, only unbuckles his trousers so that she can take him into her mouth, smugly satisfied when he lets out a string of curses, “fuck … shit … damn … Alina … that mouth … milaya … your goddam mouth is heaven.”

Alina is good at this and she knows it. A simple matter of fact, not a boast. But where she does it reluctantly with Mal, trying to get it over with as soon as possible, she takes her time with Sasha – he appreciates the effort, after all, and, unlike Mal, he always returns the favour.

It isn’t until two minutes before they reach Sasha’s apartment (almost twenty minutes later) that he finally comes down her throat with a hoarse groan. She swallows it all, licking her lips, not wanting to give their tolerant driver any mess to clean up.

Sasha pulls her up onto his lap, lips mouthing at her neck, “Saints, Alinochka, you’re a revelation, milaya, a miracle of a girl.”

See, that’s one of the things she likes about Sasha. It’s like getting blood out of a stone to coax Mal into giving her a compliment, but praise drips constantly from Sasha’s tongue whenever they’re together.

It isn’t until they’re out of the car (all clothes neat and correct) and ensconced up in his apartment that Sasha repeats his question.

“When are you leaving him?”

It hasn’t been right between her and Mal in ages, almost since the moment they married (four years ago, when she was nineteen and naïve). Ever since she met Sasha through mutual friends, though, it’s been clear to her that she and Mal are over.

But she’s wanted to ensure her ducks are all in a row, that Mal can’t screw her over and out of her hard-earned money – it is, after all, exactly the sort of thing he’d try simply out of spite. Now, however, she’s finally figured it out.

“I left the papers for him back at our apartment,” she admits, “cleared my stuff out while he was at work and left it in a storage unit for the time being.”

He lights up, a wide grin on his face as he picks her up and spins her around right there and then.

“Move in with me,” he whispers, “Alina, move in with me.”

They’ve only known each other four months. It’s crazy, really. Absolutely mad.

And yet … it seems right.

“Yes,” she beams at him, his enthusiasm infectious, “yes.”

She’s got a good feeling about this.

Chapter Text

They’ve only been together for a year, but Alina knows she and Aleksander are forever. She knows.

And there’s nothing lacking in their sex life. Alina has grown more adventurous with Aleksander’s encouragement and there really doesn’t seem to be anything her boyfriend won’t try at least once, regardless of how much Alina might blush asking for it.

Sometimes, though, they like to have company for a night – either friends (Genya, Nikolai, Zoya, Nina) or strangers or acquaintances.

Like now, a few hours into a party, when they both feel like adding a third to their bedroom for the night.

“Him,” Aleksander points out the tall blond Viking skulking in the corner of the room.

“Matthias Helvar,” Alina scoffs, “are you mad, Sasha? He’s a moralistic prude. I heard him calling me a Jezebel last week just because I was wearing a short dress – it was fucking hot that day, okay!”

The fact that the dress had also made it easier for her and Sasha to have a quickie in one of the unused library study rooms is, of course, beside the point.

“It’s my turn to pick, Linka,” he reminds her, slipping his thumb into her mouth when she opens it to protest, pressing down on her tongue as a reminder of who is in charge tonight.

“Fine,” she pouts when he’s removed his thumb, “but I think you’re wasting your time.”

Aleksander’s grin is all teeth, “oh, I don’t think so, Linka. Why don’t you look again.”

When Alina glances over at Helvar, he’s watching them with the same level of intensity he usually reserves for talk of Djel.

His mouth is contorted into a scowl – probably because Alina’s dress is a few scraps of black fabric held together by some gold chains, or perhaps because Aleksander is mouthing at her neck as one of his hands sneaks under her dress and the other palms one of her breasts, barely hidden by the dress – but his eyes … his eyes tell a different story.

Darkened with lust, almost as intoxicating as Aleksander’s gaze. And the bulge in his jeans, obvious to Alina even though he’s trying to hide it, makes it clear that Matthias Helvar – puritanical choir boy though he may be – likes what he sees.

“Right as always, I suppose, Sasha,” she sighs as his fingers trail higher and higher, “it’ll certainly be interesting.”

She wonders how Helvar will touch her – nervous and tentative, as if he’s doing something he shouldn’t, or rough and resentful, knowing they’ve tempted him. She’s interested to find out, and to see how he deals with Sasha – a struggle for dominance, perhaps (Sasha will win, he always does, but it’s always glorious to watch it play out).

This will be an evening to remember.

Chapter Text

Aleksander is not a good man. He knows shady people, aspects of his job aren’t exactly the right side of legal, and he doesn’t particularly care what damage he does in the process of achieving his goals.

Therefore, the fact that he is fucking his naked, nubile eighteen-year-old step-daughter in his marital bed while her mother snoozes downstairs (one sleeping pill slipped to her ensuring that there’s no need to rush) does not give him the moral dilemma many people would say it should.

His wife becomes more tiresome every day, after all (it is clear that Alina must get her intelligence from her father’s side because she sure as hell hasn’t got it from Keyen), and Alina might be twenty-three years younger than him but she’s not underage so he really doesn’t see the problem.

Besides, how can he be expected to settle for Keyen’s lacklustre performances in bed and shrewish personality when he can have Alina’s breathy moans and enthusiastic participation as well as a chance at intelligent conversation.

Of course, there really is no need to keep Keyen around anymore. She was useful for her connections around the city, but he’s built his own bridges with them now. And he’s reached that stage of his life when he’s starting to think of children – heirs – and Keyen’s stomach has never swelled with his child in two and a half years of marriage (probably a mercy, really).

It will hardly be any hassle at all to rid himself of the problem, and with the luck of having a ready-made answer to his desires already in the house with him.

Alina will surely make a spectacular second Mrs Morozova.

Chapter Text

Alina would have missed the tiny, shivering little kitten if it hadn’t let out a plaintive meow just as she passed by.

“Alinochka,” Sasha eyes her suspiciously half an hour later when she returns home with the bundle of fluff in her arms, “what have you done?”

“We did talk about getting a kitten,” she reminds him.

A brief conversation, to be sure, and not at all decisive. But Alina already loves the little kitten and desperately wants to keep it.

Sasha still looks sceptical, so Alina brings out the big guns.

“No … Alinochka … fuck … not the Disney eyes … and … no, not the pout too, sweetheart.”

She can see him softening, and when he rolls his eyes and presses his lips to her pout, she knows that she’s won.

Now she’ll just have to see if she can sell him on the name Sir Fluffington for their new pet.

Chapter Text

Mal ducks his head and Alina curses the fact that she forgot her lip balm this morning – chapped lips are not what she imagined for her first kiss, after all.

Before he can get any closer, though, Mal is suddenly yanked backwards.

“Sasha,” she hisses, embarrassed and annoyed.

Her step-brother – four years older and a hundred times more intimidating than Mal can ever hope to be – grins at her, looking pleased with himself rather than guilty, “just looking out for you, Linka. This one,” he glares at Mal, who stutters something unintelligible and then flees, “has a bad reputation.”

“You’ve got a bad reputation,” she reminds him sulkily.

“Never you mind about me,” he says, “unlike Oretsev, I don’t make promises I’m not going to keep. Besides, you’re my Linka – I’m not going to let any old jerk kiss you.”

He throws an arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer, so genuinely affectionate that she immediately forgives him for ruining her almost-first kiss.

“Can we go get ice-cream after school?” she asks, knowing his carefully-hidden sweet tooth, and the fact that he’s more likely to spoil her after this little incident with Mal.

“Sure, Linka,” he agrees easily, leaning down to press his lips to the crown of her head, “now come on, I’ll walk you to your next class.”

She smiles at him, Mal entirely forgotten.

Chapter Text

 She is sat on the patio drinking tea when she sees a shadow looming over her.

“I don’t want to see you.”

“Then perhaps you should have run off to somewhere less obvious than your favourite boutique hotel.”

“Husband,” she mutters mutinously as he takes a seat opposite her, pouring himself some tea (when had a second cup appeared?) and dumping enough sugar into the drink to make her shudder.

“Wife,” his grin is just a little bit mean, “over your tantrum yet?”

She scowls at his trivialisation of their argument, which was as much his fault as hers.

“Don’t pout, darling,” he reaches over, his thumb stroking irritatingly soothing circles on her wrist, “we had a little spat – I’m over it already.”

“Well I’m not,” she retorts tartly.

“Tell me, Alina, how can I acquit myself?”

Alina knows she could joke about diamonds or cars or fancy dresses, but she’s got enough of those already. Besides, it really was a silly little argument, if she’s being honest – sometimes she just storms off because it’s just nice to know he’ll follow her.

She glances up, towards one particular window, and then winks, “I’ve got the room for two more days …”

“Well then, darling,” his eyes darken, “lead the way and I promise I’ll make it up to you very thoroughly.”

He really is a most excellent husband.

Chapter Text

“And where is your wife, Morozov?”

Mal shudders slightly at Lantsov’s bold question. No one else has dared to ask about the Duke’s new bride, despite the rumours swirling – that she’s half wild, two decades his junior, an orphan of dubious origins, not fit to hold the title of Duchess.

Something astonishing happens, though. The Duke’s eyes, usually sharp and cool and critical, soften slightly as he points out a petite figure running around with a group of children, the hem of her dress already covered in mud.

“She’s a little hellion at times, but she’ll make a wonderful mother in time,” the Duke says with a fond smile that Mal has never seen on the man’s face before.

As if she can tell that her husband is talking about her, the new Duchess looks over. Mal catches a glimpse of her face and blanches.

Alina.

It seems the rumours are closer to the truth than usual. Alina Starkova (Morozova now, he supposes, though he doesn’t like to think about it) is an orphan of dubious origins (her father, dead six months now, had been a baron, but no one ever knew who her mother had been – a maid, it was rumoured), at nineteen years old she is twenty-two years younger than the Duke, and she’s always had an independent, wild streak about her – running through fields with Mal (whose family estate lay next to her father’s), climbing trees to hide from her governess, and meeting guests with paint all over her dresses.

Alina is the girl he always thought he’d marry, despite his parents’ objections. And then she’d disappeared without a trace after her father’s death, presumably to marry the Duke (he thinks society gossip said the Duke wed in private about five months previously).

He wonders if she’d had any choice, or if the marriage had been forced upon her to prevent her from falling into genteel poverty (the majority of her father’s estate was, he believes, entailed).

Mal wishes he could believe that she didn’t want this, but he sees how her face lights up when she looks at her husband, how she smiles brighter at him than she ever did around Mal, how … how her hand brushes her stomach just long enough for Mal to guess the news that the Duke and Duchess have not yet made public.

The truth, it seems, is that this unlikely pair have a happy marriage indeed.

Chapter Text

It’s a common sight, the little Sun Summoner running through the palace halls, her maids or oprichniki begging her to slow down, or Ivan shouting “get back here you menace!”

It is easy enough to find her again, although only if one is willing to risk the ire of the Black Tsar, since Alina’s favourite hiding spot is right by his side.

She looks angelic, fast asleep and snuggled into the tsar’s fur-lined kefta, nothing like the demon wild child that Ivan stubbornly insists she is.

And the tsar, of course, won’t have her disturbed, won’t hear a word against her.

“She ruined my kefta,” Ivan seethes later, his husband consoling him with a pat on the shoulder, “and all the tsar said was that it must have been an accident and I shouldn’t wake her up because she’s been working so hard with her summoning and needs the rest.”

“To be fair,” Fedyor says with a shrug, “she has made a lot of progress summoning.”

“That’s because the tsar teaches her,” Ivan reminds him, “and she’s a perfect delight for him. With the rest of us, on the other hand …”

Fedyor sighs as his husband starts a familiar rant and makes a mental note to request a few weeks of holiday. He thinks Ivan would really benefit from some fresh sea air and a break from the palace.

Chapter Text

He hasn’t changed in their two years apart.

Still dangerous, a gang leader with the tattoos to show just how many men he’s killed and how far he’s risen up the ranks.

But when he smiles at her, Alina’s heart skips a beat and she knows she’ll never get him out of her system.

Chapter Text

A wardrobe full of keftas – black with gold embroidery, gold with black embroidery, even a few blue ones when there is a need to go incognito.

None of them are what Alina wants right now, though.

When Aleksander returns to his rooms to find some paperwork, it looks as if a hurricane has blown through them.

He finds his tiny Sun Summoner in the middle of the chaos, swamped in one of his black and silver keftas.

“Look, Sasha!” she exclaims in delight, “we match!”

And, entirely forgetting the mess, he can only smile in return and reward her with a biscuit from the stash he keeps in his desk.

Chapter Text

It’s the first Comic-Con for three-time Oscar winner Aleksander Morozov.

He freely admits to the audience that he took the role as General Kirigan, the anti-hero foil to earnest and somewhat naïve superhero Sol Koroleva, to please his nieces, who are huge fans of the lead actress Alina Starkova.

Plenty of the panel attendees notice, however, that Morozov himself seems to be as big of a fan as the screaming hordes who cheer for Starkova.

It’s lucky, really, that no one is there to snap a photograph backstage after the panel is over. It is just Aleksander and Alina (their faithful, discrete agents Ivan and Tamar watching the door) curled up together on a tiny little couch.

“I think that went really well,” Alina grins brightly.

He nods. The crowd had been engaged and extremely enthusiastic – he’s used to more subdued press conferences, but the panel energy was wonderful and he had a lot of fun talking about his character – General Kirigan had been fairly one-dimensional in initial drafts, but the writers and directors had been open to suggestions and Aleksander is proud of how the character has been developed.

It’s certainly not his usual sort of work, but he’s excited about the role and its potential – at the end of season one, General Kirigan and Sol Koroleva have reached an uneasy kind of détente in the face of a larger threat, and he is eager to see how their relationship evolves over the course of season two (already greenlit, with filming to start in two months).

However, it must be said that Alina is by far the greatest thing to come from this new foray into a superhero TV show. He fell hard and fast and he still can’t quite believe that she feels the same way.

Every Oscar, every other award he’s ever received, every glowing review … it all pales next to one of Alina’s sunshine smiles.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” she asks, turning her head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“You, of course, milaya,” he says fondly, leaning down to capture her lips with his own.

She sighs happily when they break apart, snuggling into his side, “love you, Sasha.”

Those words never fail to make his heart sing.

“I love you too, Alina.”

Chapter Text

Alina is a fool for agreeing to be serial killer bait.

She tries not to tremble, "are you going to kill me?"

His smile is all teeth, the blood of his latest victim staining the hand caressing her cheek, "now why would I do that, malyshka, I've been waiting a long time for you."

Chapter Text

Jailbait, he reminds himself as he watches the neighbours’ daughter sunbathe.

Barely, though. Alina Starkova is almost eighteen.

Does he really care? After all, he’s not a good man – blood money got him this mansion, this easy life.

She turns her head, sees him looking and winks.

Chapter Text

Alina likes to bait Sasha.

Her step-father is not easily riled up, but she uses all the tricks in the book.

Provocative clothes. Staying out past curfew. 'Borrowing' his credit card. Sneaking out to go to parties. Getting drunk and stumbling home in the early hours. Getting high in an empty classroom after school, letting herself be caught by the janitor and refusing to look guilty when Sasha comes in for a meeting with the principal (her mom away on some work trip, as is so often the case). Letting Mal finger her (badly, unfortunately, but teenage boys seem to be useless when it comes to that sort of thing) when she knows Sasha is working from home. Getting on her knees and giving Nikolai a blow-job (he and Zoya are on a break, he needs cheering up) out by the pool when she can see Sasha watching from his study. Masturbating with her bedroom door wide open.

He knows what she's doing, tries to keep a cool head, but Alina has always been good at provoking a reaction, even from a man as disciplined as Sasha.

And every time he breaks, every time he pulls her over his lap or makes her brace her hands on his desk so that he can teach her a lesson in obedience and discipline … every time, they both know he’s giving her exactly what she wants.

Chapter Text

It takes two months of sitting out on their respective balconies before Alina dares to try and talk to him.

He’s curt at first, polite but cool. As the time passes, though, he opens up more and more, even smiles now and then.

One afternoon, she’s just working up the courage to ask him in for a drink when the smell of salmon alfredo (her favourite pasta) wafts through his open door.

A minute later, he sticks his head out, dark eyes intense but oddly nervous as he looks at her, “well … aren’t you coming in?”

She doesn’t hesitate to scramble as gracefully as possible over onto his balcony and take his offered hand.

Chapter Text

For a brief moment, she thinks they’ve won.

Hope that she’ll finally be able to have some peace wars with the horror of stabbing the man who had been her equal and opposite.

But Aleksander smiles, wincing only slightly as he pulls the knife out, “I’m not so easy to kill, milaya.”

Chapter Text

By day it looks like an ordinary country cottage, always with just the right amount of sun to help the garden thrive.

But at night the darkness seem to move. Rumours spread of shadows catching hold of intruders and devouring them.

It's probably just silly superstition, though ...

Chapter Text

Alina Starkova is a far-off dream, a relic of the past.

New name. New friends. New life.

She's safe here, a continent away from her dangerous, obsessive ex.

But she should have known he'd never let her go ...

Chapter Text

No one is asking her to dance.

Alina tries not to redden in embarrassment, but it really is quite humiliating.

Her first proper ball during her very first season and not one gentleman seems to find her remotely worthy of his attention.

She mumbles something to her guardian about fixing a non-existent rip in her dress and hurries off out of the ballroom.

And then she freezes, still and silent as she hears some ladies speaking.

“Poor girl,” Lady Nina murmurs, “she must be so bored, just sitting there.”

Viscountess Kostyk snorts, “well we both know the Duke can be an overprotective boor when he’s so inclined. And I think he is very much inclined when it comes to Miss Starkova.”

Alina’s brow furrows. Are they … are they talking about her?

“Do you think she realises?” Lady Nina asks, “that he’s scaring them all away, at least the ones who dare to brave his glare.”

“Ah, that glare,” Viscountess Kostyk says, “he’s my distant cousin, you know, and when he met David, just before we got engaged, he scared him enough that I thought he never would propose.”

“He didn’t,” she can hear the amusement in Lady Nina’s voice, “you proposed.”

“Hush,” Viscountess Kostyk whispers, “that’s a secret, Nina.”

The two ladies carry on talking, but Alina ignores them, the only thing running through her head the thought that the Duke – serious and stern and intimidating and sometimes a little mean – has been keeping her suitors away.

Why would he do that?

She hurries back to the ballroom, looking for the tall, handsome figure dressed all in black.

Truly, she plans to confront him, to demand that he allow her to speak with suitors rather than simply deciding that he knows best.

The words that come out, however, are not what she plans, “will you dance with me, Your Grace?”

For a moment he looks truly shocked, but then something strange happens.

His mouth stretches into a small, satisfied smile and he holds out his hand, “I would be delighted, Miss Starkova.”

(they are the talk of the ton when they get engaged two weeks later).

Chapter Text

There’s something not quite right about the pond at the edge of his new property.

It always feels cool there, and an eerie fog seems to hang over the area no matter the time of day or the season.

Worst of all are the dreams he has in his new home, constant and concerning.

A young girl flailing in the water, weighed down by heavy skirts, screaming for help that never comes.

He tells himself that it is historical interest that pushes him to visit the local library, but it isn’t really a surprise when he comes across the tale.

A tragic love story almost two hundred years old. Miss Alina Starkova, who had somehow fallen into the pond while walking alone, and who got into difficulties in the unusually deep water and drowned before any help could arrive, just hours before she was set to marry her beloved fiancé.

Odd indeed that her fiance’s name was Aleksander too, but surely it is just an odd coincidence.

The dream that night is different.

She looks directly at him, with pleading doe eyes, “come and help me, Sasha, please, you have to help me.”

He takes two steps forward unconsciously, ankle deep in the water, caught in her hypnotic gaze, before she sinks beneath the surface and vanishes.

When he wakes the next morning, his feet are soaking wet.

Chapter Text

He wakes to the sound of her soft humming.

“Sasha!” she beams.

“Alina, sweetheart, if you’ve got the energy to get up and water my plants then I clearly didn’t ravish you properly.”

Happily for them both, she takes his words for the invitation they are and joins him back in bed.

Chapter Text

A look across the room, grinding against each other on the dancefloor, heated kisses outside the club.

And then an invitation from the dark-haired girl who has an almost ethereal, doll-like beauty, “shall we go back to my place?”

In the cab, Ruby is too distracted by Lina’s mouth – on Ruby’s lips, the cleavage spilling out of her barely-there top and, most of all, her neck – to notice where they’re going.

Far away from the city lights, even past the suburbs, to a desolate, quiet area with a graveyard just a stone’s throw away.

“You live here?” Ruby asks, surprised.

Lina seems like a city girl, cool and sophisticated, not the kind of odd old lady who’d own a gloomy old house like this. And for a brief moment, as they walk towards the door, Ruby wonders why the shutters appear to be nailed shut.

But then they’re on the porch and Lina has her pushed against the wall, hand snaking up her leg, two delicate, thin fingers shoved into Ruby’s soaking wet heat with such force that it makes her cry out in a delicious combination of pain and pleasure.

And she can’t think of anything else, especially not since Lina is mouthing at her neck again, oddly sharp teeth nipping gently at soft flesh.

Ruby doesn’t hear the door open, or any other footsteps. She never even realises someone else is there until the tall, frightfully handsome and inhumanly pale dark-haired man speaks.

“What a delicious little morsel you’ve found for us, Alinochka.”

Ruby jumps a little, shocked by his sudden appearance, but for the moment she just thinks Lina isn’t single, like she thought, but perhaps she and her boyfriend like a threesome every once in a while. Ruby can do that, is quite excited by the idea, really.

She looks at the dark-haired man, though, and his eyes …

His eyes are like endless pools of darkness.

A girl could get lost in those eyes …

Everything feels hazy and murky, her limbs heavy and her brain fuzzy.

In the background, she knows Lina and the man are talking, but all she can hear are snippets.

“… no one will trace her here? … one of ours driving …. Fedyor, not Ivan … fake ID … packed club … you look thirsty, malyshka … you’ll have the first bite … no, together … delicious …”

Someone is leading her into the house, although she can’t tell who. It’s dark, the room lit only by a few candles.

And then they’re laying her out on a couch, a head between her legs making her writhe in pleasure.

“Makes the blood sweeter,” she hears Lina giggle girlishly, although she can’t see where she is.

It is weird, to be sure, but Ruby can’t complain, not when a gorgeous couple like this have chosen her to share their bed for the night.

Except … two mouths on her neck now, one on either side.

And that would be fine, if not for the fact that their sharp teeth seem to be biting down rather harder than they should.

She tries to lift her head, to bat them away, to tell them to stop, to wait, to be a little less rough.

Ruby can’t find the strength, though, can only lay there as the nips become vicious bites, as the couple looming above her feast.

Her life drains away with her blood and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

Chapter Text

Aleksander doesn’t make much effort for his Fraternity’s Halloween party, just wears one of his usual all-black ensembles and says he’s dressed as a hitman.

And then he sees her.

Floaty white dress, wings and a halo – a pretty little angel.

Looking a little closer, though, he notices that her dress is made of gossamer-thin material and when the strobe lights hit her just right, he can see the attractive silhouette of her body and even her dusky nipples (she’s wearing lacy white pants but no bra). Her dark hair is teased and fluffed to look like she’s just been thoroughly fucked, her lips are painted bright red and the alluring smile on her face when she looks at him is anything but innocent.

It seems like this girl is a devilish little temptress masquerading as an innocent angel.

Aleksander grins, dark eyes dancing with delight as he makes his way across the room to her. This party has just become a whole lot more exciting.

Chapter Text

Everyone around Alina takes and takes without ever realising what it costs her to play the saint.

Meanwhile, she wonders if she is simply enforcing the status quo rather than making the real change so desperately needed in Ravka.

She’s surrounded by people, but she’s never felt so lonely and isolated.

And so, when Aleksander tugs on the tether, Alina gives in to the urge to see the one person who seems to understand and accept her without reservation.

It feels inevitable.

Chapter Text

The housewarming moves outside into bright sunshine.

A handsome man watches her with dark eyes.

Trips on her way to get a drink, but falls into strong, sure arms, “careful, Alinochka.”

Doesn’t ask how he knows her name.

Even after she’s steady on her feet, he doesn’t let her go.

Chapter Text

“Well, you and your father –”

“Husband,” Alina corrects, beaming at the school’s graduation photographer despite his mistake, still giddy – three months after the wedding – at the fact that she can call Sasha by that title.

“H-h-husband,” the man stutters, looking somewhat perturbed.

Alina frowns. His expression is the same one all her teachers wear whenever she corrects them in class – they forget, sometimes, that she’s Mrs Morozova now, not Miss Starkova – and she doesn’t like it.

She knows what everyone whispers, that she is being taken advantage of, that it shouldn’t be allowed, that Sasha is some kind of monster.

Alina is eighteen, though, and capable of making her own decisions. She knows what she wants.

Besides, Sasha is the perfect husband, looking after her, always so attentive, helping her navigate the world with a warm, indulgent smile and a firm, guiding hand. So handsome too, tall and distinguished with the threads of silver running through his dark hair and neatly-cropped beard.

And he understands, her husband, how confusing and intimidating she finds the idea of life outside her comfortable bubble. Her teachers keep talking about all the schools she can apply to with her excellent grades, but Alina can’t bear the idea of being away from Sasha or having to deal with the chaos of university life, not when Sasha has promised that he has more than enough money for her to simply spend her days painting or sketching or curled up reading on the couch in his home office.

It’s all a moot point anyway, Alina thinks as she sits on the chair provided, at least for the moment.

As Sasha, after a brief and frosty exchange with the photographer, murmurs instructions to her – “back straight, Alinochka, and turn your head a little to the left, there’s a good girl" – Alina brushes her fingers ever so briefly over her stomach before folding her hands into her lap as Sasha’s settle onto her shoulders, a solid and dependable presence.

She knows her husband will be so pleased with her exciting news when she tells him at dinner.

Chapter Text

Aching head. Heavy limbs.

Her gauzy veil is pushed aside and she sees Sasha for the first time since she vanished into witness protection.

"Oh, Alinochka," he sighs, "I can't believe you were going to marry that boy. You're lucky I was here to stop you making a terrible mistake."

Chapter Text

Alina never plans to be the girl who steals another woman’s husband.

Surely, though, she can’t be scolded for chasing true love when she has the chance.

Besides, it’s not her fault that Luda is careless enough to let Sasha slip out of her grasp and into Alina’s welcoming arms.

Chapter Text

Aleksander eyes the house - bright and airy - in disdain.

He has to investigate, though. This angel is doing too many good works to be ignored.

But when he sees her - golden skin, glossy dark hair, beaming smile - his mission is forgotten in his desire to have her for himself.

Chapter Text

Elizaveta wants to think she’s just being unreasonably paranoid, that all the late nights and weekend absences really are work-related.

She has to know for sure, though, and so she sews a tracker into the lining of Aleksander’s favourite jacket and tries not to feel like an overreacting lunatic.

She finds him on a Saturday morning, not at a conference in another city but in a modest little home in the suburbs.

The house she’s looking at is nothing like their elegant, expensive penthouse apartment, but it certainly seems cosier and warmer than the place filled with stainless steel and a black and white aesthetic that Elizaveta calls home.

This is evidence enough that he has been lying to her. And she’s sure there can only be one reason for it, that nothing she might discover here will make her feel better, only much, much worse.

But she has to know for sure, to see the proof that her husband of fifteen years is betraying her.

When, hidden by a large tree, she looks through the front window, it really is worse than she imagined.

Aleksander – forty-two years old, always in designer suits and expensive watches, a cold and serious businessman – is kissing another woman like he can’t get enough of her, with more passion than he’s ever shown Elizaveta, hands roaming all over.

The woman – more a girl, really, barely out of her teens – is wearing a brightly coloured sundress which compliments her golden skin and shows off her generous chest and …

And a rounded stomach. Five or six months gone, at least.

Aleksander has said throughout their marriage that he has no time for children.

Elizaveta has always thought it would be nice to have one or two, but she’s brushed that dream aside, compromised on this important issue because she loves her husband and doesn’t want to lose him.

And now it turns out that it isn’t that Aleksander didn’t want children, just that he didn’t want them with Elizaveta.

She feels the tears pool in the corners of her eyes, although goodness knows her cheating, lying husband doesn’t deserve them.

Perhaps she might consider calling a lawyer, trashing their apartment, or making a fuss. She knows Aleksander, though, knows he’ll have failsafes in place and the resources to make her life a living hell if she tries to ruin his life in retaliation for him breaking her heart. No, it’s better to play along, go quietly, try to build a new life out of this mess.

As she drives back to the apartment to pack a bag for an extended visit to her sister, Elizaveta wonders.

Did he ever love me? Was our marriage just a farce? Have I always been a placeholder?

Where did he meet that pretty little thing? Does she know he’s married? Was the pregnancy planned? What does she have that I don’t?

Does he love her? Does he love her? Does he love her?

Why couldn’t he love me?

Chapter Text

Sasha shoots the men harassing her with cool detachment.

Then, he strides over and tugs her hair tightly so she's forced to look him in the eyes.

"I see we'll need to have another talk about not running away from your guards, Alinochka. Perhaps this time the lesson will stick."

Chapter Text

They sway together as a Frank Sinatra song plays on the radio, Alina’s face pressed into Aleksander’s chest to hide her tears as he holds her like he doesn't ever want to let go.

For a few minutes all her worries about the war, and the fight he’ll soon return to, are forgotten.

Chapter Text

“Have there been any letters for me, Doctor Morozov?”

She asks the same question every day, his favourite patient, still so stubbornly hopeful even after six months.

“I told you that you can call me Sasha when we’re alone, Alinochka,” he reminds her, petting her hair affectionately.

After all, she isn’t like the others in this place. Her family may have dumped her in the asylum, sure that her conviction that she can summon sunlight is a sign of madness, but Aleksander knows better.

He knows that her gift is as real as his own, that her power will be as strong as his given time and training. His equal and opposite, finally in his grasp after centuries of searching.

“And I’m afraid there was no post for you today,” he continues, affecting a sympathetic demeanour as he grasps her hand and lets his amplification help her summon, “maybe tomorrow.”

He knows well enough that tomorrow will bring no news of the boy she’s so enamoured with. Malyen Oretsev is annoyingly persistent, but all the mail goes through Aleksander first and he’s always careful to remove the boy’s letters – scanning them and shaking his head at the paltry sentiments and talk of “when you’re back to normal” contained within – and then burn them to a crisp in his fireplace.

Perhaps some might see his actions as cruel, but Aleksander is simply doing what is best for his sweet little Sun Summoner. She can’t afford the distractions this boy will bring. Besides, Alina has him, and the two of them do not need anyone but each other.

Chapter Text

“Alina … Alina!”

She lifts her head from her sketchbook at the sound of her aunt Ana’s frantic calls, “what is it?”

“The Viscount,” her aunt hisses, “he’s coming to the door … with flowers.”

Alina blushes as pink as the roses that Viscount Morozov had sent her two days ago, “surely not in all this rain.”

“I assure you, Alina, it is certainly him. Oh, and your hair is in such a state. I suppose we should just be thankful you decided to use your pencils today rather than that filthy charcoal.”

Her aunt flutters anxiously around Alina, plucking invisible bits of fluff and dust off her dress, pinching her cheeks and trying to smooth her hair down, “now please, my dear, no more arguing with his Lordship about those books you have been reading – it really is most unseemly.”

“The Viscount likes it when I argue with him, aunt Ana,” Alina reminds her, thinking of the twinkle in the man’s eye when they had debated the themes in Romeo and Juliet when he had paid a call one week ago.

Her aunt only shakes her head, “it does make me so nervous when you tease such a great man, Alina. And, oh,” she frets, “I never expected visitors on a day like this – we have nothing at all to give him and I hate to show such poor hospitality.”

“We have plenty of cake and biscuits, aunt,” she tries to soothe the woman’s worries, “and you know the Viscount will be perfectly content with that.”

He has a sweet tooth, however much he tries to hide it – insisting on managing the sugar bowl so it isn’t obvious he is adding three or four spoonfuls to his teacup, and never needing much persuasion to take a second biscuit or slice of cake.

There is no time for her aunt to panic further, though, as the Viscount’s heavy knock echoes through the cottage.

Their servant answers the door as her aunt whispers instructions for Alina to “sit up straight and smile, dear.”

Alina tries not to sigh as Viscount Morozov enters the room, head almost brushing against the top of the door-frame. She likes to think she’s not the sort of girl to be distracted by a handsome face, but he really is the most striking gentleman – even worse for her heart, he has an attractive personality too.

“Mrs Kuya,” he nods to her aunt and then turns to Alina, “Miss Starkova.”

She has seen him furious and cold from a distance, but his dark eyes always seem warm when he visits them and she cannot be afraid of him despite his foreboding reputation.

They greet him in unison, inviting him to sit and have refreshment, her aunt remarking over how astonishing it is that he has ventured out in such dirty, wet weather.

“I had an errand I did not wish to postpone,” he says, talking to his aunt but looking at Alina, “besides, the rain is not so bad.”

The wind has been rattling the cottage’s window-panes and she is fairly sure she heard thunder not ten minutes ago, but Alina says nothing to contradict him.

“I wonder, Mrs Kuya,” he says, after a few minutes of polite conversation as the tea is poured (four sugars for him today, she notes), “if I might have an audience alone with Miss Starkova.”

“Oh! I am sure Alina would be positively delighted, isn’t that right, my dear,” her aunt beams encouragingly at her, proud and pleased.

“Of course,” Alina responds promptly, ducking her head demurely to hide the flush on her cheeks and the excited, hopeful expression on her face.

It’s always seemed almost like a fantasy, the idea that a wealthy, well-connected Viscount would ever actually propose to her, the daughter of a baron’s third son, not destitute by any means but certainly with a very modest dowry. And yet, here he is, asking to speak with her, and surely he cannot mean anything else but the one thing she has hoped for in her heart almost since their first meeting.

When she is finally able to meet his eyes, she sees a soft kind of tenderness there, and knows that everything will turn out well.

(they marry at Michaelmas and everyone says they have never seen a more radiant bride).

Chapter Text

“I bet he’s never made you feel like this, has he, Alinochka?”

She only whines as she writhes beneath him, coherence and full sentences beyond her.

He’s right, damnit. Mal has never made her feel even a fraction of what Sasha - the smug bastard - does.

She can't fight it anymore.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Linka,” he coaxes, “it’s just a harmless bet.”

She can see the dark glimmer in his eyes, a clear indication that it’s certainly not a harmless bet, nor one she’ll ever win.

She agrees anyway. Sometimes the penalty for losing is more pleasurable than a winner's prize.

Chapter Text

Aleksander Morozov has a reputation. Cold, ruthless, ambitious.

At home, though, his real home, not the city penthouse he uses for work, he is a different man.

Fresh flowers from the garden for his wife and three daughters. Watching his son take his first unsteady steps out in the garden. Teaching the girls how to play piano. Reading while his wife paints in the conservatory, the light filtering in so it looks like she has a halo (“mama is an angel!” Irina exclaims, and Aleksander can only agree). Games and movie nights and walks in the nearby woods.

He is the very best in his field, and there’s no denying that he enjoys his work, but home with his family is where he most wants to be, forever in his thoughts even as he balances figures and chooses portfolios and watches the stock market with an eagle eye.

It is no surprise to those who know him best that he retires before he’s forty-five, just before his eldest daughter turns five.

Aleksander Morozov knows what’s most important to him.

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Alina Starkova steps out of the pool, water glistening on her lithe body, and he has a sudden urge to wrap her in a large towel so no one else can see the curves her bikini shows off.

She pauses for a moment, checks that everyone has gone inside (she misses him, standing on the balcony, half hidden) and then pulls off her bikini top so she can dry herself properly.

Aleksander gets one brief, tantalising look at her perfect, perky breasts, and his desire is almost painful.

As she moves back to the house a few minutes later, the young woman looks up, catches his eye and winks at him.

He growls in frustration, knowing how difficult it will be to get the little tease alone in the middle of this gathering, with so many of his employees desperate to speak to him.

He’ll find a way, though. Alina Starkova is more than worth considerable effort.

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Without him realising, the ugly duckling has turned into a swan.

Gangly limbs to soft curves. Spotty skin now golden and glowing. Tangled hair turned silky cascading down her back.

Although, when he thinks about it, she’s always been pretty.

It just took him far too long to see.

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The nichevo’ya bite has never healed properly, an ugly welt, the veins around the area turned black by the monster’s poison. It still pains her occasionally.

Aleksander has never apologised for it. She expects he never will – it is not in his nature to ask for forgiveness.

In contrast, he seems to adore that he has left this permanent mark on her, mouths at it whenever he has her naked beneath him, or sometimes even in the middle of a court session, where the necklines of her gowns are deliberately made wide enough to display his twin claims – the collar made from the antler bone of Morozov’s Stag, and the nichevo’ya bite-mark (as if he needs them, as if it is not enough that her kefta is black embroidered with gold and she wears a golden kokoshnik as his tsarina and she shares his throne and she glows brightly to guide him in the Fold and she fights their enemies by his side).

He is a possessive man, her husband, always trying to find new ways to claim her, and to remind her of his claim.

Sometimes she hates him.

Always, though, she loves him.

After all, there are no others like them, no one else who could ever hope to compare.

They are inevitable and eternal.

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There’s no hiding in this room.

Mirrored walls. Mirrored ceiling.

Everywhere Alina looks, she can see the two of them together.

Worse, she is forced to witness just how much she likes what he does to her, to see her face contort in pleasure.

It is Aleksander's favourite room.

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It’s really quite easy to clone her phone. His sweet little Alina can be shockingly lax about her cyber-security at times.

(he’ll fix that, once they’re together, make her understand the danger she puts herself in with an open online presence, no decent firewall and poor passwords).

He flicks through her recent photos in the car on his way to work, growling at the number of half-naked mirror selfies she’s taken recently, opening up her messages to see if she’s been sending them to anyone.

A string of curses leaves his mouth when he realises the photos have all gone to the idiot boy she thinks she’s in love with. As if that petulant, foolish, immature child would know what to do with a girl as precious as his Alinochka.

No, this just won’t do. He’ll have to accelerate his plans – it’s clear Alina needs him to take care of her, to be the gentle hand on her shoulder guiding her through life, to wring every last bit of pleasure from her pliant and trembling body the way that boy never will.

He picks up his own phone, “Ivan, we’re moving to the final stage. I want Malyen Oretsev in my office in one hour … oh, and Ivan, I want him alive, but don’t feel like you have to be gentle.”

He grins in satisfaction as he goes back to the photos on Alina’s phone.

Soon enough she’ll be all his, and he certainly won’t be letting her share pictures of her delectable body with anyone except him.

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Luda – the perfect bride-to-be – is downstairs sampling menus.

Meanwhile, Aleksander – the groom – is doing unspeakable things on a silk-upholstered couch with the wedding planner.

“Excellent venue, Alinochka, but I want to change the plans a bit - I've got a new bride in mind.”

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He locks the collar around her neck. The Fabrikator-made gold chain linking it to his throne looks delicate, but she knows it is strong.

"If you're going to act like an animal," he sighs and side-steps the kick she aims at his shin, "then I'll have to treat you like one, milaya."

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Flowers everywhere at the stone house at the end the road. In the garden, in the hanging baskets, and in countless vases that can be seen scattered across tables if you peek inside the windows.

No one is surprised to see the young woman with golden skin, a sunny smile and bright clothes tending to the garden and waving cheerfully to them before she heads back inside the house with an armful of fresh flowers.

It is more of a shock when they notice the pale, dark-haired gentleman who seems to scowl at the sun as if it has personally offended him. He never says hello to the neighbours and is regularly seen getting into a fancy car with tinted windows, barking orders at an unseen person in the front seat or hissing menacingly at some poor soul down the phone.

But then, when you see them together, it all changes. He looks at her as if she is his personal sun, the celestial being he orbits around. His eyes are soft, his mouth curves into a smile and he kisses her sweetly.

“Like Hades and Persephone,” says one of the neighbouring teenagers, having recently read a book of Greek mythology and now considering herself a total expert – "it’s so romantic.”

And it can’t be denied. However surly the man can be (and he really, really is), it’s very clear he adores his wife beyond distraction.

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"Come on, Alina, take pity on a pining man?"

She still can't believe Oscar-winning heartthrob Aleksander Morozov is playing the anti-hero main character in the adaptation of her best-selling novel, let alone that he wants to date her.

She can't hide her smile, "alright then."

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“Oh my god, are you Aleksander Morozov? Your book on female power in Ancient Egypt was amazing.”

He turns from the window to find a startingly pretty young woman staring at him in excitement. He almost gapes – no one ever knows his books, not outside of academic circles.

“Can I sit down?” she asks, “I know it’s rude of me and you probably don’t want some girl interrupting your reading, but if you’ve got a few minutes then I’d really like to ask you some questions.”

For a moment he just stares, but when she begins to blush in embarrassment he shakes his head, “sorry, yes, I mean … sit … sit down … I’d love to answer some of your questions.”

She beams at him, the expression making her even prettier, and he prays to all the gods of every ancient pantheon that he does not end up looking like an idiot in front of this girl.

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“What a messy girl you are,” Aleksander murmurs as he drags a finger through her slick folds and then traces patterns on her skin.

Alina can only whimper, sated and spent, a little frustrated at how cool and collected he sounds while she is trembling, her mouth unable to form coherent words.

Sex is never neat and tidy, but it was always regimented and relatively quick with Mal.

However, Aleksander is another story entirely. She has no idea how long she’s been laid out on the black silk sheets of his bed, but she’s sure it must be hours and hours. Her muscles ache, her limbs are shaking, she’s deliciously sore between her legs and various bodily fluids are cooling on her skin.

“You’re my messy girl, though, aren’t you, Alinochka?”

She’s always thought this kind of possessiveness would irritate her, but instead it just sends a jolt of arousal through her, and a warm feeling of being treasured and looked after.

“Yours, Sasha,” she sighs happily as he leans down to kiss her, fierce and all-consuming (no quick, perfunctory kisses for him).

Messy, she decides, squirming and whining as Aleksander shifts position and settles his head between her legs, licking into her with barely a moment of warning, really is the best way to be.

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“Take it,” Aleksander hisses as he presses himself further inside her, “you’ll take it all like a good little omega, won’t you, Alinochka?”

“Yesyesyes … please, alpha.”

She can feel his knot swelling inside her, too big and not enough at the same time, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain.

“I’ll keep you filled up until it takes,” he promises as he mouths at the gland on her neck, “I’ll breed you, my pretty, sweet omega.”

“Yours,” she whimpers, forgetting all about the wedding ring on his finger and the engagement ring on hers – alpha will fix it all, she knows, so that they can be together, and he’ll provide for her and keep her safe and full.

There is nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Alina just has to take everything he gives her and she can live happy and secure in the warmth and protection of his presence and the cosiness of the nest she’s made by raiding his wardrobe. She needs nothing else but that.

As he bites down on her neck, Alina feels all is right in the world.

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It's his turn to choose the holiday. She expects a city break or private island owned by one of his business associates.

This house is quaint, nestled in the countryside in a village with two shops, three churches and spotty WiFi. Not his scene at all.

But just what she loves.

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"It's perfect," she admits after thorough examination of the fake, "I suppose you weren't exaggerating about your skills."

He looks insulted that she ever doubted him, but she hasn't avoided capture for years by being reckless.

"Now," she grins at him, "let's go steal a diamond."

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"You know you can decorate your room, right," her new stepfather says, "and use the credit card I gave you.”

Alina mumbles something he can’t hear and he strides forward to tap her reproachfully on the nose, “speak up, sweetheart.”

“There’s no point,” she says, louder now, and grumpy, “it’ll all go away soon enough. You’ll leave, just like they all do.”

Her father, her mother’s countless boyfriends, and the other two men who had stuck around just long enough to be granted the title of stepfather before they ran for the hills after too much time spent with her mother.

He frowns at her, “Alinochka …”

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses.

She doesn’t want to get attached. It always hurts more if she cares.

He sits down on the end of her bed, large, warm hand massaging one of her thighs. It’s the sort of thing she probably shouldn’t let him do, especially when his fingers slip underneath the hem of her shorts, but she likes the feeling of being wanted.

“Decorate your room, Alinochka,” it’s an order now, stern and serious, “I assure you, I’m in this for the long game.”

Even after he leaves the room, she can still feel a phantom warmth where his hand lay, and a tingling in between her legs.

Fuck. This is going to be a problem.

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"Oh, she's sweet but a psycho, a little bit psycho," Alina hums to herself and smiles as she mixes laxatives into the tea she's preparing for her step-brother's new girlfriend.

Later, with Luda stuck in the bathroom, Aleksander pushes Alina down on the sofa, pushing her dress up, pulling her panties down and rocking into her roughly as he wraps a hand around her throat.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Alinochka," he snarls at her, groaning as she rolls her hips.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sasha,” she chokes out, eyes fluttering shut as she whines in pleasure.

He leans down to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, another snap of his hips making her cry out so loudly she wonders if Luda can hear them (oh, she really hopes so).

His hand covers her mouth, silencing her, “stay quiet, Alinochka … or is it that you want everyone to know that you’re a homewrecking little who–”

Alina bites at his fingers and he laughs at her, moving even faster, setting a pace that leaves her breathless.

She tires quicker than he does, almost a doll beneath him that he can use and move around at his pleasure. She doesn’t mind, really – sometimes it’s nice to fight it out, but today she’s feeling lazy.

He smiles, pleased by her compliance, and his fingers slip between her legs to rub her clit, all her little moans muffled by his hand, body vibrating with pleasure until her orgasm washes over her.

“SashaSashaSasha,” she mumbles as he bites down on the soft skin of her neck, licking and sucking a mark it will take ages to hide before school tomorrow.

His own orgasm follows swiftly after, hot and warm (for a moment, just one, she wishes she weren’t on birth control, pictures a child in her arms) and for a few minutes they just lay there, messy and spent and sated.

And then Luda’s voice from upstairs, high and pitiful and so annoying Alina wants to punch her in her perfect face.

“Sasha? Can you come and help me?”

She pouts as Aleksander gets up and cleans himself off as best as he can with some tissues, “just leave her there, she’ll shut up eventually.”

He sighs and pinches one of her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress, “don’t be a brat, Alinochka, I promise I’ll look after you later.”

Alina watches him go, wondering if it would be terrible to slip a little bit of bleach into Luda’s tea tomorrow.

Not enough to kill her, of course. Alina isn’t a real psycho. Just enough for it to hurt.

Sasha will probably be a spoil-sport, though. It’s a bit too obvious, after all.

In the end, though, there is no need for further plans.

Luda runs out of the house with red eyes an hour later, ready to weep to her silly friends about her break-up.

And Alina slips into Aleksander’s room (and his bed) in the middle of the night, when their parents are fast asleep.

All is as it should be.

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The smell of burning flesh is awful. Nauseatingly sweet, putrid, so thick she can taste it. And yet, Alina feels no horror, just satisfaction.

“They deserved it, milaya,” Aleksander murmurs, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

But she doesn’t need his reassurance. She's not sorry.

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It seems like an ordinary, if beautiful, house.

Alina knocks, nervous and worried this is a terrible idea.

When the door opens, she can immediately feel the magic washing over her.

A handsome man all in black smiles at her triumphantly, "hello, Alina, I've been waiting for you."

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“Are those fake!” he hears Genya shriek, “tell me you’re not wearing knock-off Louboutin heels for your wedding.”

A few moments later, Alina dashes into his room in only a silk slip, “hide me."

He kisses her softly, “there’s still time to elope."

“Don’t tempt me,” she mutters.

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Aleksander sneers down at the bracelet and tosses it at his son’s head, tutting softly, “it seems I’ve failed in your upbringing, Malyen. We are Morozovs – we do not give out fake jewels, especially not to such a special girl.”

His voice is cool and collected, even as he thrusts leisurely in and out of the trembling young woman beneath him.

“No squirming, milaya,” he murmurs as an aside to her, pinching one of her nipples in chastisement, “stay still, there’s a good girl.”

Alina obeys him beautifully. She likes to follow orders, to have structure and rules (and an associated rewards and punishments system). He’d known it from the first moment Malyen introduced them – they’d gone out for dinner and she’d left most of her vegetables uneaten, but she’d corrected that speedily when he’d told her to finish what was on her plate and then blushed a pretty pink in response to the “good girl” he’d given her – but his idiot son has never been equipped to be what dear little Alina needs.

No matter. Aleksander is more than able to pick up the slack. He doesn’t plan on letting the boy have the chance to see Alina naked again, but on this particular occasion he thinks it is necessary to really drive the lesson home – Malyen had protested at first, ranted and raved and sworn, but he’d fallen into line soon enough, at least able to recognise the futility of arguing.

Aleksander hips rock faster now, sweat visible on Alina’s forehead as the poor thing struggles with the effort of staying still as instructed.

She makes such lovely little noises, though. Whines and moans and whimpers that he swallows with his mouth slanted over hers.

It really is a blessing that he’s rescued her from Malyen’s clumsy hands. She was wasted on his son – a delightful creature like this deserves a man who will appreciate and treasure her, and Aleksander is more than up to the task.

Diamonds first, he thinks, as her eyes flutter with the approach of her orgasm, diamonds set in gold will look wonderful on her. He’s got the perfect piece in the family vault, the one he won’t let Malyen in.

Perhaps he’ll fuck her in just that necklace, the light glinting on it, making her look like some ancient goddess.

He smiles in satisfaction as Alina moans his name, shuddering beneath him.

Malyen might be a pathetic excuse of a man, but it is through him that Aleksander has found the perfect woman.

(not that that will stop him from tossing his son out on his arse – he’s sure his children with Alina will be far more satisfactory).

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“I don’t know what went wrong, Sasha,” she sobs, “he just ghosted me.”

Her step-brother pulls her close, “Oretsev's an idiot, Linka, don’t waste any tears on him.”

She curls up in his lap, seeking warmth and comfort, oblivious to the satisfied smile on his face as he pets her hair.

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Alina buries her face in his jumper, pleasantly tipsy and babbling about the pillow fort she wants to make back at home.

"A wonderful idea, sweetheart," he murmurs as he sends a cold glare towards Mal (her ex, the reason she's staying with him), warning the man not to approach.

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“He’s so into it, but it’s just not my thing at all,” she hears her mother complaining to one of her friends over the phone, “nasty taste, so degrading, and I end up with carpet burn. At least he’s stopped asking about it now, so I guess he must have finally learned.”

Alina smiles. It’s true that her step-father no longer bothers to ask her mother for a blow job. It’s also true (although her mother won’t ever admit it to her friends) that he’s stopped asking her for sex altogether.

I guess he’s found someone better, Alina thinks to herself, satisfied and smug as she remembers the hour in Sasha’s home office that morning, on her knees and hidden under his desk as he took work calls and had an argument with her mother, followed by an extremely satisfying half hour perched on the edge of that same desk while he put his head between her thighs and …

She sighs happily at the memory, hand sliding downwards.

But she’s got better options than her fingers or vibrator now. And her mother will probably be on the phone for at least another hour, gossiping and complaining.

Alina stands up and smiles. Perhaps she’ll go and see if Sasha needs any help with his work.

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It’s her first time visiting Mal's family and Alina is trembling with nerves.

After all, she's a penniless orphan and they have heirloom crockery, and rules about which set of stairs you use to enter and leave the house, and an original Vermeer in the living room, and countless bizarre traditions that make no sense to her.

She feels like a girl who’s never been taught to swim and then just been dropped into the deep end and expected to keep her head above water.

Mal is no help at all, and she wonders if he’s the man she thought he was, leaving her to fend for herself among a group of lions who seem to want to rip her apart just for fun.

Thank goodness for his uncle Aleksander (“please, milaya, call me Uncle Sasha”) with his attentive gaze and the warm, reassuring weight of his hand on her shoulder, always whispering in her ear when she doesn’t know what to do and whisking her away to the library when she’s overwhelmed (“my favourite place in the house, and I promise the vultures never step foot in here”).

He is the one she runs to when she discovers Mal half-naked with his ex-girlfriend (blonde and blue-eyed, with a trust fund big enough that she’ll never have to work, a young woman Mal’s parents approve of far more than they do of Alina). He is the one who unceremoniously kicks the rest of his family out (it turns out the house belongs to him, despite Mal’s boasts) and insists that Alina stays until her return flight in two days. He is the one who refuses to let her mope over Mal, distracting her by teaching her to cook and taking her out to the nearby art gallery.

Sasha has a way of prying her deepest thoughts out of her, of getting her to admit that she’s aimless, stuck in an admin job she doesn’t like because she can’t find a way to use her Fine Arts degree, losing touch with the friends she made at university, no one back home now that she and Mal are clearly over.

It sounds crazy when he suggests she simply shouldn’t go back home.

“A fresh start, Alinochka. I’ll send someone to get your things. You can stay here as long as you like.”

It sounds crazy. It is crazy. She’s only known him a week!

Alina stays.

(forever).

Chapter Text

Their parents call them twins, even though they aren’t, even though they look nothing alike apart from having the same midnight black hair, silky and soft to touch.

But it seems to make sense to call them twins, considering they’re always together, joined at the hip, limbs entwined, heads bent together as they laugh or whisper or talk to each other and no one else.

They don’t remember a time that it wasn’t the two of them. After all, they were barely two years old when her father and his mother moved in together.

A room each, one decorated with the night sky and a silvery moon, and the other with a pale blue sky and bright golden sun. One room for Aleksander and one room for Alina. Pointless, in the end, as they always end up in the same bed, no matter what their parents say or do.

“It’s fine,” Baghra and Anton say to themselves, “they’re siblings, it’s sweet how well they get on.”

The worry grows, a little, over the years.

The children don’t make friends, they cling to each other, they have no interest in socialising with anyone else.

And it doesn’t seem to matter what other child decides they want Aleksander or Alina to be their best friend, or how many therapists try to preach the benefits of a wider social circle, or how many teachers put them on opposite sides of the classroom, or how often their parents mutter about ‘dangerous codependence’ with frowns on their faces … it doesn’t seem to matter because they always find their way back to each other, hand in hand, so coolly uncaring about what anyone else says that no one ever tries to tease them.

They still share a bed as teenagers, half-naked under the covers, Alina draped over Aleksander, his arm thrown around her possessively.

Puberty is no bar to their relationship. In fact, it brings them closer together, usually in ways they know instinctively their parents won’t approve of.

Isn’t it lucky, then, that their workaholic parents are always away on business trips, or staying late at the office? Whether Baghra and Anton’s ignorance is blissful or deliberate, Aleksander and Alina don’t care, they simply take advantage of it.

Learning each other’s changing bodies as well as they learn their own, figuring out what feels good (and what feels very, very good), happily discovering a myriad of new ways for the two of them to connect.

“My Linka,” he murmurs, deep inside her, his hips flush with hers, their foreheads pressed together.

“My Sasha,” she responds, biting down on his shoulders, his chest, his arms, leaving her mark on his skin.

At school, they are shameless, almost exhibitionist.

She sits in his lap, he puts his hand up her skirt, they kiss in the hallways (and janitor’s closets and abandoned classrooms and stairwells and under the bleachers and anywhere else they want to, really), they sneak out to his car during free periods and lunch so they can have some alone time, his dark eyes turn threatening whenever a guy looks at her for too long, any girl who flirts with him seems to become the victim of a malicious little ghost who never gets caught, and rumour has it that they have had sex on the principal’s desk and managed to get away with it.

The students are scandalised. The teachers are horrified. And yet, no one can do anything about it. They are clever enough to never be caught doing anything that might get them suspended or expelled, and whatever anyone wants to say about their morals, they aren’t blood related.

No one is surprised when they find out the two of them are going to the same university.

And if that university is on the opposite side of the country, where no one knows them and everyone assumes that their shared surname simply means they’re married, well that’s all the better for them.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Alina can't believe how far she's come.

From a lonely orphan passed around homes like trash, to this.

A lovely home with a balcony she can read on, a porch for summer days, a garden for the children to run around in.

A husband who adores her and a family she loves.

Chapter Text

The photo comes in from his step-daughter as he's on his way to the gala.

It seems she's ignoring his order to stay home and away from that idiot Oretsev.

He pulls his phone out, "Ivan? ... Tell Genya that she and Nina will have to do the speech. I need to teach a brat a lesson."

Chapter Text

Mal had whined about the three-hour journey to visit the Little Palace ruins.

“I want a beach vacation, Lina, not a history tour.”

She’d put her foot down, though. It was her birthday trip and she was fascinated by the historical site.

Legend said the Little Palace had been the home of the Grisha, a tribe who had possessed the power to shift into wolves.

The stories didn’t agree on whether the shift could take place any time, or only on the full moon, but there were plenty of eyewitness accounts of wolves (whether simply animals or humans in wolf form) roaming the area for thousands of years.

Whatever had made its home in the Little Palace, it had been abandoned about a hundred years ago and the building was mostly a ruin now, owned by the Morozov Foundation and used as a museum and tourist attraction.

There was a small town nearby where they were planning to stay overnight, and then a shuttlebus that went directly to the Little Palace.

“Maybe I’ll just stay here, Lina,” Mal said as they settled into the room, “I’m tired.”

She knew that he was lying, that he just didn’t want to go on the trip with her. He’d find his way to the nearest bar, get absolutely plastered and be snoring like a freight train by the time she returned (the tour was an extensive one, not finishing until the evening, with dinner provided afterwards).

Alina sighed. She didn’t ask for much, even if she wished she was assertive enough to do so. Most of their friends were Mal’s friends, really, and they always seemed to do what he wanted whenever they went out.

“Fine, whatever,” she muttered, “I’ll see you later.”

She thought she’d probably have a better time without him anyway.

The tour was as interesting as she’d hoped.

Their guide, a bubbly young woman named Genya, was full of information and had an answer for every question, even the most obscure ones. She pointed out the claw marks all over the ruins, as well as the many wolf-themed paintings and statues, and the stories associated with them.

There was so much to see. Despite the detailed and thorough tour, Alina still felt as if she could spend days more roaming the Little Palace, taking it all in.

Dinner was delicious, served in one of the Little Palace rooms that remained undamaged by time and the elements.

To her surprise, they were joined by Mr Morozov, the fantastically wealthy head of the foundation.

Alina had to admit that she panicked when she realised she would be seated next to him at dinner, but he was so warm and charming that she couldn’t help but feel at ease with him.

He was intense, but it felt good, really, to be the full focus of someone’s attention. More and more when she spoke to Mal, it seemed like he wasn’t even listening to her, but Mr Morozov (“please, call me Sasha”) looked at her as if her every word was utterly fascinating.

Sasha asked how she was enjoying her stay, listened with a fond smile as she enthusiastically recounted her favourite parts of the tour, and frowned when she admitted her boyfriend had decided to stay back in town rather than join her.

“Well,” he said, “his loss is my gain.”

She flushed pink and he winked at her. It seemed as if he was flirting, but she couldn’t believe a man like Aleksander Morozov would be interested in someone like her, so she decided he was just being kind, paying her some flattering attention to make up for her boyfriend’s absence.

Sasha excused himself just as dessert was being served, citing some business that needed to be taken care of, although she noted with some amusement that he made sure to take his plate (with a divinely decadent chocolate brownie) with him.

Genya sat down in his empty seat, as friendly and cheerful as she was earlier, asking Alina all about her life back in Keramzin (dull, she had to admit, and she was stuck doing admin at the moment, unable to find a job in art like she wanted).

By the time she got on the shuttlebus to return to town, Alina was comfortably full and sleepy.

The hotel room was pitch-black when she opened the door and she couldn’t hear any snoring, so she expected Mal was still drinking at one of the bars.

She flipped the light on to change and then screamed.

It was absolute carnage. Blood everywhere, claw marks on the wall, the bedsheets in shreds. And there, in the middle of the bed, barely recognisable with all the gashes and blood, was Mal’s body.

She didn’t remember the next half an hour.

It was all a blur as some of the hotel staff, equally disturbed and horrified, helped her downstairs and called the police.

Someone wrapped a blanket around her and pressed a cup of tea into her trembling hands, but she couldn’t drink it, just sat there still and silent.

“Alina … Alina, milaya.”

She blinked away her tears and the blurry face in front of her became clearer.

It was Sasha, no longer in the suit he’d had on earlier, but wearing dark jeans and a jumper that she wanted to bury her face in.

As if he could sense her desire, he wrapped his arms around her so her face was pressed against the soft wool. The smell of blood that she had been unable to forget was replaced by a comforting woodsy scent.

He petted her hair, murmuring soothing words, rubbing her back gently.

“… we’ll take care of everything,” she heard him say, “I’ll take care of you, milaya.”

He was a stranger. This wasn’t home (or was it, she couldn’t quite tell). Mal was dead. Mal was dead.

Right now, though, she didn’t care, just as long as Sasha kept holding her.

Chapter Text

It's weird to have a fake Instagram to check on his ex, but Mal doesn't look (that) often. Now, he only wants proof the rumours are false.

Two photos. One with Alina pressing a kiss to his beaming (estranged) father's cheek, another with an engagement ring.

Mal punches the wall.

Chapter Text

It’s a risk, but the house is empty and Alina is feeling restless and needy, so she pulls up one of her Pornhub favourites on her phone and slips her fingers inside her panties.

With her AirPods in, and intensely focused on the video, she never hears the front door open, or the footsteps moving closer. Alina doesn’t even realise anyone has returned home until she’s teetering right on the edge, only for her phone to be suddenly plucked from her hand.

She freezes as she realises who it is.

“Fuck … shit … uncle Sasha … I … you’re supposed to be out.”

Her fingers are still curled inside her, but her orgasm is swiftly moving out of reach, the shimmers of pleasure fading to the cold reality of being caught masturbating by her foster mom’s brother.

Worse is the fact that he’s looking at her phone now, brow furrowed. And he’s too clever not to realise that the man in the video – the one being called daddy by a petite, dark-haired girl as he tells her to take it all like a good girl – bears an uncanny resemblance to him.

She is flushed red, mortified beyond belief, terrified that she’s going to lose the person who means the most to her because of a crush she just can’t shake.

She sits up and tries to right herself, “Uncle Sasha, I –”

He tosses her phone to the side and puts one finger to her lips. She falls silent, trembling and unsure, waiting for his judgement.

“What a silly little thing you are,” he murmurs, “watching this trash. What have I always told you, Alinochka? What are you supposed to do if you have a problem?”

“Talk … talk to you, uncle Sasha. But I –”

He frowns, displeased, reaching out to tweak one of her nipples through her tank top, the little twinge of pain only making her wetter between her legs. Alina gets the message and whispers an apology.

He sighs, “poor little girl, struggling along on your own when you could have had help this whole time.”

“I’m sorry, uncle Sasha,” she stutters out.

“Of course I’ll forgive you,” he cups her face, thumbs brushing across her cheeks, “but no more hiding, hmm.”

She nods eagerly, too eagerly, really, but he seems to find it endearing, expression warm as he tugs her tank top over her head and gazes at her near-naked body with an intense focus that makes her shiver.

“Now,” he nudges her so that she’s lying back on her bed, fingers pushing the lacy fabric of her panties aside so that he can dip his head and nose at her clit, “be a good girl and let uncle Sasha look at you.”

She mewls as he licks into her, not quite able to believe that her daydreams and fantasies are coming true.

And then his fingers – two of them, far longer and thicker than her own – join his tongue and Alina is happy to surrender herself wholly to pleasure.