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It took Genya exactly a month to realize that something was wrong. In that span of time she received the second ever promotion of her whole life, got David to agree to marriage at some point in the future and made the mental switch from Zoya Nazyalensky, fellow soldier, to Zoya, fellow Triumvirate leader.
One could say she was busy and her lack of observation could be justified. Still, it took her until the – extensive – peace celebrations that King Nikolai threw for the palace in honour of Alina’s sacrifice and the Darkling’s death for her to notice that he was ignoring her.
Under normal circumstances, she would have celebrated the king ignoring her. That’s all she wished for in those long, lonely years as the Queen’s plaything. Back then, she couldn’t afford to rebuke him. Her survival was dependent on it.
But now, the circumstances were reversed. Alina made her part of the Triumvirate who would advise Nikolai. Her new job demanded she use her gifts in service of her country and her king but that task suddenly mounted to impossible difficulty when the king could barely even stand to be in the same room as her.
Admittedly, she did poison his father which hardly endeared her to him. On the other hand, even Nikolai agreed that his father had been a piece of shit and formally apologized to her in the name of Ravka and the Lantsov dynasty when he pardoned her treason.
If he was simply afraid of her, that would’ve been the easy part. Genya spent most of her life pretending to be nothing more than a room decoration or a pretty piece of jewelry at the Queen’s chest. She knew how to calm people down. Put a room at ease. To make people like her and see her as a harmless tool, barely more than the brush they used to put on their powders and rouge.
But Nikolai wasn’t afraid of her as much as he simply avoided ever being close to her. He didn’t restrict her from lunch with the Triumvirate or demand she prove she didn’t have poisons on her. He didn’t ban her from the workshops where she had mixed the thing that would kill his father soon. He didn’t exile her or execute her for treason or demand she teach her skills to the next generation of Corporalki so she could be disposed of soon without losing access to advanced Tailoring Tamar couldn’t do. He simply made sure he never touched her, never was alone in a room with her or put her into a position where she would be required to use her gifts on him.
That last part was the one that finally tipped her off. The morning after the peace party – that, according to Genya’s contacts among the servants, had taken nearly until sunrise – Nikolai showed up bright and eager as always to their Triumvirate meeting. But even his chipper demeanour and charm couldn’t hide the black circles under his eyes and the dull hair.
Tamar snorted when the king made his entrance. “Overdid it with the wine again, captain?” The twins still hadn’t grown out of the habit of calling him that instead of the proper honorifics.
Nikolai wagged a jokingly threatening finger into her direction – another thing Genya had to get used to. When the old King threatened, he’d meant it. His son, on the other hand, joked around with the Shu twins like the servants used to do out of sight of the nobles. “I will have the records show that I drank a perfectly appropriate amount of alcohol and do not have a hangover today. Something most of the Court will not be able to boast, I reckon.”
Instead of acknowledging the joke like his sister, the other half of the twins narrowed his eyes at the king. “You look tired, Nikolai.”
“Nonsense. I always look great.”
This time, it was Zoya’s turn to snort. “You look like you just spent a night drinking out with your buddies like a soldier on leave.”
“Accurate as always, dear Zoya, except the nobles are less drinking buddies and more thirsty for my blood,” Nikolai responded, the usual cheer in his voice giving his words a darkly hilarious tone that had Genya chuckle.
“I’m sure the Zemeni trade delegation you have an appointment with in an hour will appreciate the distinction,” Zoya bit back. “Be glad they only want your money and not your hide.”
“Zemeni are unlikely to trade in Ravkan leather, as they themselves have a flourishing hunter and trapper community and have stable supply lines with Fjerda for rare fur,” David interjected, not even looking up from the sketch of one of Nikolai’s flying ships he was brooding over.
Nikolai nodded to him in acknowledgement before sniping back at Zoya: “My face is perfectly lovely even definitely not hungover. They’re missing out by not wanting a part of it.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Genya said, absentmindedly twisting her fiery strands of hair between her fingers. She’d have to touch up the colour soon if she wanted to keep the intensity as it was – the rose petals were already draining out again. “I can fix the shadows for you, if you’d like, Nikolai.”
He turned his dazzling smile – so unlike his father – on her. “Thank you, Genya, but I have it on good authority that the Zemeni will likely be too hungover to even notice if I sent Tolya in my stead.”
“He’d try to serenade them with poetry,” Zoya added, fixing one of the needles in her hair that was threatening to slide out.
Tolya sniffed. “At least they’d appreciate some culture.”
“Well,” and Nikolai clapped his hands, “I would love to appreciate culture further but we have something much more fun to appreciate. David, you had some suggestions for our flying beauties?”
The rest of the meeting commenced as normal but Genya just couldn’t forget about it. It wasn’t that the rejection stung, exactly. The king’s reasoning was perfectly sound. To waste her powers if nobody was around to appreciate them was useless. But getting rid of eyebags would have taken a breath at most, the lightest touch of a finger to encourage the blood vessels to retreat again. It was hardly a waste if it took nothing to begin. No, it was that Nikolai didn’t want her to use her powers on him.
He wasn’t afraid of her. He didn’t take measures to make sure she couldn’t poison him like his father: He might not be coming into her bed but with the regular Triumvirate meetings she could slip him something even easier than it had been to the old king. He wasn’t stupid enough not to realize that. Not when he knew she could mix her own undetectable poison and administer it without harming herself. And he wasn’t afraid of her powers either. The sole fact he was willing to be in the same room as her – her, who could kill him with barely more than a flick of her finger and a balled fist – was proof of that.
So there had to be something different that made him wary, distant and hesitant to use her in the way Alina had planned for. Something she could not think of, could not anticipate and get ahead in his good graces for. It made no sense at all because she had spent years with Nikolai’s family and all the nobles of Ravka, observing and learning and servicing them. Things at the Palace made sense but his refusal didn’t, which made it uniquely dangerous. Everyone always had reasons and most of the time, not realizing those reasons meant they concerned you.
Fortunately, her experience had also taught her that Nikolai was different from nearly every noble she’d learned of at Court. He appreciated new ideas, directness and a willingness to ask questions – especially of him. The first time she’d found him and David together, her heard nearly stopped when David pointed out several failures of the schematics Nikolai was sketching in quick succession. But Nikolai had only laughed and scribbled over the offending drawing, incorporating David’s suggestions this time. David’s blunt, straightforward nature with no sense for social niceties had been why the Darkling had stationed him so deeply in the workshops, out of sight and out of mind. But Nikolai seemed to appreciate those exact qualities in him that his own family would have despised. He responded to the twins’ banter with equal humour, explained his reasoning upon Zoya’s biting questions and accepted corrections from David with nothing but eagerness. If she could catch him alone – if she could catch him in a good mood and willing to share – he might explain himself to her.
There was no time after the meeting itself. As Zoya had so helpfully pointed out, Nikolai had an audience after and his day wasn’t likely to get any less busy as it went on. Her questions would have to wait until the evening, where he usually did a last stroll through the gardens, to the despair of his guards who worried about security. But Nikolai claimed it helped him think better and so the evening walks stayed, security be damned. Sobachka, the Grand Palace had called him, and sometimes Genya thought they were not wrong. The young king’s head of floppy gold, his charming eyes and boundless energy did give the impression of a young dog, barely grown to adulthood and chasing after every interesting thing.
Genya went on her daily duties with a smile on her face that felt a touch more forced than usual. Even as she taught some of the older recruits the basics of Tailoring, the use of her powers did not settle her as usual, Nikolai’s rejection clinging to the back of her mind like the smell of gunpowder and metal to David when he left the workshop in the evening. She met with Zoya, briefly, to share observations on some of the new recruits they’d picked up since the Darkling’s death, and dragged David out to share lunch with her. Together with one of his Alkemi subordinates, they had a fascinating conversation about creating some truly nasty poison-laced guns. Just as they got to debating using Squaller power to distribute clouds of toxic gas, they had to cut lunch short as one of the newer Fabrikators had blown up one of his experiments when he misjudged the ratio of water and the water-reactive chemical he was learning to use. David went to deal with the damage, rolling his eyes all the way. Genya gave him a kiss and fixed up the Fabrikator before she hurried back to her own duties. Another session of classes awaited her, then she had a meeting with some of the Healers on a new technique they were requesting permission to add to the curriculum and before she could blink, she was already late for dinner.
The fear in her mind laced every bite with the feeling of the executioner’s gun at her temple. Still, she forced herself to swallow some chicken – so heavily salted she could barely taste it – and a few bites of the mashed potatoes. Thankfully, most of her usual dinner partners were either already done or had similarly not yet appeared and the younger Corporalki were too intimidated to start chatting with a member of the Grisha Triumvirate over dinner, so she was left alone to choke down the food.
With the sun already beginning to set, Genya had to leave soon, even with her dinner being as meager as it was. David would be working late today anyway, with the incident at the lab, so she didn’t even need to send him a message to let him know she would be late. Which was great because Nikolai would already be on his stroll by now and sending a message would have delayed her further.
She made her way to the gardens, leaving behind her half-eaten chicken and a few curious glances of the other Corporalki. Nobody stopped her from leaving the Little Palace, the guards at the doors – Nikolai had allowed the Triumvirate to carefully vet them as a compromise– simply nodded to her in acknowledgement.
The air was still hot outside as the sun got lower and lower over the city in the distance. The sudden shift in temperature from the cool interior of the Little Palace made her want to rip her hard fought for kefta from her shoulders for a moment until she got used to it. Still, the brisk pace she set in the direction of the Grand Palace had her wish that she was a Squaller like Zoya, able to summon a refreshing gust of wind with a flick of her fingers.
Once she made it to the Grand Palace, it was only a matter of minutes until she found Nikolai. The gardens were big but she simply had to reach out and search for the relaxed heartbeat of a king on a stroll, distinct from the exertion of a gardener or the slow, bored beat of a guard on duty.
“Genya!” Nikolai called as soon as she entered his line of sight. “What a lovely surprise.” The two guards at his back simply acknowledged her presence.
“Nikolai,” she answered and the sight of his infectious smile did actually wring a real one from her lips. “I was wondering if you would be here.”
The king grinned which made him look even younger. “For a member of my Triumvirate? Always.”
He waved to the guards to give them some space. “Is it an urgent matter or something that can be solved here? It’s a lovely evening. I’d hate to cut my walk short.”
Genya shrugged, carefully indifferent. “It’s not a matter of Ravkan security, if that is what you’re asking.”
“Then would you do me the honour and accompany me on a walk?”
Nikolai was still smiling but the ridiculous gestures of chivalry he was so fond of when it was Zoya or the twins – David had sincerely asked him to stop a week into their work and Nikolai had followed that rule flawlessly so far – were missing. No over the top bow, no offered arm like she was some helpless noble lady. Simply a friendly smile and an offer.
How had she never noticed before?
They began walking together through the flower beets and carefully pruned exotic trees brought here from all over the world by Nikolai’s ancestors. The guards followed them further back, far enough to maintain sight contact but out of the hearing range. On the very first day, Nikolai had made sure all the guards knew to treat the Triumvirate and the Shu twins with the same respect for privacy and threat level as they would the highest-ranking of Ravka’s nobles.
“So, what’s the matter, Genya? Not that I don’t appreciate your lovely sight but you did seek me out for a reason.”
“I had a question about this morning,” Genya started to explain. She had had all day to phrase her words in the least accusatory way possible but the thought of calling out her king on his behaviour still made her palms sweat.
Nikolai seemed to have heard something in her voice because where he’d usually interject a quip or a question of his own, he simply looked at her.
“You refused to let me fix your face.” She held up a hand to stop him as he opened his mouth. “I know you thought of it as a waste of my power but you never ask anything of me, my powers or my duty as a member of the Triumvirate. You don’t question the Corporalki teachings like you do with the Materialki and the Etherealki. You refuse questions even when I offer. And you leave the room if there is even the possibility of us being alone together.”
Nikolai stayed quiet, in shock or disapproval she could not tell. Genya took a breath. “If you cannot work with me because of what I did, I can step down. Maxim is well-regarded among the Corporalki for his work with Alina, even if she did not personally endorse him as a member of the Triumvirate. I’m sure…”
“Genya,” Nikolai interrupted her mid-sentence. “Let me stop you right there.”
Genya stopped.
“I do not want you to step down. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to because of me.” His hazel eyes meet hers, shining with earnestness. Somehow, she believes him. “I didn’t… I wanted…” He laughs, sharp and bitter and so unlike his usual charming self. “I was afraid.”
Genya swallowed. “Because I poisoned your father?”
“No!” Nikolai twisted his fingers into knots, a habit Genya remembered from him before he even left the Grand Palace. “I was afraid you’d think I was like my parents. That I only wanted you for your gifts or in my bed.”
The words emptied themselves from Genya’s mind in a sudden storm like the ones Zoya summoned. “Oh.”
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Nikolai’s eyes grew hard. “I never want to make someone feel like my father did to you.”
Feelings were raging in her chest. Bitterness, for the apology came years too late. Gratitude because somebody acknowledged that she was right to be upset. Anger. Hope. Pain. Wanting to strangle Nikolai and hug him at the same time.
She took a breath in the hope of calming her trembling hands. “I’m sorry I misunderstood, then.”
“You, Genya Safin, have nothing to apologize for.” Nikolai emphasized every single word. “There is only one person who needs to apologize and he will never be here again.”
Genya breathed. “Thank you.”
Nikolai snorted. “Thank me for the bare decency of acknowledging that rape is fucked up?” He shook his head. “Every day, I live with the shadow of my parents. I try to be better but obviously, I did not succeed here.”
“You did,” Genya protested, slowly gathering her wits about her again. “You did. For your mother, I was a doll. For your father, a plaything.” She swallowed, the words tasting like the poison she used to put on her lips. “You only treated me like I was made of glass.”
Nikolai waved her words away, the gesture suddenly betraying the tiredness written in the lines of his face. “I made you feel like you had no place here and for that, I apologize.”
Genya reached out with her power and felt Nikolai’s steady, calm heartbeat. She could afford to push.
“I don’t want your apology. I want you to treat me like you do your generals, your advisers. I want you to question me like you question David’s design ideas and Zoya’s overhauls of the Summoner curriculum. I want you to push me like you do with Toyla and Tamar.”
“You have my word. It’s the least I can do to fix what my ancestors ruined.”
She met Nikolai’s eyes, her own steel to his soft hazel. “I want you to stop treating me like the living representation of your family’s mistakes.”
His heartbeat jumped at the same time his hands tensed.
“I’m not…”
“You are,” she pointed out, hopefully not too unkindly. “I was a charity case for too long. Alina picked me because she thought I could lead the Corporalki and I intend to prove her right. And that goes for you too: I want to be Genya of the Triumvirate to you. Not just the girl your father used to fuck.”
The king flinched, barely noticeable.
“You already are,” he protested. “But as the king of Ravka, I am still responsible to be accountable for the mistakes of my ancestors.”
She looked at him as he spoke and he still looked tired. Like he’d been carrying a soldier’s pack on his back for too long.
“It was not you who ruined me,” she pointed out. The word came easier from her lips, now, after she had time to sit with her scars. They were impossible to miss, exactly opposite the scars she knew Nikolai had to carry on his soul. The gossip among the servants had been vicious and impossible to miss and among the nobles it had hardly been better. But the longer it took, the more she accepted the red in her skin as a mark of the hardships she’d survived to get to where she was today. I am ruination. Had Nikolai done the same?
“The responsibility is still mine,” Nikolai answered. “I carry the Lantsov name and their blood runs in my veins. Who else should have to fix it?”
He laughed again. This time, at least, the laughter already sounded closer to the usual cheerful tone dripping off his lips.
“Don’t worry, it’s not just you. I’m trying to fix this entire country even if it kills me.”
The golden prince, the puppy king. In this moment, seeing Nikolai so caught up in his struggle to live up to a name that did not deserve him, none of them seemed to fit.
“Maybe it’s time to give up on the Lantsov dynasty, then,” she suggested carefully. “I’ve heard what the people call you. Reb’n Ravka fits you better anyway.”
“I wish it was that easy, sometimes,” Nikolai sighed. “Some day, I hope. But right now, that name and Alina’s blessing are the only things giving me any legitimacy to the throne. And what matters the word of a dead Saint to the farmers and smiths who are sending their children to die at the border?”
Not enough, Genya could admit to herself. For Grisha, who could be born to otkazat’sya parents as easy as to Grisha, blood mattered less than capability and which order you belonged to. But the peasants clung to their myths and legends about the Lantsov bloodline and for Nikolai, the second son of an already disliked king, those were worth their weight in gold.
“And who knows?” He shrugged. “There were great Lantsovs, once. Maybe my last name won’t just be an obstacle when trying to fix this country.”
Still, he was talking about fixing Ravka as if it was an achievable goal. Something that could be done in a lifetime, if only one was determined enough. Something that was still possible, if out of reach for now.
“You’re certainly not missing the Lantsov arrogance,” she dared to quip, channeling a bit of Zoya’s bravery.
Nikolai snorted. “People have told me that, once or twice. When they offered me an officer’s pension as the prince, everyone called me insane when I enlisted in the First Army as a common grunt instead. But if I can survive Fjerdan gunfire, why should I fear the barbs of Ravkan nobles?”
Genya couldn’t help but smile a bit as she imagined a younger Nikolai with floppy golden hair and idealism pouring out of his ever pore signing up for the First Army like any peasant child who hit the draft age.
“Besides,” Nikolai added, giving her a side glance. “I am the king of this nation. Fixing it is literally my job description.”
She deliberately rolled her eyes at him and he laughed, letting companionable silence envelop them.
“You’re a good man,” Genya commented idly after they had passed a few more of the flower arrangements. As if they weren’t king and general baring their darkest, most hopeless sides to each other and instead were two nobles on a normal stroll through the gardens.
Nikolai looked away, eyes following a lone insect on its way home before the sun finished setting.
“People keep saying that. It makes me wonder if they mean it or if my ancestors just set the bar too low.”
“You let Alina go,” she pointed out.
“I had the luxury to let her go,” he admitted softly. “Being king means I won’t have that very often. Especially not in this country.”
He was right, Genya knew. The civil war may have been over with the Darkling’s defeat and Alina’s destruction of the fold, but their borders were as insecure as ever and West Ravka’s calls for independence had only gotten quieter, not disappeared.
“You can be a good man and a king.”
“But a good king?” Nikolai absentmindedly plucked one of the blooming roses framing the borders of their walk. “I’ve led soldiers. I’ve lost good people. Sometimes being a leader means you have to make the hard call.”
Genya swallowed her many, many opinions on ‘hard calls’ and the people they tended to hurt. Forcing Alina had been a hard call. Giving her to the queen had been a hard call. Destroying Novokribirsk had been a hard call. Prosecuting Grisha probably had been a hard call, once upon a time. That would have to be a conversation for another time. One where she did not feel the need to constantly reassure herself that the king was not angry at her through feeling his heartbeat. “You still get to choose which calls you make.”
“I hope so.” A petal fell at their feet, plucked from the rose by Nikolai’s restless fingers. “And I hope you’ll forgive me when I make that call.”
His heart felt calmer now. Steadier, as he ripped apart the petals and gave his hands something to do.
“Give me that?” she asked without answering. “The colour in my hair needs retouching.”
The king looked up, startled like a young schoolboy caught practising his powers in a history lesson.
“Of course. Although I have to say, your hair looks stunning as always to my eyes.”
Genya snorted. She knew well that her roots had to be showing by now. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“On the contrary: The Zemeni Ambassadors were extremely impressed with me and promised more favourable conditions for our trade agreement on the spot.” Nikolai brushed a stray lock of his golden hair out of his face and winked at her.
She tucked the surviving petals into the pockets of her kefta to use later before bed.
“Only if you tried to choose the best option,” she answered, finally. “But even if I won’t, I’m sure Zoya would understand the strategic value. Or David the analytical reasoning. As long as you try, you’ll have people by your side, Nikolai.”
He swallowed visibly. “And for that I am more grateful than I will ever have words.”
“We all want this country to succeed. For everyone’s sake. And for my part,” she adds before she can think of it better. “I have met Lantsov kings. You’re Nikolai and that’s worth much more than what blood runs in your veins. I am honoured to be your general.”
There was definitely a slight sheen to Nikolai’s eyes even as he tried to hide it by falling into a sweeping, elaborate bow culminating in him offering his hand to her.
“Then I’ve been terribly rude to my general by not properly accompanying her on her walk. May I?”
If the gesture hadn’t been so ridiculously Nikolai – something he’d done with Zoya and Tamar a hundred times before her eyes – she’d have hit him for so utterly misunderstanding what she wanted.
Instead, she saw his eyes shine with hope and understood he was trying to be kind.
She took his hand and let him spin her around to face each other.
Nikolai’s skin was soft and colder than she expected in the warm evening air but under that softness, the callouses of a soldier and sailor were impossible to miss. They were not a king’s hands but maybe a king who only knew how to be a king was not what Ravka needed.
He would never stop being a king, or a Lantsov. But he was Nikolai as well – Sobachka, golden prince, a good man - and until he would prove otherwise, that mattered more.
“I will not stop you if you truly want to step down. But you, Genya Safin, as a member of the Triumvirate or not, will always have a place here.”
Maybe it was the touch. Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, the vulnerable expression in his eyes. Either way, if she didn’t have her powers to confirm nothing had changed, she would have said the certainty of the promise sank into her very bones.
“I’ll hold you to that, moi tsar.”
“I would be disappointed by anything less, Genya of the Triumvirate.”