Chapter Text
The prince was an unfortunate combination of his parents. Where his father had five chins, he had none. His eyes were not bright like his mother’s nor dark and threatening to be swallowed by his brow like the king’s, but bulging and pale like those of a fish. His nose was a happy medium between the queen’s beak and the king’s pig-like snout, straight and great for looking down at people with those huge nostrils, as he did now. Alina imagined she could almost see into his brain, rattling about inside that great cavity like a rotten apple inside a ship’s hull.
“Tell me again why you were chosen to be here?” His voice was nasal and grating. She pushed a vibrant green pea to the right side of her plate.
“Some sort of… lottery, I suppose,” she answered.
“Well,” he said, delicately piercing a potato on his fork, “it can’t have been for your beauty.”
A flush crept into her cheeks, but she calmly pushed another pea to the side.
“Maybe it was for my brains.”
The prince just laughed.
Instead of punching him, she pushed the peas to the left. But he wasn’t wrong. She was neither a great beauty nor very clever or accomplished. An orphan playing at being a princess for a few weeks. A girl, plucked from her home, placed in a palace as ‘ward of the king’ for a few months so she could learn to act appropriately when they married her off to some military man. Daughter of Ravka, they said, and acted as if she were anything but a cheap gift. Better than losing an actual noble to that man, they whispered when they thought she wouldn’t hear. He was ruthless, cold and calculating, cruel. It was how he’d climbed so high despite his youth.
All that meant for her was that she was to be led to the altar like a pig to slaughter.
Not everything was bad about living at the palace. She had her own room, the food was plenty, the bed soft, the soap smelled like roses. She had maids to help dress her as if she were a child, lessons on which cutlery to use, how to curtsy, which wars had been won by which kings and how to press flowers. All very useful, to be sure. If only it weren’t so boring. But she diligently applied herself to her lessons, especially since there was nothing else to do. And maybe it wasn’t so bad to know more about history, or the rules of the court. All she had to recommend herself so far was what had qualified her for this draw—she was of marriageable age, could read and write, was healthy enough, had no one else to claim possession over her, and wasn’t widowed. Really, what more could you want.
“Poise,” he drawled, “Elegance. The ability to walk a straight line.” Alina whirled around to Prince Vasily, ignoring the protests of her dance instructor. He stalked into the room, staring at her with lecherous eyes. “You’ve never heard of them, have you?”
“My prince,” the instructor interrupted her before she could say something she’d definitely regret, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Vasily didn’t even look at him.
“You might want to work on that,” he said, “before your intended comes back from the front.”
“I have enough time to master walking prettily, I believe.”
“Do you? It would take more than two days, in your case.”
“I have more than two days.”
A repulsive smile stretched across his face.
“Not anymore.”
She tried not to show her panic. Men like Vasily got off on a woman’s fear.
“You mean to say he’s coming?” Her voice sounded almost normal. Two days of mercy, before her life ended.
“There will be a ball. Make sure she doesn’t embarrass us.” He finally looked at the other man, then left.
The next two days were spent in anxiety and preparation. She took long milky baths, had her hair brushed with golden combs, had several beautiful gowns fitted, and was not allowed near the stables. Her maids’ fretful energy strangely made her feel calmer. The king and prince regarded her with calculating glances, the queen treated her as always—that was, she ignored her.
Alina wasn’t sure what to think of it all. She was terrified, sure, to meet the man who would control her for the rest of her life. Unless he died. What a happy thought. There was, conveniently, a war going on in which he was an essential figure. Many died in wars—if she were lucky, he would too. Ideally before tomorrow. Then again, he was probably already on his way.
“Lady Alina,” a maid’s hesitant voice interrupted her thoughts. She still wasn’t used to such a formal address, but she turned towards the young woman with a quizzical look. Not meeting her eyes, the maid talked to the ornate floor tiles, her fingers twisted into the fabric of her skirts. “The queen wishes to speak to you, my lady. About the upcoming festivities.” She bobbed a curtsy and scurried off, not giving Alina the time to reply. With a sigh, she stood from her seat at the window and placed the book she’d been reading on the desk. It was a terribly boring volume with more dates and location names than anything else, and she was almost grateful about the interruption. Almost.
The queen sat, surrounded by her ladies (real ones, not frauds like her), as they sipped their tea and did whatever wealthy women did with their time. Gossip, probably. They fell silent as soon as she was led into the room. The footman bowed deeply, then closed the door behind him as he left. Alina sank into a deep curtsy. When she looked up again, the queen was still staring at her, her lips pursed, brows lightly furrowed. She looked like an ice princess, with her fair hair and skin, her light blue dress decorated with stitching that sparkled in the light. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally looked away, her gaze drifting through the room as she raised her delicate teacup to her lips.
“She might still become an acceptable jewel for my court,” she said to no one in particular. Her ladies nodded and murmured their assent. The queen motioned for her to approach, and she slowly walked closer, until she stood but a few paces from the circle of colourful gowns that framed her throne. The queen kept examining her for a few seconds longer with her pale blue eyes, then began to speak, looking at the ceiling, as if she couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.
“As you have been told, the General will return to court tomorrow. You will meet him in the evening at the ball, and not before. The wedding will take place seven days hence.” Finally, the queen looked at her. “You will be prepared, and you will not let us down.”
This was a woman who gave orders, not one who asked questions. Or one who so much as looked at those she deigned underneath her unless absolutely necessary. But it had the desired effect; Alina felt very clearly that her words were a warning, a threat. That, should she embarrass the royal family, it would not end well for her. She couldn’t imagine what they might do—after all, she was their prized sacrificial lamb— but she didn’t plan on finding out. She was on her own here, but back home she had Mal. She wouldn’t put it past them to use him to put her in her place. In fact, if she were to think about it, she would find that that was exactly what they would do. How better to hurt her than to hurt her best friend? They wouldn’t kill him; that would take their leverage away. But she didn’t think about that, she couldn’t. Not when she would meet her soon-to-be-husband in just over a day. Not when, after she’d returned to her rooms, she had to endure another lesson on etiquette, listening to the elderly lady schooling her, taking notes, repeating five different curtsies and seventeen dance figures, every possible manner to address every possible member of the court and its guests, and learning how to hold her soup soon—not to be confused with how to hold the dessert spoon. Overall, it was a very tiring day. And it was not even close to evening.
After a brief respite, she was pampered again. In other words, someone pressed around on her face while someone else plucked hair from around her eyebrows and even her chin while someone else pulled her hair and… well. There were a lot of maids working on her. Polishing her nails (even her toenails!), cleaning her ears, massaging her limbs with a strange cloth to ‘rejuvenate’ her skin, putting scented products into her hair and applying others on her face. Then they helped her bathe before continuing to put oils in her hair, creams on her skin, and warning not to mess up their work during the night. By the time they left her chambers, it was late, the moon standing high in the sky, stars twinkling in the deep blue night. With no more chatter to distract her, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering.
She remembered the day Ana Kuya had told her she’d been chosen for this role. The fear, the excitement, her fingers trembling as she packed her few belongings. The tearful goodbye from Mal in the morning before she got into the beautiful carriage. She recalled how strange that had been, to sit in a real carriage. The kids at the orphanage travelled on foot, or on rare occasions on the back of an ox cart. A young woman had accompanied her on the journey, not much older than herself. With her vibrant red hair and her intelligent eyes, she was the most strikingly beautiful person Alina had ever seen, even in the simple creamy white robes she always wore. Even though she’d thought they’d gotten along well on their journey, she had only seen Genya from a distance after that. Her hair was easy to spot. Then she’d met the royal family, apart from the youngest son of course. He hadn’t been seen at court in years. But Prince Vasily with his grating voice, attempting to discourage her at every opportunity, the cold queen with her icy eyes, and the vaguely threatening, lecherous king were bad company on the best of days.
If the whispers were anything to go on, it was only going to get worse after her wedding.
They let her sleep in the next day—something she’d done far too rarely in her life, both at the orphanage and here. Beauty sleep, Genya called it when she threw the doors open and walked in, several servants following her with trays of food. Alina was relieved to see her. Most of the faces she encountered changed far too often, and even those that didn’t, avoided her. She had been firmly discouraged from trying to associate with them. Genya was a breath of fresh air, talking freely but kindly. It felt like being with a friend, even if Alina didn’t really know the other woman very well. After their light lunch (“you don’t want to eat too much today, trust me,”), they sat down in a corner of the sitting room, dragging two overstuffed chairs close together. Genya’s face had become serious.
“How much do you know about the General?”
Alina blinked nervously. Nobody had really seen fit to tell her more about him, brushing her questions off and avoiding the topic in general. After a while, she had stopped asking.
“Not much— not much at all.” Nothing but the few rumours that had reached Keramzin. A young man, ruthless, cold and cruel, said to have the most beautiful face to ever be seen. Would that make her feel better when he took her last bit of freedom from her? When he… touched her? She forced her thoughts in a different direction, and once more noticed the almost painful gap in her understanding of her betrothed.
“What’s his name?” Nobody had ever bothered to mention it. He was always just ‘the General’.
“No one knows. Probably not even the king. They say he used to go by a false name in his early days in the army, but nobody knows his true name.”
Oh. Well, that explained why it had never been mentioned. She decided not to ask about his age—she was pretty sure she already knew what the answer would be.
“What can you tell me about him?”
Genya’s response was not quite as lengthy as she’d feared. She didn’t go into the details of battles won or casualties in war. Instead, she went straight for the interesting bits—assassinations attributed to him, personality traits she’d observed (from a safe distance), his somewhat strange sense of fashion, what she knew about his relationships to other people (not much, apparently). All in all, it was more than she’d expected, yet disappointingly brief. All she knew now was that he was the most successful general Ravka’d ever had, had gotten rid of some political rivals in some way or other, seemed charming but cold underneath, wore all black at all times (which was why some called him the Darkling—but never to his face), and nothing was known among servants about him entertaining any dalliances with any women, or men for that matter. Alina was sure that a man like him just knew how to keep others from finding out who he spent his nights with. She wondered whether he’d become a one-woman kind of man. If nobody knew anything about it, why would he change? Then again, perhaps he really just wasn’t seeing or sleeping with anyone. It wouldn’t do to dwell on something like this.
“He’s charming?” she asked, if only to get her mind to focus on something less depressing.
“So they say. The ladies of the court love him. I suppose his good looks help there, but even those wouldn’t save him if he didn’t have manners or know how to flatter them. The king, apparently, hates him. Or fears him. Probably both, if you ask me. So does Vasily. The queen… I’m not sure. She knows better how to hide her true feelings.”
“You don’t think she’s afraid of him?”
“She’d be daft not to be. But other than that, I couldn’t tell you. I do think that, out of the bunch of them, out of all those useless nobles, she’s the one to watch out for. Remember, Alina; whatever happens after today, after the wedding—don’t trust any of them. Not the queen, not the General, and certainly not the king or the prince.”
They were both quiet for a minute. Alina traced the pattern on the armchair with her fingers and carefully chose her next words.
“And you, Genya? Can I trust you?”
“I would like to say yes,” she replied, her eyes following Alina’s fingers as they circled a red flower. She nodded. She couldn’t trust anyone, anyone at all.