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CHAPTER TEN i was never his to give
LOOK, NIKOLAI LANTSOV DIDN'T mean to be an asshole.
Perhaps that wasn't entirely accurate. Perhaps it would be more truthful to say that Nikolai Lantsov absolutely did mean to be an asshole when addressing men in fancy waistcoats who looked down on him for matters of his bloodline. He absolutely meant to be an asshole when meeting his brother because recent events had lead to the discovery that Vasily was more of a lost cause than previously thought ( if there could ever be such a thing ). He did mean to be an asshole most of the time, because experience had taught him that the world left little room for anything else.
What Nikolai means is that perhaps, sometimes, maybe, he didn't mean to be an asshole to her.
Sure, she'd threatened to drive a razor sharp blade through the palm of his hand and the whites of his eyes and yes, maybe she had violated at least three royal decrees in as many words when she so kindly offered to kill him where he stood. But, it was so rare to meet someone like her, forged by the sea and shaped by the wind, rarer still to meet someone so like him.
There was no denying that Nikolai had meant it when he said that he wasn't sorry for deceiving her. Anything else would be a lie because - truly - he wasn't. If the price he had to pay for the stability of his country was the wrath of one pirate with questionable moral standards then there had been no doubt in Nikolai's mind that he could bare that burden.
Key word: had.
He didn't regret it but saints, the weight of her absence still gutted him alive.
It had taken all the royal strength that resided in his two hundred and six royal bones to feign acceptance when she spat her ultimatum. That would be best. Nikolai could almost laugh.
Best? Best? There was nothing that was best about this perpetual purgatory he found himself in every, single day, dodging her gaze and dancing around her presence. He was bored and tired and a hair's width away from forsaking his words and telling her that nothing about this was best.
Quite frankly, this was worst.
How would the saints have it that, in the slenderest time of just three months, the face of a pirate could become the face of a friend? It was cruel, rude and rather annoying if he was being perfectly honest because years of impeccably crafted facades were one smile away from cracking entirely.
The masks he wore were exemplary in their craftsmanship to ensure that neither Prince nor Privateer were ever forgotten. He could be loud and charming or tranquil and serene because whilst he possessed no grisha powers, Nikolai Lantsov had discovered that he had shapeshifting gifts better than the best of them.
He could never be himself, never seen for what he was beneath the armour. In his countless years scaling the ranks of the Navy, neither the captains nor the most trusted crew on his fleet of ships could have dreamt that the jovial commander of their swords ( and their hearts ) could have hidden himself away for so long.
