A year after Alina Starkov tears down the Shadow Fold, she is finally able to settle into her peaceful life. There is no more war with Ravka. The Darkling, once her enemy, is now a loyal, protective husband, and a father to their adoptive daughter...
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ᗩᒪEKSᗩᑎᗪEᖇᕼᗩS ᗷEEᑎ gone for a long time. Too long. I keep trying to leave the bedroom in search of him, but the guards insist I stay for me and Amelia's safety. However, I can't just wait in here. I need to do something. Another minute passes, and I finally reach the end of my rope. I barge past Ivan and another Grisha stationed at the door.
"Moya tsaritsa, I insist you stay here!" Ivan hisses through an iron-clenched jaw. He knows he does not have the authority to stop me as Queen. Perhaps he could've years ago when I was the little orphan girl, but not now.
I lean in too close for comfort to whisper to Ivan so Amelia doesn't hear. "Your assignment was to watch her, not me, and you failed. That deranged Queen could have killed her if she wanted to. The least you can do is protect Amelia when I'm gone." I pause. "And that applies for the future as well."
Ivan's brow wrinkles and his lips part to ask what I mean, but I've already vanished down the long hall of the stone castle. The first place I plan to look is the ballroom, but I do not need to go that far. As I turn the corner of the first hallway, I nearly crash into Aleksander.
I don't even have time to startle. When I see his face, I become nauseous and put a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. Blood coats every inch of his hands and lower sleeves. A splatter of red speckles his face and neck, stopping at his shoulders.
"It's not mine," he says before I can ask. It eliminates my immediate concern for his well-being, replacing it with spite. I drag him by the collar of his soiled kefta; he lets me, seeming to have already accepted the consequence of my wrath. I pull him quickly past Amelia's room. Luckily, there are too many guards in there blocking Amelia's view of her father as we slip past, or else she would have nightmares for years to come.
Neither of us speaks as I lead him through our chambers to the attached bathroom. A few drops of blood fall to the polished black floor when he stands still. After shutting the door, I fetch a piece of fabric and then soak it in the water basin. I just point to the vanity stool silently. He takes the hint and sits as I begin to wash the mess from his forehead, slowly moving to the eyelids, cheekbones, and chin.
Part of me is silent from shock, and the other part is silent because I'm afraid of the anger-fueled words that will pour out of my mouth if I open it. Eventually, when my emotions are under control, I mutter, "Then whose blood is it?"
He looks up at me with his eyes as cold as ice chips. I search them for some sort of remorse or empathy. I don't find it there.
"Every Shu Han delegate and representative that had the misfortune of coming to the ball the same night my daughter was threatened by their queen."
I sigh and continue to blot his face with the warm washcloth until his skin is clean of his wrongdoing. I kneel in front of the stool and start on his hands, stained as red as a bottle of aged wine. Silence follows for another minute before I ask, "Do you regret any of it?"
