Chapter Text
Alina’s last day in Vostok was sunny and warm. She had awoken early, too nervous to sleep and had chosen to break her fast in her own chambers. There had been a spread of fruits, bread, eggs, ham and fresh blinis filled with honey.
Under the watchful eye of her governess, she had eaten as much as a young lady should, which meant not quite a full plate. It had tasted like ash and she had barely been able to swallow, the food stuck in her mouth like cotton, seemingly expanding with every chew.
Afterwards she had dressed in a simple white dress and hurried out of the estate. Not too fast and not too slow, but what Ana Nikanorovna Kuya deemed a proper walk for a lady of her station.
She followed the path through the gardens, through the fields of sunflowers ripe for harvest, down a well-trodden road and over a small hill, only to sit down in front of a secluded lake. It was her favourite place in the whole county, quiet and peaceful. Its blue water came from a spring on the northern end of the Petrazoi mountains, resulting in its icy temperature. Therefore, she was strictly forbidden from so much as resting her feet in it, thanks to her frail constitution.
Will I ever see this again? Walk this path, like the thousand times before?
Alina tried to ignore those thoughts, instead pulling a short letter out of her pocket. More notice than anything else. She reread it, like she had done all week. A few fresh tears joined the others on the paper, making the letters even less legible than her father’s usual script.
The negotiations have come to a close. You will marry the General two weeks before the Lantsov Anniversary.
How could they? And in only 2 months? Alina had always known she would marry whom her father chose for her. Bow to his will like all good daughters ought to. But this? Alina took a shaky breath. She would marry the most hated man in all of Ravka, the entire continent, if what her servants spoke of was true.
By the Saints, please don’t let the whispers about him be true. They were spoken of only in hushed voices or, if enough alcohol was involved, in angry and bitter curses. But maybe this was only around her. Afterall she was only a little girl, unfit to know such cruel things. She knew that like with most topics, people’s opinions changed drastically behind closed doors, or when they thought she couldn’t hear.
Still, according to her maid Feodosia, he was a devil disguised. The darkness he controlled only an embodiment of his blackened soul. Even those less inclined to such dramatics all agreed on one thing, that the darkling, like all other darklings before him, was a dangerous man not to be trusted. The only recommendation she has ever been told of his character, was his patriotism and determination, not even shying from torture to protect their country. But Alina was pretty sure that this wouldn’t help her in her marriage to the man.
“Alina Petrovna Starkova.” Anas angry stomping could be heard before she had even risen her voice. A very unladylike habit if one asked Alina, but the old woman liked to be the exception to her own rules.
“What are you doing hiding in the woods again? Do you know how much we have still to pack?” Ana sounded quite outraged.
“I’m pretty sure 9 trees aren’t enough to be qualified a forest.” Alina sounded overly snippety even to her own ears. She stuffed the horrid note back in her pocket before it could be noticed.
“Don’t sass me and by the Saints, how often do I have to remind you to sit straight! Now come before I get even more grey hair.“ For some reason, that of all things, was Anas constant worry, grey hair. Whenever Alina misbehaved, which used to happen quite frequently, her governess always bemoaned her imagined grey hairs. For a spinster always dressing like a widow she was awfully vain.
Alina looked at her now empty hands, ignoring Anas angry face. Thinking of the dumb things she used to do as a kid made her even more nostalgic and scared of the coming days.
“I’m sorry, I just...”
“Out with it, you know I don’t like tardiness.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, not daring to look up. She wasn’t sure what she feared finding there. “You know what they say of him. What they call him.” There was no need to specify. She took a deep breath before continuing, “ Feodosia said he demands all prisoners for himself, that he drags them to his palace and experiments on them. He kills those that disagree with him, and he feasts on -”
Alina was interrupted by Ana griping her chin, forcing her to look up. Her small green eyes where soft, but there was no pity in them. She raised her left hand slowly, as if not to spook her and gently wipes of the last of her tears.
“You’re right. They call him a monster and Heretic. But those same people call your mother a whore. They call your father a drunken imbecile and you a common bastard.” She started to brush her hair out of her face. When she was satisfied her charge looked presentable again, she took her hands in her own and gave each a kiss. Alina felt like she would cry again. She knew Ana loved her like the daughter she never had, but it was rare for her to be this affectionate.
“My little myshka, don’t believe those stories. Do you truly think the Tsar would allow this marriage if there was even a shred of truth in them? No? So, trust in him.” She hesitated and clutched her bony hands even tighter. “I won’t lie to you and say it will be easy, or that you will fall in love instantly, but” and there her voice became sterner, not allowing disagreement “You will be fine.”
She stood up, straightening her dress, and all motherly emotions fled from her face.
“Come now, we must truly hurry, we’re supposed to leave in two hours.”
They made their way back, hand in hand. An even rarer comfort, for if there was anything that Ana Nikanorovna hated more than dirt and laziness, it was openly showing ones feelings, ones weaknesses, as she would call it.
Still, Alina couldn’t say her fears had vanished. Her fiancé was still a feared General who had killed countless to protect their country, a complete unknown excluding official statements and gossip.
But there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Straightening her back she walked with her head held high.
She may only be a bastard, but she was a princess, the tsarevna in all but name. She wouldn’t cry again. At least not when others could see her.
This will be a good thing. She repeated this phrase in her head until she could practically believe it.
He will be kind. Even when he had commanded some of the wars most brutal battles.
He will let me have my independence. Even when he controls his grisha with an iron fist.
This marriage will not be like my mothers. Unfortunately, Alina had to admit that like all girls, no matter their station, she could only hope.