Chapter Text
As weak as the first sun of the spring may have been, the war room of the Grand Palace had heated up to become almost unbearable. Nikolai nervously tugged at his collar. Maybe it was not the heat rendering him restless; maybe it was the obligation to be seated, still and silent, the hardship of resisting the impulse to hold Zoya’s hand or stare at her glowing presence instead of the rusty old man seated in front of him. Maybe it was the fact that they had been having the same argument for more than two hours.
He shifted in his seat. He had always loathed this place: this room was as distasteful as the rest of the palace, the high vault ceiling ornate with golden carvings, the walls lined with pompous portraits of the Lantsov ancestors. The meetings held there had the peculiarity of being both endless and lacking in results, the crowd stuffed around the massive oak table that took up half the space. Here, Nikolai had always had to play the king, the commanding one, the listening one, the level-headed and respectful ruler. A role that was currently being filled by the gorgeous woman standing at his side, back straight, glowing blue eyes narrowed and chin held high in front of the ministries they had assembled for the umpteenth council regarding the distribution of the new funds that had flowed into Ravka’s coffers. The peace treaties they had signed with Fjerda and Shu Han had proved fundamental in the blooming of fresh opportunities for the country's economy; which meant every hungry beast had come running to the palace to get their share.
“If I may, I don’t feel that is of the utmost priority”, a screeching voice rang from her left side. “No one is living there anymore. We should postpone the rebuilding of Novokibrisk.”
Nikolai shifted his gaze to the man who spoke: Governor Durachov had ruled West Ravka for the past ten years, for the majority of which he had done it unperturbed by the crown, held back by the barrier that had been the Fold. He had flourished in his reign and pushed West Ravka’s prosperity on the shoulder of the misery that had gripped East Ravka, aided by a nearly treasonous liking to the Fjerdan and the Kerch. He was a disdainful man with a lot of cemented prejudices and spiteful words on his tongue, who had tolerated answering to Nikolai, but was much less approving of Zoya and her liberal politics.
“What do you suggest we do, then?”, Zoya snapped at him, the irritation in her voice barely concealed. That city was a graveyard of memories, for Zoya and many more families. She had fought tooth and nail to ensure new life would be given to those ruins.
The governor curved his mouth in a condescending smile in response, so irritating that the demon inside Nikolai stirred and growled his discontent. Durachov was middle aged, born and raised in wealth, eyes glassy and plain and a dull but arrogant mind governed by a thirst for power. Power he was scarcely able to gain on his own, resorting instead to tie himself to more skilled or worthy people. He had somehow obtained the favour of Nikolai‘s father, who had appointed him governor, likely due to the sway and fortunes the Durachov’s family held. His inclination to exert and maintain his own authority suggested that he was very likely pursuing an agenda of his own. Five months into Zoya’s rule, his disapproval of her was becoming more and more evident.
With a considerable amount of effort Nikolai kept his preferred easy pose and his mouth shut, lounging with his legs straightened in front of the table. Wondering why Zoya had not yet turned governor Durachov into a pile of smoking dust, he allowed himself to cut her a glance and briefly bask in the way the sunset light played on her dark skin and wavy black mane. He could see the weariness in her strain, see the tension in her shoulders and the straight line of her jaw.
“Os Kervo needs more funds to be redirected to our naval forces”, Durachov pushed on. “It’s a matter of urgency, we must protect Ravka’s sea border.”
Beyond the matter of the border’s safety, the suspicion stood that West Ravka also needed more ships to deal efficiently and easily with the Kerch and restore their private naval routes. The demon demanded to leap at the man’s throat. The governor put on a pretence of humble demeanour, bowing his head slightly in Zoya’s direction.
“I don’t want to tire Your gentle Highness too much with these practical matters. I understand it’s not easy nor common for a woman to deal with the tedious problems of a fleet.”
Gentle Highness. Nikolai wanted to laugh. No wise soul on earth would refer to Zoya as gentle . They don’t come at you with hate. They don’t make it easy to fight them, Zoya had said to him in the humming quiet of a flyer. In the short time she had been queen, these innuendos and veiled critiques had been spat at her a thousand times and more. Zoya had faced them all head on; dignitaries and courtiers appreciated both her charm and her scowl, and they had started to refer to her without sparing him a second glance. Nikolai was used to the attention being snatched by Zoya wherever they went; for three years, he had known how to benefit from her presence. While Nikolai had needed Zoya to change the atmosphere in a room or to bark commands as a soldier, it seemed Zoya could play both parts just fine, and the fascination that rested in her sharp attitude was beginning to be understood. A thought that filled him with a love so grand it cut the air from his lungs, and an irrational fear just as smothering that he hated even seeing in himself.
“Besides”, Durachov added for good measure, sealing his fate, “I’m sure our queen has her Grisha to take care of first.”
A heavy silence followed his statement. He sensed Zoya draw a sharp breath and tighten her grip on the wooden table. Her Grisha. She turned slightly to him, the movement barely noticeable, and their gazes locked for an instant. He hoped she could see the reassurance in his eyes. My ruthless Zoya, do shut him up. Nikolai saw the blue of her eyes clear before they slitted silver when she surveyed the room and stopped on Durachov’s figure. Zoya spoke with a firm and cold voice, the tone of a ruler.
“I don’t recall you ever stepping foot on a ship to fight, Governor. I seem to understand you witnessed our battles from the comfort of your cushioned sofa.” She straightened more, letting a defiant smile graze her lips. “Your queen and her Grisha, on the other hand, stopped Fjerda from burning your beloved city to the ground.” The air around her crackled, making the ministers in the room startle. Nikolai smirked; now he was enjoying himself. Sparks grazed her skin, erupting from her fingers. Saints, he did love that trick.
“ A woman stopped an army from invading you while you sipped on honeyed wine and your citizens trembled with fear. A woman who has been a soldier, a general, and then your Queen. Whom you should address with the proper respect.” The room stilled in a palpable tension, alert stares directed at Zoya with awe and a slight apprehension. “Given these facts, I think it’s safe to assume I’m more prepared than you to deal with these practical matters. Maybe you should go back to your estate to enjoy some nice summer sun, while your more competent and respectful ministers stay and deal with this.” Zoya held his gaze while the governor turned the colour of blood, puffing his chest and shaking his ridiculous moustache. Yet, he did not dare to speak. She drew the power away, clasping her hands together behind her back, the smile vanishing from her face. “Watch your tongue in front of your Queen the next time you open your mouth. Are we clear?”
The governor looked like he was about to explode. He bowed more deeply, his voice trembling. “Of course, Your Highness. I hope you can forgive my insolence.”
The queen didn’t spare him as much as a nod. She turned to the other nobles assembled around the table. “The meeting is adjourned. We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” she commanded, the words biting and clipped. They all scattered away with their tails between their legs, except for an advisor Nikolai vaguely recalled as a Duke…Kravchenko? Or was it Ivanov? Someone with a clear death wish, anyway. He lingered in the doorway, bowing to Zoya.
“My Queen, have you considered our invitation? Balakirev is beautiful this time of the year”, he asked, his voice dripping with marked adoration. Vladimov, Nikolai suddenly remembered . The one with the handsome young son who kept sending Zoya sweets and flowers. One of the many.
“I believe my son sent some beautiful hats to protect her Majesty from the heat, if you’ll grace us with your presence. I know he would be very pleased to show you our estate.”
Nikolai stiffened, trying to keep his eyes trained on the documents laying on the table, uneasiness poking at his stomach. Zoya practically grunted, and he had to stifle a laugh. Zoya had a very different style of conducting herself with her court than the one he was used to: maybe she could have been a tad more graceful with the nobles, but as long as she was keeping suitors aways Nikolai guessed he could let her be insufferable.
“I don’t have time to frolic around in fields”, she said. Nikolai cleared his throat, a warning Zoya thankfully caught. He was sure her eyes were rolling inside her head. “As honoured as I am for your attention and your family’s kindness, Duke Vladimov, I am afraid we will have to postpone our gatherings. Do thank your son for me, though. I appreciate your loyalty to the crown immensely.”
She even smiled at him, and the man seemed content enough to give a satisfied hum and another bow, before finally leaving the room. Zoya flicked her wrist and the door slammed shut with a gust of wind. Nikolai shot up, taking two wide steps towards her and catching her face between his hands. She closed her eyes at his touch and exhaled a long breath.
“Well, that was interesting ”, he stated, studying her.
“I despise them all.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” And he was, truly, for being one of the reasons why she endured this every day. Zoya kept her eyes shut for a moment, leaning in his hold. He felt her heartbeat slow down. She shook her head in his grip, lashes fluttering open.
“You were pouting”, she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him. “It’s not endearing.”
“I’m a duke too, you know”, he underlined, though she looked the opposite of impressed. He could imagine his frowns about the endless proposals she was receiving were not endearing for a grown man. And he could admit he was not hiding them well: in retrospect, Zoya had been much more graceful when their roles were switched. He cracked a smile at her, humming in agreement and kissing her forehead. “I don’t enjoy seeing them come at you. But I’ll survive.” Now she did snort at him. Which, if Nikolai had to be honest, was well deserved. Her mind though was already wandering away from the trifle matters of suitors and Nikolai’s tantrums, her lips straightened in a thin, tense line.
“You heard him, right? I am still the Grisha queen, Nikolai.”
Her tone was bitter, full of weariness. “It takes time, Zoya”, he murmured. “You’re proving yourself and making progress. I still believe you’re our best chance.”
Zoya gave a dry laugh, stepping away from his grip and slumping in a chair. She rubbed her temples, cutting him a sharp look. “You’re biased.” Nikolai smirked, strolling toward her and leaning on the table in front of her seat.
“I’m slightly offended you would say so.”
“You love me, Nikolai.” It was said more as an accusation than the comforting knowledge he would hope for it to be. She waved a brisk hand at herself. “You do at my most spiteful. Which assures everyone of the fact that you’re both out of your mind and clearly biased toward me. The Grisha seductress has managed to win the prize of a lifetime.”
“Self-deprecation doesn’t agree with you, love.” Another incinerating glare was thrown at him. Nikolai chuckled and took her hands in his own, leaning towards her and smoothing her frown with his thumb. Behind her eyes he could practically witness the frustration boiling in her veins, which she tended to take out either on herself or the next person available. Him, in this case. “You know, you did win the prize of a lifetime in having this handsome prince by your side. However, I was definitely the one to seduce you.”
” I kissed you”, she retorted, clicking her tongue, if only for the sake of contradicting him.
“Because I asked. And because I wore away at you for three long years beforehand.”
Zoya pursed her lips at him, making an irritated sound with her throat that belonged more to a dragon than a queen. “The same sway you exercised to convince me of this mad idea. You should just let me burn the palace to the ground.”
“I’d like for us all to not be roasted by a lightning storm”, Nikolai winked at her, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
The past few weeks had been a challenge; Zoya had pushed on fiercely as ever, but no doubt the exhaustion got to her at times. They were carrying the weight of a nation forcefully being dragged into peace, that challenged both her steel spirit and his optimism in the worst days. She narrowed her eyes and seemed to consider snapping his neck for a while, before letting her shoulders drop and exhaling a long tired breath.
“I guess I could spare you”, she conceded at last. “And the Grisha. Just them.”
“I’m touched”, he mused, touching his own heart. Zoya laced their fingers together, averting her eyes and fixing them on their intertwined hands.
“They don’t approve of this”, she begrudgingly mumbled with a stern tone. Apparently this was not a let’s look to the brighter side of things day. Indeed, the ministers were not exactly supportive of Nikolai and Zoya's close relationship. They had been careful, proper, and discreet. Even then, it was practically public domain that their closeness exceeded the realm of political alliance, and even friendship. The rumors were already thick when Nikolai was king and the desire to be by Zoya’s side, stronger than any diplomatic behaviour and equal only to Zoya’s want of having him near, had only fed them further. For Ravka’s court the suspicion about their queen’s heart being already taken only meant that no union useful to replenish Ravka’s treasury or military strength would be arranged.
Zoya couldn't care less about these people’s ideas, but Nikolai could see she was growing anxious to make their status as official as possible and establish his role, if nothing else at least to avoid more problems, more whispers about why a deposed king had that much hold on the queen’s ear. Romantic as ever; not that he was going to complain about this particular desire of hers, but his mind was set around his courting plans and the advantages of giving her time, of showing the world who the ruler was now. And a bunch of shameful worries he wasn’t too keen on considering. Furthermore, the more Zoya pressed him with practical reasons, the more fun Nikolai was having pursuing his romantic agenda.
“Do we care?”, Nikolai asked, tilting her chin gently to make her look at him again. Zoya fell silent for a moment, then she sighed.
“Not in the slightest.” She stopped herself before adding something else. While she dropped the argument, the worried crease on her forehead did not disappear. They had been having this dance for a while now. He let the quiet stretch until she was ready to speak again.
“I saw the way you were looking at the governor like you wanted to rip his head from his shoulders”, Zoya said, shifting the conversation. “The sentiment was shared, but I appreciate that you did not intervene.” Nikolai nodded. He wanted to keep his head too and getting in the way of Zoya’s rage was not the most intelligent way to do that. Zoya would rather strike him with lightning that have him jump to her defence with that idiotic chivalry of his or, even worse, to crack an awfully embarrassing joke and finally seal your role as the court jester , in her own words. “Do you think he’s developing an inclination to rebellion?”
Part of Nikolai did, as much as he despised even the thought of another battle to be fought or enemy to be reckoned with, so soon after the coronation. Then again, he knew the first months of a rule could be the most unstable ones. The decision of having the governor in the capital had partly been so they could keep an eye on him for a couple of days. Zoya moved like a commander, and she wanted to be able to anticipate an enemy’s move. “He’s not particularly skilled in the matters of the mind, which goes to say I don’t hold a high esteem of him regarding his intelligence. While that surely makes him unsuccessful, it can make him reckless”, Nikolai pondered. “We wait for Alina’s report - “
“Then we evaluate the threat”, Zoya concluded his sentence. “And we’ll decide what to do about it.”
At times it still felt like Zoya was the general, and him the one bothering her with his endless talking and pointless royal issues. It felt comfortable to dwell in that old balance; it was easy to lose sight of themselves now that the tables had turned so much, and every inch of their country and their court was in turmoil. Ironically so, now that both his heart and his duty belonged to the same place - or person - he was finding it even harder to carve out his exact role in this. He had searched for power and peace for so long, that relenting the first and finding the second was proving to be as exciting as it was terrifying.
She fiddled with the buttons at his cuff. “Thank you for the reassurance. Before”, she clarified at the confused tilt of his head. “You brought me back to myself.”
That small look they shared had been enough. Nikolai did not really comprehend the extent of Zoya’s power. He felt the tether that tied them, he sensed her presence when she was near, he knew when she was in danger. However he understood that for Zoya, it was more than that. She had told him about being slammed into other people’s consciences, about drowning in their feelings like they were her own. It allowed her to see him and feel him in ways that were hard to grasp.
“I suppose it should be creepy that you can hear my thoughts, but I’m just glad for it.”
She cast her eyes heavenwards. “I can’t read your mind Nikolai. Don’t worry, all your private thoughts are still yours.”
Nikolai shrugged his shoulders. “You would just hear a bunch of horrible jokes, some self-praise, and my undying love for you”, he stopped with a wide grin. “Oh, and possibly some rather equivocal fantasies if you peer well enough, but they’re all about you anyway.”
Zoya blurted out a laugh that echoed in the high ceiling. Saints, I am never going to get enough of this. She even likes my horrible jokes. Or maybe she was just pretending, but who cared? He could live and breathe on that sound, on the way her head tilted backwards, the vivid sparkle in her ocean eyes. Not to mention the fact that he had just somehow managed to lift her mood. A call from outside distracted them from their brief moment of reprieve; Nikolai left her hand and took a step away before a servant came in, curtsying deeply.
“Your Highness, the minister of agriculture is waiting. Shall I let him in?”
They were borrowing these small minutes each day, and they always felt like a treasure, even more when they ended. He stored her laugh in his heart, straightening the sleeves of his jacket.
“Ready for the next round?” She got up too, smoothed her kefta, and nodded.
“Let the wolves come.”