The Pomegranate Society

Fifteen: Alina Starkov

TW: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS AND CONVERSATIONS OF WARTIME VIOLENCE. 

Fifteen:

Alina Starkov

He was there. Professor Aleksander Morozova. He was standing across the street when she got out of the car that Nikolai had take her, Genya, and David home. Alina had had the Persephone necklace shoved in her jacket pocket the whole night. She had been careful not to let anyone see it, and fortunately, the whole Royal family had been focused on trying to get to know her.

Alina had thought she would be spending time with Nikolai, Genya, and David. But she somehow found herself shoved into a corner with Queen Tatiana, who had decided to talk to her. The air raid shelter was a room, with no windows. Provisions were kept off to the side. It was Genya, David, Nikolai, Alina, the King, and all of their security guards. The electricity flickered off and on the whole night, and the noise made it impossible for anyone to truly sleep.

Nikolai, Genya, and David had all played some card game she wasn't familiar with. And before Alina could join them, Queen Tatiana pulled her over to the side.

"Alina, my dear!" she said. "Come sit with me. These awful evenings are a nuisance, but I'm so terribly glad that you're safe."

A nuisance, she said. As if it were some function she didn't want to go to. Alina could still remember air raids as an orphan in Keramzin. They would gather everyone in the basement, with the little ones crying because of the dark and the noise. When she was young, her and Mal would huddle in corners together waiting it out until it was over. Hopefully by morning, if they were lucky.

"Thank you, Queen Tatiana," she said, "but I'm not---"

"Oh, don't give me any of that nonsense now. I know that you're going to sign the papers, and Nikolai has been talking about you for a year as his potential bride. According to our polls, there's been some resistance to us having another Princess marry into the family and people want to see one of their own in the monarchy. When Genya told us all about you, it seemed like The Saints had sent you our way. A little orphan girl, plucked from obscurity, just waiting for her handsome Prince..."

Alina heaved a sigh. "Your majesty, you're too kind but that's not.... I mean Nikolai did tell you I punched him the first night I met him, right?"

Queen Tatiana waved her off. "Oh, please. There have been royal courtships that have started off on much worse footing. However, for the sake of the story, we are going to be telling the public that you and Nikolai have been friends because of Genya. That you met at a party, and that you've been getting to know each other, and you waited because of the age difference and to make sure you were serious about each other. We don't want tongues wagging now, do we?"

Alina glanced at Nikolai, who was sitting with her friends playing cards. He looked up from the game as if he felt her gaze on him and smiled half-heartedly at her as if to say, "Go with it."

She smiled politely at the Queen. "No, I guess not."

It was one year. One year of dating Nikolai. And surely, she wouldn't be swayed by all of the wealth, finery, and power his world had to offer, right? She'd get tired of the silliness of the Queen, of Nikolai pestering her, and she would be able to walk away from it all. And, if Nikolai were a man of his word, she'd have one million kruge for her trouble and one less annoying man to deal with.

But there, in the palace walls, she felt safe for the first time in her life. It made her stomach clench how much it did. It was all so...easy.

Now, in the light of morning, Alina was a little fuzzier on what she wanted. Especially as she hadn't expected to glance across the street and see him there. "Aleksander," she murmured. He wore a tweed suit, complete with a bow tie, and a black jacket, and his hair was slightly mussed as if he had been up for all hours like she had been because of the raid.

From her side, Genya placed a hand on her shoulder. "Alina....is that?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Genya frowned. "Is there a reason he's here?"

"Yes." She glanced at her friend. "Look, I'll meet you inside. I just.... need to discuss some class things with him."

"This doesn't have anything to do with the necklace, does it?" Genya asked. "Or that society?"

Alina shook her head. "It's all class stuff, that's it. I'll be back in later."

Genya gave her a wary look, but she took David's hand and the two of them went inside. When they were gone, Alina crossed the center of the street to get to Aleksander. Not caring if there were cars coming.

"Alina!" he called as he ran the little bit of the way towards her.

She locked eyes with him as they met halfway in the street. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "You shouldn't be here."

"I couldn't...." he started to say and stopped. "I couldn't not...."

"You couldn't not what?"

He reached out and brushed back a strand of her hair behind her ear. She shivered. It was the smallest of touches, nothing too intimate about it, and she was shivering.

"Aleksander," she demanded, "why are you here?"

He took a deep breath. "I had to know."

"Know what?"

"If you were okay," he said, "if you were alive. I had to know. I spent last night in the basement one of the University's libraries, and all I could think about was if you were alive.... when I got out, and the world hadn't ended for me, you were all I thought of. All I wanted."

If words were a knife, his hand wounded her. Because there was nothing to be done about them. She hated him for being there. She wanted him because she was there. And yet, despite the bombs that had fallen over their city all the previous night, there were photographers waiting in the bushes. Watching, and waiting, for the future Royal Consort of Prince Nikolai of Ravka to fall in a way that ended in disaster instead of love.

"There is nothing for you to want," she said, "for that wanting is misplaced. Go home, Aleksander. And take your necklace with you." She shoved the black box into his hands then crossed the street and went back into her apartment, not looking back over her shoulder once despite how much she wanted to.