Exile |The Darkling|

Chapter 3: Warning Sign

The Little Palace was raucous with energy the moment the winter fete began.

Laughter and voices of jubilance covered the shallow hums of unbalanced harm that was stirring beneath it. So many secrets, so little admission, yet the world continued to turn and the people who made it move continued to bask in unattainable glory. The common man or woman or child were often neglected in these triumphant snapshots of Ravkan history; they weren't the ones scholars wrote of in the vast volumes dedicated to the times.

The halls of the grand estate reflected such. Grisha of all types drinking, sipping on cocktails far too expensive for their tastes and leaving little savoring love for the food carried by the few who deemed proper enough to wait on the event. Guards paired in twos kept any potential peril at bay. The simplest of sights of the uniformed soldiers made any honest person look away, fearful that they would be mistaken for an enemy for staring too long. The entertainment remained detached from the goers but looked on with a yearning gaze. Every time a Grisha or a diplomat or a member of the King's closest staff would ascend the stairs, they couldn't help but wish it had been them.

You had waltzed in about an hour after the party had commenced. Fragmented entertainers and pity food wasn't a particularly fond pastime of yours, so you managed to skip some of the festivities for mundane reading in the library. There was hardly a book you hadn't read, but every so often you could find one that was stuck closed from years of neglect. But if enough time had passed, surely a King's guard would come calling and to prevent any scenes of unwanted escorting, you entered the room just in time.

For the first time in nearly two weeks, Aleksander spent the entire day without you. The man had made a great effort of showing you that the choice was decided and you were a priority. He let you speak first at council meetings, dictated that you both eat dinner in chambers without a disruption once the moon rose, and the effort was more than seen by you. Genya had even made a boldly passing comment about his obsession with you one morning that you laughed off.

You laughed off. Genya couldn't recall the last time that happened.

Except the reality had become skewed. Those gapping cracks had turned into deep crevasses that were being held together with a fine silk string. It was a façade waiting for just the right second to crumble and what better place to do so than the winter fete.

Aleksander may have been making a stronger effort to show he cared, but he was playing house with Alina Starkov on the side, and the girl was falling for it—fast. It began when he took her to the fountain, reminding himself of the past without admitting to her the truth and her naïvety she brought. Alina was so eager to please that it became endearing, though he didn't love her. He could not and would not because he had promised himself that there was a bigger cause. A bigger and better world yet to be created and the only person he wanted by his side when that happened was you.

And within those two weeks of mending the creases, a blooming plan was planted. The seeds were already there, as if granted by the grace of the heavens and in order to get what you both wanted, you seized upon it. Alina's girlish impulses, Aleksander's desperate need for power, and your selfish desires, created the perfect trifecta of delusion. Seven nights prior to the fete, you had been lounging in the library when Aleksander approached you with the foundations of a plan. He sat on the foot stool in front of you, pulling your legs into his lap as he fought for your attention against a boring book.

"Can you not see that I am occupied?" You flipped a page, sparing him no glance.

"Alina attempted to kiss me today." Slamming the book closed, you furrowed your brows at him, taken aback by the admission.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She made a pass. I told her I couldn't, and she turned as red as a tomato. But-"