Don't make him the villain

Aleksander part 3

Alina Starkov had engaged herself in a battle she thought she could win, coming out from hiding, deciding to betray the apparat and the royal family, her mind dead set on destroying the fold.It angered him more than anything, that she'd chosen someone else rather than be with him. The tracker, apparently, had a better grasp on her devotion than he had managed to obtain in the short moments that they had frequented each other. If it could be considered a frequentation.

He had someone else now, not that he didn't need Alina anymore, he required her powers more than anything, but he knew he would not be alone in the end. He thought of the girl who waited back home, who knew what to do before it was asked, who stayed without being demanded to. He often wondered how she occupied her days when he wasn't there with her. He knew that she read quite a lot, that she liked to walk in the gardens, that she'd befriended and tamed Ivan, that she learned to play his favorite card game even becoming quite good at it, making her quite the opponent. Sometimes she'd leave notes in his books, comments in registers, and jokes about members of the royal family scribbled softly in the margins of a page. She left flowers in the room, ones she picked, each carefully selected. He always thought it was funny, the bouquets, how she took life from these flowers, cutting them free from the ground, to use as an ornament in his room. Killing something to use it as you pleased, even if it was for the mere pleasure of knowing it was in your possession. It was similar to what he did, on a different scale and with different goals. He also knew that he'd have to make a choice eventually, either killing her and sparing her the pain, or leaving her to die. He could not bring her around near the fold nor move her out of the security of the palace for fear that she'd become a moving target that would be later used as bait to lure him out. Alina would never harm another woman, but the others did not have the same morals: the tracker, the pirate, the tailor, the squaller, and the twins. All potential threats to be eliminated. Then he'd think about what to do with her, what to do with Alina.

The Darkling and his army of shadows were coming back to the palace from a mission near the borders, setting up a ruse with an orphanage. They had passed through a village, much too similar to the one he had met her in. He didn't want to waste time, he was fueled by anger, he did not want to speak to those people who weren't his, he did not want those people to speak to him. It could've been irrationality, he preferred to call it a strategy. He let the nichevo'ya run free through the small village to feed on its people to set an example for the future, to show everyone that he was still as powerful as he was when the sun summoner was at his side. He was the general, he had been many things before that as well, people tended to forget that. On some days, he forgot it himself.

He took his rage out on a man running away from the shadow soldiers, he was wearing military pants, probably a deserter, definitively not grisha. He unleashed himself, letting his body do the work while his mind drifted away. He used the cut multiple times, smaller versions on the one he was used to, taking his time with the human as he lost a limb at the time. Then he moved on to the next one available, not bothering to look at who it was. He stopped all the ones who were trying to escape. He didn't need to leave one alive to tell the tale, the scenery would do the job. Back on his horse, fingers clenched around the leather reins, he saw the blood splattered on his impeccable clothing, felt it on his face and on his hands. He suddenly got an impression of déjà vue. It was the same horse he'd rode on when he met her, the same one he took when they went out together, alone and free, to explore the forest near the castle. They'd sit next to the old fountain, making wishes in the clear water, or ride for hours if they had the time, going out to open valleys where the stars seemed closer than they were.

She preferred to ride in the back, hugging his back, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly in what seemed like an embrace. For obvious selfish reasons, he preferred her to ride in the front, having her between his legs, looking over her shoulder, pulling her close to him.When he was away for extended periods of time, his mind would drift to her at night, either from the muscle memory of it all or the habit of having someone to warm your bed and listen to your worries. He would feel an ache in his dick, a familiar craving for touch he'd had all his life. His hands would reach for his pants and he would think of her. Her red mouth curved into a smile when he praised her, the movement of her tongue, her slender fingers wrapping around him, her eyes when she looked through her lashes, but it was not enough. He'd think of her soft body, the shape of her breast, her pink cunt always wet and ready for him, the sounds she would make, it was almost as if he could hear them in his head.