How the Game is Played

IV

Months passed at the Little Palace, and yet not very much seemed to change. After their encounter in her room, Alina had expected for Aleksander to resume his torturous treatment of her, hanging something she needed just a few feet in the air in front if her, and then snatching it away as soon as she reached for it. Alas, he didn't.

If anything, he seemed to withdraw from her, still always watching, still taking breakfast with her each morning before she headed down to greet her new army, but nothing more. If he needed something from her, he would send a rather irate Ivan to deliver the message, something which Alina found amusing to no end. The Heartrender had been put out enough when he'd first been told he'd been giving Hanne Brum one-on-one instruction for the foreseeable future, but to also be reduced to a carrier pigeon? She had to stifle her laughter sometimes.

As expected, Zoya settled into her role within the army almost immediately, to the point where she had, on more than one occasion, had to be reminded that making ten year olds cry was likely not the best method of training and making them feel welcome within their ranks, and that forcing them to do two hundred and fifty press-ups every day when they woke up was bordering on inhumane treatment. The older kids, maybe, but the youngsters certainly not. She'd huffed, muttering something about not wanting the army to be weak on her watch, but relented none-the-less.

Alina herself had found herself far more comfortable in a position of power overtime too, the now visible improvement to the state of the Second Army having given her a boost that she needed, the knowledge that maybe Aleksander's decision to hand his position over to her wasn't just a way of winning her favour. Maybe he truly did believe she was fit to be a General. She didn't want to linger on the thought to much, especially not while she had the feeling he had been avoiding her.

Despite all the success though, every breakthrough they'd had with training their young Grisha, Genya's utter joy at the rapid improvement of her new squad of Tailors or David's new discoveries down in the labs, Alina had still been reluctant to harness her own abilities. Winter had come and gone in Os Alta, giving way to the early spring, and yet she still sat in fear of utilising all that she had, knowing she was only as strong as she was due to Mal.

Mal, to whom she'd made a promise all that time ago in Baghra's hut, a promise she fought with herself to fulfil every single day she woke up to don her black kefta. She used only what she needed from herself, nothing more. Maybe an to occasionally light her way when the gardens grew too dark at night, or to bathe her room in a soft glow when she woke up to her nightmares again, since Aleksander no longer deemed them important enough to tend to as he had the first time, but that was all.

Her altercation with Zoya after she'd first been released was enough to decide she wasn't ready yet, and she was unwilling to compromise. Luckily, with the Squaller's confirmed assistance, she found herself not having to take on the job of teaching the youngsters how to actually summon, so her reluctance to do so went unnoticed. Almost.

She had to admit, the many months of being Ravka's 'Queen' felt like a fever dream. She had never really considered herself as such, despite seeing her symbol plastered all over the palace walls, and signing off a design for a throne set to be commissioned. She was only a queen by declaration, as was Aleksander's king status. She'd expected him to soon grow bored of it being as such, and therefore was unsurprised when, one morning, Ivan was once again at her door, looking as bored as ever.

"Moya Tsaritsa," he drawled, "The King requests your presence."

Alina, from her reclined position still in bed, groaned loudly. "Tell the King he can come to see me if he wants my presence so."

Ivan didn't move, nor did he give any indication he intended to return to the Darkling without Alina in tow. "No," he replied shortly.

Sitting up, Alina tilted her head up ever so, the same way she often observed Zoya doing when giving orders. Granted, Zoya typically didn't have a nest of bed hair and wasn't dressed in her sleepwear when doing so. "You say no to your Queen?" She challenged, trying out the words and the power they held. As it turned out, they held very little in this situation.