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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN you think that I want to be a hero?
NIKOLAI LIKED TO THINK life as a Privateer had prepared him for what lay within the walls of Os Alta. Because, truthfully, what were a few toothless sailors vying for his power in the face of toothless diplomats tearing each-other apart psychologically in an effort to slither onto his throne?
At sea, they fondly dubbed these special moments BeingCaught Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.
It meant, in short, that one was royally fucked. Case in point, them. Right now.
Of course, in this scenario, the role of the devil was ( aptly ) filled by The Darkling and the rather strenuous position of the Deep Blue Sea could be filled by any number of nobles, brothers and diplomats who stood in the wings waiting for the moment he failed or faltered to suck the life blood out of him and take his place in court and quite possibly attempt to take his girl.
Although, Nikolai could sleep at night knowing anyone who thought they could possibly 'take' Mercy was going to meet a rather sharp, silver, bloodied end. Of course, he'd still be dead. Which was never ideal.
He liked to think he was prepared, just as he liked to believe that the Darkling wasn't going to storm the Grand Palace and feed them all to his rather formidable army of shadows or how he liked to believe his flying ship would last long enough to ever touch the clouds. But the truth was, nothing could have prepared him for this.
And now it was too late to even try.
He was in the Deep Blue Sea that very moment, watching Alina Starkov and Mercy put their newfound differences aside for a moment ( he hated seeing them argue but alas... ) to destroy the Crown Prince with glares that could have frozen the sun.
Vasily, as always, was debilitatingly unaware as some General droned on and on about the dwindling numbers of the First Army. At least Nikolai pretended to pay attention, just as he would pretend to care about his brother's safety when Mercy's inevitable punch would be thrown.
But for now, he watched as she watched Vasily raise his hand, dismissing their concerns, fears, doubts. His older brother sighed. "Why all the gnashing of teeth? Just lower the draft age."
At his side, Mercy stilled, as if every muscle in her body was pulled taunt. "To what?" She asked, through gritted teeth and suddenly all Nikolai could see was her - her in a purple kefta, no older than fourteen years old, dwarfed in the shadows of the Little Palace. How could he have forgotten so carelessly? He wasn't the only one sent to fight in a war, far too young and far too helpless.
He couldn't help but wonder if they'd lain awake on the same nights, the same colossal guilt weighing heavily on their tiny chests. It was all very philosophical. Nikolai put a stop to that immediately.
