Forged and Forsaken [Nikolai Lantsov II]

~ Chapter Three ~

I love this art because it is exactly how I pictured Korina (we're back in her POV now). I have no idea what it's originally from, but it even looks like she's wearing the Ravkan double eagle *chefs kiss*. 

I grab the Prince before he can tumble to the ground, bracing him against my shoulder. His breath comes in the steady rhythm of sleep, brushing softly against my cheek.

My heart is still beating twice as fast from Nikolai's closeness, the way his eyes fastened on my face, but I force myself to focus, to keep him from falling. Even as Sturmhond I recognized his face immediately. The mask of the Privateer is no longer enough to hide him from me.

"Niko, come on," I hiss in Ravkan, shaking his shoulder as I try to pull him back to consciousness. It does nothing but cause his head to loll against mine, rusty strands of hair tickling my forehead.

With a soft sigh, I lower the Prince to the ground. Kneeling beside him, I check his pulse, feeling it beat steadily beneath my fingers. Letting out a relieved breath, my eyes trail over his face, picking out cracks in the tailoring where his true features peek through.

"Get a little distracted there, did you Rin?" His sharp voice asks in Kerch.

I almost jump at the sound of my false name. Reality comes crashing back down around me as the small pocket of time that Nikolai and I built in the midst of this chaos shatters.

I have a job to lead, a cover to maintain.

Girls like Rin don't get to have secret moments with Princes. Girls like Rin only know Sturmhond as the world does, as a Pirate that took her across the true sea. Nothing more.

Turning to where my Heartrender stands, I send him a glare. "I know who this is, I was handling him!"

The Heartrender gestures at the Prince asleep between us, raising a dark eyebrow, "It looked more like he was handling you."

I'm about to object when my eyes land on the blade in his hand, the tip slicked with blood.

"Mikhail," My voice is low with frustration as I draw his gaze to the blade as well.

Quickly he slips the blade behind his back, trying to suriously wipe away the blood.

I only have one rule that Grisha need to follow if they want to stay with me, to not hurt anyone. As a Heartrender that should be easier for Mikhail than anyone else and though he's been with me almost since I came to Novyi Zem, he still can't seem to understand that idea. No doubt a product of spending half his life on the streets of Ketterdam.

Some days I truly can not decide if he's worth the hassle of keeping around. As perturbing as he can be, he's amazingly helpful at times. When he's not being a complete pain, as he is now.

Rolling my eyes I decide that now is not the time to have this discussion again.

"Just wake him back up," I grip the Prince's hand, "He's not a threat."

"Well, that I can tell," Mikhail lets out an amused laugh, flipping the knife between his fingers. The tattoo on his forearm ripples, a mark of the time he spent in the Barrel, "I'm just worried about you Rin, I'm not sure you'll be able to focus on the job with this Ravkan around. I mean, you've already lost the accent."

Cursing under my breath, I try to slip the false Fijerdan accent back into place. Any connection between me and Ravka is risky, too likely to get me caught by one of the second army's spies. I trust my Grisha with that knowledge, but even they do not know that I'm a noble. They simply think I'm a deserter.