Lost Her (Nikolai Lantsov)

Nikolai

Two decorated bodies laid in white bed to deep slumber, burned in the middle of a field, surrounded by Ravkan people. Physique licked by fire and descended up black smokes. The smell was unbearable of flesh being burned and cooked and charcoaled and ashed in inferni fire. Two dead famous grishas, that people will remember for a lifetime. Cremated. Stench was unbearable but people held on out of respect.

Alina Starkov was dead. So was the Darkling.

Nikolai stood on a high stage. Apparat behind him on the right. Three grisha Triumvirate of second army behind him on the left, along with commanders of the first army.

His people wailed and cried toward one of the figure. They screamed her name. Their throats croaked sore.

Sankta Alina. Sankta Alina.

Their hands raised up in the air, repeating her name like the saint she was. A saint who was martyred for a better cause. A better future.

A future that he himself wished to last forever. But this was only the beginning of his reign. King Nikolai Lantsov. The bastard king, he thought to himself, satirical. Strumhond would be pleased, if the legend was its own person.

Everyone did not speak of the other name. The one who was burning beside Sankta Alina. The Darkling's wail was never spoken by any single mouth of the people. In fact, they have sounded before that the man's funeral, next to Sankta Alina, was a disgrace.

As the uprising king, his fair share experience of shadow summoner, King Nikolai couldn't agree more. The Darkling should not have been put next to her. But he promised Alina that he must honor the Darkling. As an equal.

That was her last wish to be, before she was removed from existence entirely. It was for her, the dark red haired girl in bright tunic next to a buff-bodied boy, standing in the crowd of people, watching the burning bodies in quiet. She was tailored by Genya Safin to look like someone else for awhile. Alina Starkov, not.

Ravkan history in the making. Sankta Alina and the Darkling's dead bodies cremated with witnesses of Ravkans. Children will remember this as one of their legacy. Though the real truth will be buried by its predecessors. Himself and his comrade will put Alina's secret to die.

The white haired girl, who was halfway ashed, surrounded by people, was someone else. A girl he heard once called Ruby by grisha comrades. A plot.

He stood calm. But it felt too real with the lost. He lost Alina. His almost-queen.

No other way of wriggling his way to get to her to be his wife anymore. No persuading, no negotiating, no forcing... nothing. She was cremated in public. Alina was dead by publicity stunt. He had to move on.

He will miss her. He loved it most, when she quoted his speech. He replayed them in his head. She was a good pupil, always fully attention to his advice. When she gave him encouragement and gentle feedback, humbling him, he loved that too. But was it love? Was that love that choked his neck, knowing she will never be his? She would no longer walk beside him in the hallway back to her chamber, whilst he had tried his way to court her as Queen.

It was just business. At least at first. He thought she was easily persuaded. It should have been. He was a prince, rich, loved by the people, strong ally. It should have been easy to make her love him, he had thought. But he stood corrected. He was the weak one to fall for her in the end.

Now she probably will be happy. She better be, with that guy that she love. Away from the spotlight. Away from the threats. Away from himself. She must be glad she was away from a king, he thought in pettiness.

His ego was slightly hurt from that fact, though people wouldn't know. Because he hid it well. His expression was dignified, eyes slightly watering from the quenching smoke.

Perhaps Alina's genuinity was the precise fact that this was a big loss for him. He was jealous of her determination. Her kindness. Her beauty, even if she thought she doesn't have it. Saints, I lost her to someone else.

Giving away his mother's emerald ring was the best choice he ever made. It was the last meaningful thing he could give to her. The last thing. It was an expensive family heirloom, but at least he had something meaningful to give away to her.

His mother gave the ring. "Find a girl you love, Nikolai. Do not end up as miserable as I, your sad mother, damned to the king who stopped giving me his heart," her mother once spoke, "give this to the lucky girl. The one you love... you deserve it after what you and I have endured. Keep our kingdom mighty in peace and prosperity." Then the former queen boarded a flying sail with the former king, two squallers, and an inferni. Away to evacuate from the Ravkan soil.

The ring was Alina's now. It didn't matter if the ring was sold or thrown away. Even if Alina didn't return the favor of his court, he did not feel any regret for giving it freely. No one else was good enough to receive it.

Nikolai and his party did not leave until both of the cremated bodies were done. It took them until evening that the fire had ashed every bits of their bones. Infernis and guards held torches to light the darkness of the sky. Two squallers started collecting each ashes inside decorated urns each.

Then Nikolai left. The members with him on the stage, followed.

Alina might not stay beside him now and ever, but Ravka would. Even without her, he has to be ready, to lead Ravka to stand. His body, mind, and soul will not die for his nation and its people.

He was a king. He could not stay idle in a loss of romance. What he could afford, was his salvation to the country. His people. His identity.

Nikolai Lantsov was the King of Ravka.

Ravka will stand. He will bleed with it. He will make sure the Fjerdan, the Shu, the Kerch, and the Zemeni knew. Ravka will not crumble.

He will give his life as long as Ravka stands mighty. Even when his fingers had bared the Darkling's left over. His fingers bore rings of blackness by the skin. He will do anything to grow Ravka strong.

He was, and is, the king of Ravka.