Blood and Water - The Darkling

Chapter 7: Fabricated Fate

*Unedited

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"𝕴𝖛𝖆𝖓, is this where you tell me to just talk to him?"

The Heartrender grunts, "He probably deserves your silence."

My mouth hangs open. Did Ivan, the most loyal follower, just side with me over the Darkling?

I snap my jaw shut and ask, "Are you feeling alright?"

He just sends me a questioning look, "Da."

Huh. I could ponder over the idea that his relationship has something to do with his new outlook on my own but before I can we reach the grand door leading to my quarters.

We stand there for a moment. My brown eyes scan over the intricate flowers. The eclipse. The star. Forever entwined. Are Aleksander and I like that? So connected that we can never detangle ourselves? Part of me hopes so but another part, the one that is independent to her core, despises the idea of it.

"You can't stand there for the rest of your life."

I huff, "Watch me."

Ivan tilts his head but shrugs, "Fine. Be a coward."

My spine straightens as though I were hit with lightning, "I'm many things but not a coward."

"Could have fooled me," the Heartrender replies, barely able to contain a smirk.

I sigh and point a finger at him, "I know exactly what you are doing."

The innocent look he tries to pull is so bad that I almost feel sorry for him. He says, "What am I doing?"

My hair shifts around my shoulders as I shake my head, "You're not nearly as smooth as you think you are. Regardless, it worked."

Then I nod at the oprichniki guarding the door. They bow and open it for me. Ivan shoots me his best reassuring smile, which somehow still looks like a grimace.

But his surprising methods of encouragement carry me forward. I saunter into the war room without even knocking.

Aleksander is waiting for me, standing guard over a beautifully staged dinner setting. A silk table cloth the same unique color as my kefta covers the entire war table. Shining silverware and white china has been set up for two. Black and blue candles send flickering light throughout the darkened room.

Somehow carefully crafted curtains only allow pinpricks of evening sun into the room, giving the impression of a starry sky. A single vase with an unbloomed moonflower sits in the middle of the two place settings. I spot a familiar bottle of wine, the same one he gifted me for the feast of Sankta Anastasia.

Even though I know that he's attempting to butter me up, I can't help but feel like it is working.

The Darkling pulls out my chair in a frustratingly regal motion. I take a seat and he fluidly takes the one opposite me.

Despite wanting to compliment the display, I keep my lips sealed in a neutral expression. Ziva was right: stubborn would have been the better adjective.

My lover decides to break the silence first, "I hope you enjoy everything I have prepared for you this evening, Lana."

I cock my head, "You know that I will, just as you know that none of it will completely assuage my anger."

The man pours wine into our glasses as he nods, "I do."

I open myself to our bond to try and sense what he is currently feeling. However, it's jumbled and confusing. What is strangely like nervousness ripples through our connection. But how could someone as ancient as him, someone as skilled at manipulating those around him, be feeling something as mundane as nervousness? Then it hits me.