Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
YOU TAKE LIBERTIES
IT WAS SOON TO BE DUSK when Anya walked into one of the military tents. Nikolai was seated in a chair, hunched over a document and pressing something cold against his jaw where Alina had punched him. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, startled, then relaxed after recognizing her, his expression saying Oh, it's just you.
"Little Alina packs quite the punch, huh?" Anya said.
She didn't know how else to start a conversation, now that she was standing in front of a prince, not a privateer. This wasn't going to change her approach ― because why should someone's birth dictate the amount of respect they should be given? ― but it was still strange, being able to look at his real face. His eyes were hazel and warm, his hair golden even in the shadowed tent.
"I'm still shaken up," Nikolai responded, leaning back. "Do you think I'll manage to turn her back into a fan of mine?"
"Do you consider everyone to be your fan by default?"
His smile fell flat. "Not at all. Never dared to consider you one of them, anyway." He cleared his throat. "But I don't want Alina to hate me. It would mess up the plan a bit, don't you think? The whole taking back the country with a Saint by my side part."
Anya frowned, nibbing at her bottom lip. For the past hour or so she had been thinking about the same thing; whether the girl would ever trust them again. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
If she were in Alina's position, she'd recognize her own advantage and demand something grand. Probably a large sum of money, because what else was there to want in a world like theirs? But it wasn't like Alina to bargain, or engage in any other court-like subtleties. Nikolai couldn't buy her, and he couldn't force her to fight on his side, either.
But Anya wasn't the one planning to take the crown. Nikolai must have spent the last years, or at the very least months since the supposed death of Sankta Alina, scheming. He must have came up with a plan.
"I suppose hatred is deserved." She walked up to Nikolai's desk and moved the papers on it aside to rest her hands there and breathed deeply. "So what is your plan now?" Anya asked, looking into his eyes for signs of defiance.
Nikolai's gaze didn't leave her eyes for even a second, she saw him hesitate.
