A SYMPHONY OF SHADOWS | grishaverse

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sixteen

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She looked so peaceful, lying there, that Aleksander didn't want to disturb her.

He was usually the person who would sleep with someone and be gone when they woke up.

But he didn't want to be that person with Nerezza Adiram.

To be fair, they hadn't slept together.

Not in that way.

But still, he found the soft weight of her body against his comforting. Her slow breaths. She looked so much younger, asleep there, in the shadows of the dark room. But he could see the cracks in her porcelain through the first rays of dawn that seeped through from behind his curtains.

The scars that dug deeply into her flesh. Marring her face.

It was a miracle her eyes weren't damaged.

A horrible gnawing feeling rooted itself within the pit of Aleksander's stomach as he looked at them. Shame.

This was his work.

Nerezza had every right to be angry at him.

To hate him.

Not knowing why he did it, and realising it was a stupid idea, he slyly let his hand slip on top of her nightgown, carefully feeling through the silk.

He'd been told, that fateful day in the tent by the fold, that her side had also been grievously wounded.

Aleksander winced as he felt the foul rips in her flesh, the deepness of how far they scarred into her.

He did this.

It was his fault.

He shivered internally and let his hand travel further up her, until he reached her back, and cradled her to his chest.

Nerezza huffed slightly in her sleep and wrapped her hand around his waist.

Aleksander wanted to be sick.

"I don't blame you."

Her voice shocked him out of his stupor, had she been awake this entire time? He didn't know. Her voice was slightly rough and soft, it had a small accent to it.

Nerezza sunk into his arms and looked up, her eyes fluttering open. "So, don't blame yourself."

He cupped her face in his hand and ran a thumb over one of the scars. "This is my fault."

"I wasn't that pretty to begin with," she chuckled, "You didn't ruin anything important."

"What?" He blanched. Aleksander tried to mull over what he'd just heard. "You're the most beautiful woman I know."

"Genya exists."

"Genya's not my type."

Nerezza rose her eyebrows, "Oh really?" she cocked her head, slightly flirtatiously. "Who is your type then?"

"Hmm," Aleksander looked down at her and smirked, "Well," he ran his hands over her legs, "She's quite adept at running away and avoiding me." He pushed her away slightly and leaned down, giving him access to brush his lips against her stomach. "She's an excellent fighter." He took one of her hands in his, and kissed her calloused fingertips. "She's the greatest sharpshooter I've ever known."

His eyes flitted up now, higher, towards her face. Something in the air had changed.

"She's Suli."

Nerezza's breath hitched.

"She has curly hair."

He leaned down, and pressed his lips to one of the scars on her face. "She survived to reveal her nature as Grisha," he snarled lightly.

Nerezza whimpered. Oh saints.

Aleksander pressed his lips to hers, roughly and hungrily, kissing her with a drunken fervour. He made a groan from deep in his throat, pinning her under him but hovering slightly so he'd be sure not to crush her. She let her hands travel up his chest, pulling slightly on the collar of his shirt, moaning into the kiss.

Saints, this couldn't be real.

She was kissing the Black Heretic. The Darkling. Aleksander.

There was a fire that seemed to flow through her veins now, ravaging at her composure and leaving her paralysed by his touch.

"She's mine," Aleksander clarified, pulling away from the kiss and breathing heavily.

Nerezza could feel her veins going black, the shadows in the room seemed to multiply. But the way that he was looking at her made her realise that he could barely contain his own power either. She couldn't tell if the darkness was hers or Aleksander's.

He brushed a flyaway curl out of her face andstared at her with loving eyes. "My Queen," he finished, pressing his lipssoftly to her temple.