A year after Alina Starkov tears down the Shadow Fold, she is finally able to settle into her peaceful life. There is no more war with Ravka. The Darkling, once her enemy, is now a loyal, protective husband, and a father to their adoptive daughter...
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"ᒪOOK ᗩT IT! Look at it! Look at it! Look at it!" Amelia says excitedly, bouncing on our bed. The fresh, morning light filters through the curtains, reflecting off of her new kefta. The black fabric hugs her frame snugly, accentuating the gray and blue embroidery with sequins sewn in to make it shine. Aleksander insisted it be black as another one of his lessons. Aleksander wants Amelia to embrace her power and he wants to make sure everyone knows about it. I hide my frown at the change in color from the original summoner's blue. "It looks lovely," I say with a feigned smile. Aleksander does not miss the dismay in my voice. He never does.
Regardless, Coraline did a beautiful job on the detailing of Amelia's kefta. The sequins in the embroidery make it shimmer in sunlight.
He says, "You look stunning, my Little Princess."
"I'm going to go show everyone!" Amelia beams. She bounces off the bed and runs through the door eagerly. I'm not sure who she is planning to show. The palace remains barren besides a few trusted employees and Aleksander's wretched nichevo'ya. Everywhere I go, there is one right around the corner watching my every move.
I stare blankly at the open door where Amelia had left through, biting my lip in thought. I jump slightly when the Darkling slips his arms around my waist, pulling me close so that my back is fully against his chest. "What is it, my Alina?" His breath is warm on my neck, making goosebumps scatter across my skin.
"I just. . . I feel like dressing her in a black kefta is equal to painting a target on her back. The world isn't exactly kind in the face of difference and we have a lot of enemies."
He hums and runs his fingers across the skin of my shoulder, following the curve up my neck. He says, "By now, most of our enemies know she is the princess. They might as well know she can defend herself from an attack too. That is what those colors on her kefta mean. They are protection. They are strength."
I turn around in his arms to face him. "They are imperilment," I argue, making his eyes dart to mine. "Everyone who wears a kefta is a target of drüskelle who are still furious about what I did to their king. And you can take as many precautions as you want within these walls, but out there, your nichevo'ya cannot guard every street, every building, for an adversary to destroy. And you cannot keep us trapped inside either. Someday, you will have to let us live." I step out of his grip and turn to leave, but he snatches my wrist and holds it tight.
"When will you understand that I am doing all of this for you?"
My tone is grim and dripping with venom when I say, "When will you understand that I never asked for any of this? This is not your life to control and manipulate. It's mine." I rip my hand from his grip and storm out of the room.
He is trying to make me think I have my freedom, but I don't have it. It's taken until now to realize that I never did. I may have accepted my marriage to him, but ever since the end of the war, he's had me right where he wants me: trapped within the gates of the Grand Palace while he claims it is for my safety. And he does truly believe this is for my protection, but that is not the full story. There is an occasional fragment of suppressed emotion that slips through the bond we share from the amplifiers at my mention of leaving. Fear. He fears that if I leave, I will never come back.
