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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Aleksander's POV
ᗩᒪIᑎᗩ GIᐯES ᗰE that concentrated look that she uses when she is suspicious of something I've done. The golden stitching of her kefta glimmers in the dressing table's mirror. I watch her comb her snowy-white hair which has acquired a glossy sheen about it over time with help from Tailors. Naturally, her hair is thin and wispy since it was the result of exposure to merzost. Dark magic seems to leave ruin in its wake with whomever it tempts, not excluding myself.
After Alina finishes brushing her hair, she starts to weave it into a simple braid, keeping her focus on me all the while. I note that she never styles her hair unless she is meeting with someone important, yet she has no meetings scheduled.
I finish getting ready for the morning, clasping the top button of my kefta. Then, I advance toward her, planting a kiss on the top of her completed coif. She just shoots me an unpleased glance through the mirror and without turning around, she says, "Where were you last night?"
A question no man wants to hear, but where most think about their midnight drinking, gambling, or infidelity, I think about the bloodied handkerchief stashed away in my pocket; all the times I have slipped away to free a hoarse cough or massage my throbbing head. Not once have I questioned my choice to hide it from Alina. Oblivion is sometimes better than worrying about a temporary predicament and that is precisely what she would do. But I told her everything will be alright, and it will be. David will find a cure. I will keep my nichevo'ya to protect my family. Alina will not have to carry the burden of fretting about my health.
"You didn't come to bed until late last night," she prods when I don't give her an answer.
I just smile and wrap my arms around her, urging her back closer to my chest. "I was up late working," I say, which is partially true. I tip her chin up, stealing a kiss from over her shoulder. "I'll make it up to you tonight."
"You can make it up to me by telling me the truth." Alina stands up abruptly to meet my contrite expression. "Tell me that you are unwell."
A part of me, the best part that Alina installed in me without even trying, wants me to tell her the truth. But that would require admitting to myself that I am sick, and I have yet to give up hope. I have lived for centuries. I will get better. This is just a mild inconvenience.
"I'm perfectly fine, my Alina."
She scoffs and immediately backs away from my touch as if I had just burned her. Alina pulls a pair of black boots from her wardrobe and crouches to pull them up her leg.
"Where are you going?" I ask quickly. She has new papers to look over and sign, but nothing that would require her to look presentable. I gradually put myself between Alina and the door, which she notices instantly. She rolls her eyes, yanking the last knot of her boot into a bow with a snappy jerk of her wrist.
