Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
" I fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole,
Long story short it was a bad time
Pushed from the precipice "
―I BURY MY face in my hands as I sit in the furnished tent, one of the few that remains from the Grisha's camp next to Kribirsk. Mal is pacing back and forth, ranting to Alina who's seated at the wooden table beside me. Tolya and Tamar guard the entrance to the tent, though it's yet to be revealed whether we're being held as prisoners or being protected right now, and the two twins' expressions are unreadable as ever, which doesn't help me in deciding which it is. The sound of Alina's fist hitting Sturmhond's face was slightly satisfying, especially considering how frustrated I am with everyone. I want to lie down and not get back up, like ever.
"You're lucky you didn't get shot!" Mal exclaims angrily.
"It was worth it," Alina replies. "Besides, no one's going to shoot the Sun Summoner."
"You just punched a prince, Alina. I guess we can add one more act of treason to our list."
A prince. Right. Sturmhond isn't Sturmhond. He's Nikolai Lantsov.
My initial attraction to the supposed privateer was always undeniable, but I truly don't know how to react after discovering who he really is. I won't act like his face doesn't help, but this compromises everything between us. I'd assume I kind of fell for his personality, but if that entire persona was a ruse, then what else was fake about everything that happened between us on the Volkvolny?
"First of all, are we so sure he really is a prince? And second, you're just jealous," Alina counters to Mal's previous statement.
"Of course I'm jealous," the tracker snorts. "I thought I was going to get to punch him. That isn't the point, though."
Alina releases a small sigh and a gentle silence blankets all of us as we try to figure out what to do. My best option right now is to run and pray for the best. Clearly, the 'client' Sturmhond wanted us to meet was him, Ravka's second prince. But I don't want to associate with him, or the King for that matter, especially not after being mistreated by them.
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter if Sturmhond is a fairytale prince or the most attractive privateer I've ever met, not to mention the only privateer I've ever met, because I'm prioritizing myself over the notion of some kind of childish romance.
I should run. I will run.
But first, I'll hear him out, I think to myself.
There's a sliver of a chance that I might actually see reason in whatever it is that Sturmhond is going to offer us, and in that case, it'll be beneficial for me to not try and flee.
