the power in a name

Part 1/1

Grey eyes, framed by black lashes. Long and dark and haunted. There were hollows under them, purpled like a bruise, but beautiful nonetheless.

Even now, I admired of him. Even after everything.

"You are on my throne."

Satisfaction unfurled in my stomach. I looked to where the Darkling stood, tall and callous in the throne room entry. His voice rang out loud against the marble walls. I sat sprawled across his chair, one leg resting on an armrest and my head propped up on my hand.

"I am."

His expression was unamused. Slowly, he walked from the doorway and stepped up the dais. I didn't move. With a flick of his hand, all of the oprichniki filed out. He didn't speak again until we were alone. Not once did his gaze leave me, flickering from the curve of my legs, to the arch of my spine, the unconcerned curl of my fingers.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Short and to the point. He had been nothing but short and to the point with me since our game started a year ago. I ignored him for a moment, tracing the golden swirls on the side of the chair.

"I think..." I paused. I looked up carefully, keeping my voice level. "That I would like my seat to be next to yours."

He blinked, his grey eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Your seat?"

There was an empty space on the platform where the tsaritsa's throne once stood. It was removed after I refused to take it, and still I hadn't figured out why. Was it to send me a message? To remove the constant reminder of my rejection? Symbols and gestures meant a lot to him. The Darkling was many things, and the more I got to know him, sentimental seemed to be one of them.

"You've changed your mind," he stated simply. Flatly. "After your shows of defiance and ethical superiority?"

"This isn't about ethics."

"Then what is this about?"

"Power," I said simply. It was the thing that connected us, the thing that bound us, the only language we truly shared. If anything, he understood power. The Darkling's only response was an exhale- and then he tipped his chin back, scrutinizing me from under his lashes.

"I said a year ago that my power was yours, and that yours is mine," I continued. "That is true. You have my power... at least as much as I consent to give you. Earn my trust, earn my loyalty, Darkling, and you can have all of it. But you will only get from me what I get from you."

He stepped forward slowly, one foot in front of the other, folding his arms behind his back.

"You want a throne," he said skeptically. "You want a seat of power."

He sounded doubtful, yes. But maybe I imagined it when he sounded a little like something else, too.

"I want a voice. I want to make decisions that are respected."

"And what would be your first step to getting that?"

I considered that for a moment, spinning a pale strand of hair around my finger.

"A new title. The people of Ravka now see me as nothing more than your consort," I spat. If there was anything about me that currently needed some patching up, it was certainly my reputation. He had done a decent job of removing my good influence in Ravka. Now when people thought of the Sun Summoner, they thought of nothing. I was nothing, only a ghost of the hope they once held.

"My dear Alina," he said. "Moya sankta, moya solnishka, moya tsaritsa. Your title does not matter- it is your power that does."

I stopped twirling my hair and looked at him. His impassive expression actually made me straighten in the seat.