Alina Starkov expected to wake up on a ship sailing across the True Sea, one that would take her far from Ravka, far from the Darkling and his mad crusade. Instead, she awoke in Os Alta to a devastating truth: the war was won nearly a century ago, her first love was dead, and she remembered nothing. Not even that, as part of her surrender, she agreed to a political marriage.

He swings her around, dancing with no purpose other than to torment her.

The Darkling, as usual, was in a terrible mood.

Alina usually appeared to Aleksander every day punctually at eleven.

Alina stared at the Darkling, looking at her hands and then back at him. There was still blood underneath her nails. Alina couldn't remember when it had gotten there.

She's not supposed to hate customers, and yet, there he is, the asshole with black eyes and bitter laughs.