You Might Be King Of Half The World, But You Won't Own Me As Well | Darklina

Alina Starkova was never an orphan. Discovered by Grisha examiners in the valley of Dva Stolba when she is nine years old, she is taken from her troubled family and grows up in the Little Palace as the Darkling's protege. Alina is forever caught between the expectations of powerful men; the pressure of being a Sun Summoner, Sankta and the Black General's little pet tears her in every direction. Perhaps no surprise, then, that she grows up troubled and rebellious. With a hatred for being controlled, a fierce temper, a knack for seeing through lies, and the power of a god in the palm of her hand, Alina is hardly the pawn, saint or consort everyone seems to want her to be. She does not care; her life is her own, and she won't let anyone change that.

(or in other words, I get sick of Alina not making a single meaningful decision for herself. Imagine a Sun Summoner at full strength, politically savvy, yet determined to be a rebel without a cause)

*

The girl who many knew as Sankta Alina was sprawled out on her bed, dead drunk. She had been dumped there unceremoniously by the oprichniki who had the delightful job of hauling her back from a gambling den in the outer city. Her hair was a birdsnest, fanning out around her head. There was blood on her knuckles and dirt on her face. Her dress was that of a commoner, and none too modest either. The Darkling frowned as he took in the low neckline and rather tight long skirts. Not that he didn't appreciate the shape of her, but he hated the idea that lesser men had been gawping at her all night, not realising who exactly stood before them.

"Alina," His voice was sharp, causing her eyes to blearily blink open.

The sight of him seemed to sober the girl up somewhat, but not nearly enough. She groaned immediately, hand moving to cover her eyes. "Go away,"

She was the only one who dared speak to him with such little respect. The Darkling's eyes narrowed.