Chapter Text
“I’ll only be a minute.”
Alina feels Aleksander’s lips on her forehead, fleeting, before he retreats into his study, leaving her alone. She sinks back into his blissfully soft sheets, too sleepy and sated to even wonder where he’s going.
She hears low voices in the next room. Time passes; she couldn’t say how much. Then she feels the mattress dip as he climbs back into bed with her, shedding the dressing gown he must have put on at some point. His arms are around her again, and she rests her cheek on his chest, letting his power caress hers and fill her with a warmth that makes her sigh happily.
Part of her knew this was where things were going between them, she thinks, from the moment he grabbed her arm in the grisha tent. There’s something inevitable about the two of them. Something that just feels right.
When he speaks, she can feel it as a rumble beneath her. “I’ve asked Ivan to make arrangements for the wedding. Tomorrow, in the chapel on the palace grounds, should suit.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but once they do, Alina sits up, startled. Suddenly, she feels self-conscious about the fact that she is wearing nothing. Neither is he, but he might as well be fully buttoned up in his kefta, for how much authority he’s exuding now, lying on his back and looking up at her evenly. His voice holds no trace of the softness and vulnerability she saw just moments ago; he has shifted seamlessly from Aleksander back into the cold General she remembers from the first days of their acquaintance.
And he can’t be serious. “Who’s getting married?” She keeps her voice light, as if she thinks he’s joking. She certainly hopes he is.
“You and I, Alina. I thought that would be obvious.” He hasn’t moved, as if discussing his own impending marriage should require no more thought than the choice of what to wear tomorrow, or what to serve for dinner.
She knows he’s a dangerous man; knows she should be cautious; and yet she can’t help but bristle at his presumption. “I don’t know how that could possibly be obvious, since you haven’t asked me.”
“Marry me, Alina.” She’s pretty sure he hasn’t even blinked.
She rolls her eyes. “Wow, how could I possibly resist such a romantic, heartfelt proposal?”
He sits up now, too, and for a moment Alina wonders whether she’s gone too far. Aleksander, she could tease, flirt with. The General is another matter entirely.
His voice is ice cold when he speaks again, and although he doesn’t touch her, his eyes bore into her sharply enough to make her shiver. “Romance has nothing to do with this. I will not allow rumors to tarnish my Sun Summoner’s reputation.” She doesn’t miss the fact that he calls her my Sun Summoner. The possession in his voice is unmistakable. “We will marry, and avoid any possibility of scandal.”
“It’s not as if I’m some blushing virgin, Aleksander.” She uses his name to try to restore some little piece of the intimacy they had shared just a few moments ago. To try to bring back a little of Aleksander’s warmth to the General’s cold face. “And I can’t imagine I’m the first grisha you’ve taken to your bed.”
His icy facade doesn’t crack in the slightest. “This is not a topic for discussion.” He lies back down, hands clasped over his chest in a posture that might be relaxed, if she didn’t hear the steel in his voice. “Genya will come by to prepare you in the morning. Good night, Alina.”
And just like that, she is dismissed. She steals one more glance at him, to find his eyes have already shut. As if she is nothing more to him than a servant, a soldier, bound to do his will without complaint.
Well, if this is nothing to him beyond a political calculation, a public alliance, then she won’t allow herself to feel anything, either. If she’s not worth his energy, then he won’t be worth hers.
Holding her head up as high as she can, she grabs her dress from where he had tossed it aside not long before and steps into it, fastening the buttons on the back as far up as she can without assistance; walks out into the war room and picks up her kefta from the table, trying not to knock any more figurines over as she does; buttons it as quickly as she can; avoids glancing in the mirror to examine the disaster that must be her hair, and simply hopes that she won’t run into anyone on her way back to her own rooms.
She’s in luck there, at least - most people seem to be at the fete still, so she can slip back unnoticed. Not that she really cares about the gossips for her own sake, but she hates the idea of someone spotting her and proving that his concerns are, in fact, valid.
Back in her own room, curled up in her own bed, she tries to figure out how this evening spiraled so badly out of control. When she kissed him this morning - was that really just this morning? - she had no idea things would escalate so quickly. Sure, sex, maybe. But marriage?
To the extent that she’s ever thought about marriage, it’s always been a vague, far-off prospect. If she’s being honest with herself, she’s always sort of assumed that she would marry Mal, although it’s been a long time since she’s permitted her daydreams to tend in that direction.
And yet, she would be lying if she said she didn’t find the idea of marrying Aleksander to be more than a little appealing. They’re quite well suited physically, if this evening is any indication. And, as the Sun Summoner, she imagines she’ll be spending much of the rest of her life fighting by his side, working to make life better for grisha, for all of Ravka.
Why shouldn’t she fill that role as his wife? Why shouldn’t she wear a black kefta to match his, and wake up each morning by his side? Why shouldn’t she take advantage of the power and influence being his wife would presumably grant her?
But the way he chilled to her so quickly tonight, the way he made this significant decision without consulting her, or listening to her concerns - that worries her. She may like and respect him, but that doesn’t mean she wants to fall into the role of his submissive, silent wife. The way he took control may have thrilled her when it was between the sheets, but that doesn’t mean she wants everything in their lives to work that way.
It’s too much to think about, on a day that’s already been too full of activity. A small part of her is actually glad he’s made the decision for her, freeing her from having to consider it, even as the rest of her rebels at having her choice stolen like this. Either way, there isn’t much she can do about it; she is his soldier, after all.
***
The wedding is small, at least, for which she is grateful. She had thought the Tsar would demand that one of his representatives be present, but the only attendees are grisha, and just a handful of them, at that.
She’s wearing another fine black kefta with gold trim, her hair pinned up in some elaborate confection that took Genya a ridiculous amount of time to construct. She knows she looks stunning like this, her cheeks rosy with power, but when her eyes meet his down the aisle of the little church and she sees the naked admiration in his gaze, she feels a shiver creep down her back all the same. His eyes never leave hers, throughout the blessedly short ceremony, and she feels his power thrum through their joined hands.
She tries to pay attention to what the priest is saying, although it’s difficult to stay focused, with Aleksander watching her so intently. It crossed her mind this morning that the Apparat might insist on officiating, so she’s grateful the creepy man is nowhere in sight.
The grisha wedding vows are unfamiliar to her, and she likes them. She likes that the vows establish them as equals. That they acknowledge her power as a part of her, in a way she knows Mal never would have.
When they get to the traditional vows, she has to fight down her distaste. She does pledge to obey, when prompted, but she can’t meet his eyes as she does. She’s not certain she’s truly willing to honor that vow, if it comes down to it. Even as his soldier, his Sun Summoner, she wonders if there might someday come a time when her loyalty to him is tested, and she can’t be certain how she might react.
But then he pledges to cherish her, and his eyes are surprisingly warm when he says the words: an echo of what she’s seen in those intimate moments when it’s just the two of them and he allows his guard to drop just a little, for her. His hands squeeze hers in a gesture she chooses to interpret as reassurance.
Perhaps, for all that she dislikes the way it began, this marriage won’t be so bad after all.
Her resolve to make the best of things lasts for three days, until Baghra arrives and destroys that fantasy with knowledge that makes her ache long after the Little Palace is far behind her.