Darya was, Aleksander had to admit to himself, a better Queen than Alina would have been. He tried to picture Alina befriending, or at least being friendly and polite towards, every other lady in court, or organising function and events, acting a warm and polished hostess, and every scenario he pictured ended in some form of disaster. Darya's charity and gentle manner - not to mention, being the daughter of an old and powerful otkazat'sya West Ravkan family - helped to solidify his rule far more effectively, too. The people adored Alina as a living saint, but there would always been rumours he had forced her, trapped her, corrupted her. She would be bored at court, which would no doubt lead to trouble; trouble being the death of some important diplomat, or an insult with potential to restart a war.

Not that Alina's absence did not ache like a missing limb. (In fact, it plagued his mind every night before he went to sleep, and jumped out at him every now and again during the day when some foolish thing reminded him of her, but that was besides the point). He supposed at least Darya could talk to him now without looking ready to melt through the floor. 

His wife seemed far more comfortable these days, both in her position and towards him. They had an easy companionship that demanded very little, and in recent months ate dinner together most nights. Which was why he noticed that she seemed oddly reluctant for her mother and sisters' visit, nine months since they had been in Os Alta for the wedding.

Aleksander remembered coming across his wife with her mother the day after the wedding, the woman gripping her daughter's wrist in a white-knuckled vice, hissing something into her ear that had the maid's eyes widening and Darya's face go carefully blank. And then Darya sent her away, clearly for the first time ever. He supposed it may have been some sort of misunderstanding, or that Anastasia Glinskaya was simply a hateful woman; honestly, at the time he cared little, particularly since Alina was leaving later that day. But now, it made him wonder.

The Tsaritsa was clearly glad to see her sisters again, hugging the younger girl tightly and rolling her eyes at something the middle sister said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She embraced her mother too, though with none of the warmth that she showed even to the servants, let alone the rest of her family. Interesting.

Aleksander did not make a habit of visiting his wife's chambers. Their days were spent largely apart unless there was an official function. Darya was always busy with some charitable venture, or entertaining the ladies of court, or doing something entirely solitary such as reading or gardening, or attending the theatre with some of her friends, whilst he himself was running the country. Nonetheless, something made him linger outside her rooms during her mother's visit, holding up a hand to the guards outside the door who had offered to show him inside.

"And is there any particular reason you are not yet with child?" Anastasia Glinskaya's sharp voice could be heard, as the door was ajar slightly. "You did not lie to me when you said that your marriage had been consummated, did you? I swear to all the saints, Darya, if I found out you batted your pretty eyelashes and cried some pretty tears to get the Tsar to feel sorry for you and leave you alone - "

"The marriage was consummated," He could hear the embarrassment in his wife's voice, despite the hollow tone, and realised she spoke to her mother how she'd spoken to him when they were newly married.

"Then are you barren? After nine months of marriage, you should either have a newborn or be showing signs of pregnancy. How often does he come to your bed?" Silence. "Well? Answer me, Darya!"

"It does not concern you," She said, quiet and tremulous; it must take a lot for her to stand up to the vile woman.

"It does not concern me?" Anastasia scoffed. "Surely you realise, daughter, that you are not fully the Queen of Ravka until you have given birth to an heir? Your position is not secure until you have the Tsar's children. You are a beautiful girl - any man would be glad to have you in his bed. Though, is it that he does not enjoy you? Is that what you're too embarrassed to tell me? Is your hair not dark enough, your legs not open enough, your eyes not slanted enough - "

"Mother!" It took a lot for Darya to snap at anyone at all. Aleksander felt a smile rise to his lips at her finally losing her temper, even as fury boiled in his veins at the way this old cow spoke of Alina. Anastasia Glinskaya had once been as beautiful as her daughter, if he remembered correctly, and still was a handsome woman even though she had faded with age, but bitterness and petty cruelty made her utterly detestable.

"Perhaps you just need to be more bold, Darya. He clearly doesn't like his women to be shrinking violets. Perhaps I should hire a whore to teach you how. Although," A more spiteful note entered Anastasia's voice. "You would enjoy that a little too much, I fear. I haven't forgotten why I had to send all your young maids away, nor why I had to have you chaperoned around young ladies as well as young gentlemen. I saw your pretty serving girl. I saw the way you look at her. Is it her who slips into your bed at night and makes you sigh?"

Well, there was the answer to a lot of questions he'd had about his wife. It all made so much sense that he should have noticed it before. That was an interesting thought, though, as crassly as the woman had worded it. Aleksander had noticed, but not paid attention to, how well his wife got along with her maid. Surely she was referring to the handmaid, with dark curly hair and a full figure, who was pretty enough to turn the heads of many noblemen, let alone common guards and servants. Was she sleeping with the Tsaritsa? It mattered little to him, of course, but if anyone was to find out then the consequences for both of them might be... unfavourable.

Anastasia was somehow still going. "No wonder your husband is repulsed by you, unnatural and perverse as you are - "

"Enough," Aleksander stepped into the room to see his wife unsuccessfully blinking away tears. Darya was sat in a chair with her mother leaning over her, both hands on the armrests as she hissed into her daughter's cringing face. The scene alone was enough to anger him - it seemed like picking on an easy, vulnerable target - let alone what had been said. "I'll thank you not to manhandle my wife, Lady Glinskaya,"

Anastasia had jumped out of her skin when he entered, stepping back from Darya and painting a false smile on her face, though her eyes showed some fear. "Forgive me, moi Tsar. I was just sharing some sound advice, mother to daughter. Women's business, you know. Darya can be so naive at times, as I'm sure you understand,"

"No, I do believe it was my business you were enquiring so indelicately into," He said, dangerously soft, making her face pale. "It is a grave offence to insult the Queen, let alone make her cry," He offered a hand to Darya, who was still wiping away tears, her pale face blotchy and sad. "Moya Tsaritsa. Send for your handmaid to help get you ready, or else we will be late this evening,"

She took his hand in her own tiny one, letting him pull her to her feet. Still silent, clearly not trusting herself to speak. The fact she shrank towards him, away from her mother, when not even half a year ago she had been too scared to even look him in the eye, said a lot. "Where are we going?"

He thought quickly. "Have you forgotten, Dasha? I said I would take you to the theatre, to make up for being too busy to go with you last time," Nothing of the sort had happened, of course, but he felt the childish desire to make her mother look like a fool.

That earned a watery smile at the familiar nickname he had never used before. "I would like that very much,"

It was the beautiful young maid that Darya summoned to help ready herself, in an amusing display of defiance towards her awful mother. With the two of them in the other room behind a screen, helping her change into a hastily-chosen evening gown, Aleksander turned to Anastasia Glinskaya, who had felt the need to linger.

"Speak of the Sun Summoner in that way again, and I will have you flogged," He said casually. At her sharp intake of breath - both indignation and fear - he continued. "Speak to your daughter like that again, and I will cut out your tongue,"

The woman opened her mouth, once, then closed it again. Furious, but more scared than she was angry. "My apologies for whatever you heard, moi Tsar," She tried to talk herself out of it. "It was just a mother's concern for her daughter, you understand. Darya's position is not secure until she has a child - for the good of the realm, of course. Also, as a loyal subject of Ravka, it is improper for a Queen to have such... sinful desires as I know she does,"

"I threaten to remove your tongue and you continue to wag it at me?" He said, carelessly cruel. "Lord Glinsky is a respectable man - he would not be pleased to hear of his wife's banishment from court, I am sure?" She gawped at him, horrified and, worse, surprised. What had she been expecting? "If I find you in these rooms again, I will have you forcibly removed from Os Alta. Darya is the Queen of Ravka, not an errant child to scold. Have some respect,"

Lady Glinskaya's cheeks flushed bright pink. She curtseyed and left without a word. Aleksander left after her, not having missed the muffled laughter from behind the dressing screen at his words and the unmistakable sounds of a hand clapping over a mouth.

*

"How much did you hear?" Darya asked in the carriage on their way to the theatre. She was dressed in a pale pink gown that suited her well, wrapped in a white fox-fur mantle. Beside him, all in black, she could not have looked more different.

"Enough," He said. "Your mother is a hateful woman,"

That earned him a faint smile. "She is," It seemed freeing, for her to admit that and have someone else agree.

"Though, I was slightly intrigued when she mentioned having to send all your pretty maids away," He said, a smile playing at his lips to let her know he wasn't serious. "Is innocent little Dasha not so innocent after all?"

She scowled at him; well, more a pout, really. "She walked in on... something we should have hidden better. I was only thirteen. It meant nothing. Well, not nothing, but Mother... overreacted. Since then, and before, really, she's been determined to think the worst of me, whether it's her business or not,"

"Mothers often do that," Aleksander found himself saying.

She perked up in interest at that unusually personal piece of information. "Was yours the same?"

He hesitated. "She taught me that I was above everyone," He summoned a tendril of shadow, which she eyed with interest and a hint of apprehension. "Yet was surprised when I had loftier ambitions than living alone in the woods, drifting from place to place. She was convinced I was going to repeat the curse of our ancestor, the Black Heretic," Lies interwoven with truth came easily, as he had been used to nothing else with everyone but Alina for centuries.

"Well, it wasn't you who cut the Grand Palace in half," 

Aleksander chuckled at that, suddenly finding himself rather fond of his wife. It wasn't love, far from it, and paled in comparison to what he felt towards Alina, but he enjoyed Darya's company much more than most others'. "You know, I cannot remember the last time I went to the theatre,"

"That doesn't surprise me," His wife said. "If you hate it, do not feel like you have to stay. I wanted to thank you, though, for offering to go with me. It did shut her up,"

"Just because I have always been too busy fighting wars to go, does not mean I will hate it," He said. "Besides, it is good for the people to see their Tsar and Tsaritsa in public together," His lip curled. "A good thing you do not flinch from me anymore,"

"I never did that where anyone could see," She said primly. "And you didn't give me much reason to not be afraid of you,"

"I suppose I did not," He granted. "Though, does that mean I don't scare you now?"

She sniffed. "Not now I know you will make up a trip to the theatre to win a petty victory over a sour old woman,"

*

Irina was there to greet her in her chambers when she returned, with an understanding smile.

"That was unexpectedly kind of the Tsar," She said, helping her out of her white fur mantle (a beautiful piece that, like most of her clothes, Irina had designed herself). "To get you out of there like he did. Though I must say I enjoyed the threats more,"

"I think it was more out of pettiness than kindness," Dasha giggled. "Does it make me a terrible person if I agree with you?"

"Of course not!" The other girl grinned. "What did she say to you, before, to put that look on his face?"

Saints, where did she start? "She was asking - well, demanding to know - why I'm not with child yet. And wasn't being very nice about it. And then she insulted the Sun Summoner, not knowing he was listening,"

To her surprise, Irina brushed off the latter like it was irrelevant. "'Wasn't being very nice about it'? I heard how she was the day after your wedding. You don't have to downplay it to me. Why on earth was she calling you sinful, of all things?" 

There was a keen sort of curiosity in that question that made Dasha clam up at once. "A misunderstanding when I was young, that's all,"

Her friend seemed to understand she didn't want to speak of it, and, blessedly, dropped the subject. "You don't have to tell me if it's upsetting. Just... let me know you're alright, Dasha. I hated coming in to see you tear-eyed like that," A weak smile tugged at her lips. "If you'd told me the Tsar had made you cry, for a moment I think I might have slapped him," 

Her mouth fell open as she realised the other girl meant that, deeply touched, and not letting herself read anything into that. She would stand up for me the same way Elena would, surely that's all she means by it. "Don't be silly," She laughed, a little choked. "And of course I'm alright. I heard her be told off by the Darkling, which could easily have been a childhood fantasy of mine,"

Irina laughed too at that. "I'm glad. Can I hug you, at least? I know propriety would call it disgraceful for a maid to hug her mistress, but everyone needs a hug sometimes,"

"I don't see you as my maid, Ira," It was easy for Dasha to say, closing her arms around the taller girl without hesitation. She was short enough to rest her head against Irina's shoulder; it felt right, somehow. "And I hope you don't just see me as your Queen. You're..." What could she say, without scaring her off? "My closest, most trusted friend,"

"Yes," There was an odd note to Irina's voice. "The very best of friends,"

*

The first time Dasha sent for Genya Safina, it was more out of curiosity than any particular need. Irina was more than talented enough at styling her clothes and hair, and (not to sound arrogant) her face needed very little work. However, that evening was to be the first large court event she'd had a hand in planning, with the extensive help of the Head Housekeeper, and lords and ladies from all over Ravka and beyond would be attending. She wanted to look her best.

Genya was beautiful, she realised when the young woman arrived. Almost intimidatingly so. She wore a Corporalki kefta with blue embroidery, which Dasha had never seen before, and carried an air of brisk efficiency with her as she entered the Queen's chambers. Her face was unsmiling.

"Moya Tsaritsa," She offered a brief, flawless curtsey, setting down her box of supplies on a nearby table.

"Miss Safina," Dasha said warmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for indulging me - I can only imagine you must have grown weary of attending queens after so many years in Tatiana's delightful company,"

That won a small, sly smile from Genya, and her posture eased slightly. "Weary is one word for it, your Grace. If you would like to take a seat?" Dasha sat in front of the mirror. Genya looked her up and down rather critically. "What would you like me to do for you? You are in no need of the level of maintenance that Tatiana Lantsov demanded," Was that a compliment? She wasn't sure.

"I should hope not," Dasha shuddered. "Just do what you feel is best - your taste is far more refined than my own, I'm sure,"

The young woman smiled at that. "My, you are very different from your predecessor, your Grace. And from my other charge, for that matter. Are you always so alarmingly nice?" Another questionable compliment.

"Who was your other charge?" She asked.

"I was assigned to Alina Starkova from the day she arrived at the Little Palace aged nine," Genya said lightly, though watched for her reaction. "The Tsar - then the General - believed it would be good for her to have a friend, even if there was no need for a lady's maid at that age,"

Ah. If she was Alina's friend, and they had grown up together, no wonder she was a little standoffish with the wife of the man her friend loved. Now she mentioned it, Dasha vaguely remembered Alina dancing with a red-haired Corporalki at the first ball in Os Alta she had attended.

"Was it you who helped her ready for my wedding?" She asked with a small smile. "She looked absolutely beautiful - your credentials speak for themselves,"

It was Genya's turn to laugh. "Saints, you really are too nice. That was genuine, wasn't it? I'd have been furious if anyone had done that to me,"

Dasha shrugged. "I was only angry because I begged my mother not to put me in that black dress for the ceremony, and was proven right when Alina looked so much better in hers. But she was so kind during the banquet afterwards, I could hardly hold a grudge. She's definitely... herself, isn't she?"

The other girl looked amused. "Very much so," She turned her eyes back to the mirror, suddenly all business. "You have a captivating face - your cheekbones are as high as mine, which are the result of years of work. It would be a shame to Tailor you too much. I would advise just making your hair shine, and adding a small tint on your lips? Perhaps even out your skin tone slightly as well, and a small colour around the eyes to bring out that lovely blue? What are you wearing tonight, this one?"

She gestured to the gown on the form nearby. It was new, and one of the most stunning garments she had ever had the pleasure of owning. Irina had designed it for her, sketching on her notepad with a graphite pencil with Dasha peering over her shoulder. Her friend knew her and what suited her well. It was cut to elongate her small stature rather than drown it, emphasising her waist; dainty, sophisticated and closer cut, rather than the extravagent fashions with excessive fabric that had been popular in court during the Lantsovs reign. The Queen set the tone for ladies fashion, Dasha had realised, and was more than glad she had Irina to advise her on her clothes. This particular gown was in her favourite shade of pastel blue, with intricate leaf-and-blossom accents in a darker shade around the hem, collar and sleeves.

Genya appraised the gown, making a noise of approval. "Irina Azarova's work?"

"Yes," She smiled, glad Irina was well-known enough now to be getting recognition for her clever eye. "It's to go with white-gold and diamond jewels," Her necklace, earrings and tiara were perhaps the most indulgent part of her wear that evening.

"Good. Silver tones suit your skin much better than something warmer would," As she spoke, Genya began to work, passing her hands alternatively over Dasha's face and her toolkit.

The changes were subtle, and did not drastically alter Dasha's face, but rather enhanced the features that were already there. She loved her hair in particular, and could not stop running her fingers through it; it had always been blonde and smooth, but Genya made it look like spun gold. It was clear now that Tatiana Lantsov's uncanny, overdone look had not been testament to Genya's skill, but to the stubbornness and lack of taste of the former Queen.

"There!" Genya said with no small amount of satisfaction as she took in Dasha's finished face in the mirror. "It's unfair to look as beautiful as you do with so little effort on my part,"

"I can't tell if your compliments are meant as insults,"

The woman laughed. "As it should be. Well, your Grace, you were a wonderful canvas. None of Tatiana's hateful spite, and none of Alina's fidgeting protests. I didn't want to poke you in the eye once,"

"Another non-compliment,"

"Worth putting up with them, I think, when all eyes in the room will be on you all night. You look like a Queen of Winter,"

"They won't be looking at me," Dasha said, amused. "Think about who I'll be standing next to the whole time,"

"He who sucks all joy out of a room because everyone's too scared to hold eye contact for long," Genya muttered with a roll of her eyes that spoke of familiarity. "Will he even tell you how nice you look tonight? Or notice at all?"

"No," She said without thinking. "Not that I'd want him to,"

The other girl's smile faded into a concerned look. "He does treat you well, doesn't he? You can tell me if not. Alina did mention that she would happily come back to tear him a new one if he doesn't,"

"She did?" Dasha's eyebrows shot up, having wondered if that had been a thoughtless, empty promise. "Really, there's no need. He's not a bad husband. Cold, perhaps, though the last few months or so he's been... better. We dine together, some nights, but that's all. I think he cares so little about me that my company is easy and undemanding,"

"You don't seem too sad about that. I'd have thought the young queen would be upset her handsome husband doesn't pay her enough attention?"

"I - " She broke off, wondering how much to tell Genya, who she had only met a couple of hours ago, who was close friends with her husband's mistress. "I don't care much for the attention of men,"

To most, that would sound as though she was nervous or disdainful of the opposite sex, or perhaps just cold and frigid and happy to be so. To her horror, Genya's eyes lit up knowingly. "Ah," The girl said with a smile. "I did think you looked too happy to dance with Alina," She laughed at the look on Dasha's face. "Forgive me for teasing, your Grace, but Grisha are much more open to such things than the otkazat'sya. You'll find no judgement from anyone who grew up in the Little Palace,"

"Oh," Was all Dasha could say, having expected the woman's lip to curl in disgust at the very mention, as her mother's had done, as she was convinced Irina's would if she found out.

Genya's smile just grew. "It has been a pleasure, your Grace. I wasn't sure what I expected from you, but please do call for me again if you want to look like this for another ball,"

Dasha returned her smile tentatively. "I will. Thank you,"

When she met her husband in the hallway, ready to make their entrance into the ballroom, he narrowed his eyes at her, holding out an arm.

"You look different. Was it Genya?"

One of his Heartrender guards coughed, as though to cover a laugh.

"I believe what you meant to say, your Grace," She took his arm. "Was, 'you look nice, Darya',"

His lips curled into a smooth smile that was only slightly mocking. "But that makes it sound like you do not usually look as beautiful, which is not the case at all," It was a joke, she knew, because they never excanged compliments.

Dasha sniffed, lifting her chin like the haughty Queen she was supposed to be. "Hm. If you'd said things like that to Alina more often, perhaps she would not have gone,"

His eyes actually widened a fraction at that, as her words startled a rare laugh out of him, and she felt a burn of satisfaction. 

Her friends - Valentina, Sophia and Natalya - all cooed over her when she entered the ballroom, with none of the scrabbling ambition nor poison smiles of most of the others who paid her compliments. But Dasha caught a glimpse of dark curls and a white skirt poke around the servant's door, coming to see the dress she had designed, and her attention was immediately caught. Irina smiled at her, and her admiring gaze somehow mattered most of them all.

*

It was getting ridiculous now. Dasha spent far too long pining after Irina. It had been too long now, over a year, to pass off as a foolish, harmless fancy. Dasha tried to keep her thoughts from straying too much - she's just a good friend - but that task was impossible. No matter how her mother had ridiculed and shamed her for such feelings, no matter how she tried to tell herself the same things, they would not go away.

She would never act on them, of course. She did not want to put Irina in a horrible position of not wanting to say no to the queen, nor could she bear the sting of rejection or look of disgust when it was confirmed that the other girl did not feel the same way about her. No, she would enjoy being Irina's friend, and when the time came that she wished to leave Dasha's service to marry a handsome young guard or stable groom, she would let her go gracefully. And cry into my pillow every night before bed.

Perhaps her frustration at the situation was what drove her to the lengths of confronting her husband over dinner one evening.

"May I ask you something?" She started, earning a raised eyebrow. "You must promise you won't laugh at me,"

"I promise," He lied easily, curious.

She took a deep breath, taking a sip of wine. "I mislike how the court whispers - and what my mother openly says - about the nature of our relationship," Dasha stared at a small line on his forehead rather than looking him in the eye; a technique she used often. "How I am either barren, or must hide something repulsive under my clothes. I hold no delusion of love or romance towards you, and am well aware that you don't towards me. But you've not taken anyone to bed since our wedding night - out of loyalty to Alina - and I heard you send away that... woman, the other night, at the ball," 

It had been somewhat gratifying, to see her husband dismiss the pretty courtesan who had cornered him in a quiet hallway the same way someone might bat away an irritating fly. Him being deeply in love with a woman on the other side of the world was one thing. Entertaining ladies of the night and eager serving girls every night was another.

His eyebrow raised even further, but she refused to let him make her feel foolish for her request, waiting for him to speak. "So you'd call it scratching an itch?" He said, with some amusement. "Taking the edge off? Why Darya, I never expected that of you. I thought you were quite enamoured with that pretty little maid of yours, from those longing glances you cast her way all the time,"

That did make her flush. "Her name is Irina. And that's none of your business. Though for your information, whilst I find women vastly more beautiful," His smirk grew at her prim defiance. "You are supposedly an attractive man,"

"Supposedly," He said, eyes gleaming. "You sound like you are trying to convince yourself of that. I thought I made our wedding night cold and unpleasant enough that you wouldn't care for a repeat performance?"

"Well if it's going to be like that, then of course not," She scrunched up her nose.

"And where would innocent little Darya Glinskaya have learned that there was more to it than that? I thought your mother filled your head with scenes of bloodied sheets and lying back and thinking of Ravka,"

"Women talk," She said. "And there was a reason my mother is so convinced of my 'sinful desires' - she saw what she wasn't supposed to see. But, as you will no doubt delight in finding out, my pretty little maid has no interest in me,"

"I wouldn't be so sure," He said, infuriatingly.

She ignored him, pulling out her final card. "Would Alina have been celibate this past year?" It was a low blow, but said with no malice. Dasha didn't know Alina well, after all. Perhaps she had been. Her question did what she intended, however; made him think.

Anger flashed across the Darkling's features for a moment, before he twisted his lips into a sardonic smile, pouring himself a glass of wine from the decanter without offering her any. Oh. "You raise a good point. What a compelling argument to get me into your bed, Dasha. One as beautiful as you should not have to beg their husband to fuck them,"

"When did I beg?" She tried to go for an scoffing tone, but only succeeded in sounding like an indignant child, even as she flushed at his crass wording. Dasha didn't know where she found the nerve to say her next words, getting to her feet. "I've changed my mind. Imagining my own fingers are Irina's is much more preferable to sharing a bed with an arrogant man. Goodnight, moi Tsar,"

He choked on his wine at that, setting down the glass. As Dasha passed him, he reached out with one strong arm and pulled her into his lap without even getting up from the chair. "Not so fast. Come here,"

It was nothing like her wedding night. He actually kissed her, for one, his lips and tongue tasting of wine but not in a bad way. When he pulled away, Dasha had been too embarrassed to face what was happening or talk about it, and had kissed him this time. He laughed against her lips, deepening the kiss enough to have her gasping. She wasn't attracted to him, she knew that, but it still felt good enough to get a physical reaction. And - she wasn't sure, as she had very little to compare it to - the fact he knew that about her seemed to mean that he was trying harder. Which was amusing, and gave her something of an upper hand, which was an odd feeling.

She supposed he was used to eager women throwing themselves at him; which, in all fairness, she had all but done, though for different reasons. Perhaps other women may have enjoyed the way he easily lifted her from the chair as though she weighed nothing, his large hands that almost spanned around her waist, the scratch of his beard, but these were things that inspired nothing but a mild curiosity within her. His fingers between her legs were a different story. He knew what he was doing with a woman, she'd give him that. 

"Well?" He asked her afterwards, pulling on his clothes as she hastily tugged the sheets up to cover her bare chest. Evidently he wasn't staying the night, which relieved her greatly. Dasha valued her time alone, and balked at the idea of him sleeping beside her, knowing she would lie awake all night.

"Alina's a lucky girl," She said, with a twitch of her lips.

Her husband laughed, the most genuinely he ever had around her. "You are the wife that most men pray for, you know," 

"One who doesn't find you attractive in any way?"

"It's quite refreshing," He said, then smirked. "Oh, and Darya? You'll want Genya Safina to look at your neck tomorrow,"

"What do you mean?" Her hand flew to her throat, though of course she could not see. Irritated, ignoring his amused look, she dragged the sheets off the bed with her, wrapped around in a makeshift robe (long enough to give her a ceremonial train), to look in the mirror. Her eyes widened at the sight of a few livid purple bruises on her pale skin, and she whirled around. "That's awful! How do I get rid of that?"

"You can't. Genya can,"

"She's friends with Alina! Do you even realise how humiliating that is?"

"More or less humiliating than going in front of the court with it still there?"

Dasha drew herself up to her full height and tried to look dignified, failing. "Goodnight, moi Tsar," 

*

Irina raised an eyebrow at her the following morning, eyes immediately finding the marks on her neck. "That's new, your Grace," Her tone was perfectly polite, merely an observation, but that in itself was telling given her usual bright disposition. For a moment Dasha liked to imagine a hint of jealousy there too. Then she came to her senses and mentally kicked herself for being awful.

"We were both tired of the court whispering," She said, flushing slightly.

"How romantic," Her maid said with a sly smile, making her laugh.

"Royal marriages are never romantic. Nor would I want this one to be,"

Irina contemplated that. "You must be the one woman in Ravka who wouldn't want that man to be madly in love with you. Not only is he the King, but he's one of the most handsome men I've ever seen,"

Hm. The Darkling's words from the previous night came to mind, and fell from her lips before she could work up a willingness to keep quiet. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself,"

The other girl's mouth opened, then closed, curling into a surprised grin. "Whatever gave you that idea?" 

Dasha had no answer. A pause. 

"Well? How did you enjoy it?" That almost sounded like a challenge.

"It wasn't completely awful," Dasha mused absent-mindedly. "I was just curious, mostly," There was something missing, for sure, even if physically her body responded to him enough to enjoy it. "I hadn't realised men had quite so much body hair. It's really quite alarming,"

Irina laughed, seeming genuinely amused now, shaking her head. "A ringing endorsement, if ever I heard one,"

*

That night did not turn into every night, nor did it make either Darya or her husband fall madly in love with the other. Far from it; most days, they remained tentative friends. Every few weeks, however, he would seek her out, or she would seek him out, drawn together by frustration, loneliness or, as he would charmingly call it, a desire to scratch an itch. 

Interestingly, her husband made her take a Healer-made contraceptive tonic so as not to fall with child.

"I thought it was the priority of every King to continue their dynasty?" She had asked when he handed it to her, wary of the answer. "Wives have been divorced or killed for not delivering a healthy son,"

"I did not marry you for children," He said, firm, not giving anything away. "I married you to pacify the West. And because the council advised an otkazat'sya Queen would make my rule less of a threat in the minds of common Ravkans,"

"How romantic," She said, but drank the tonic regardless. Darya did not want children as a matter of urgency, though thought she might like to be a mother some day, and not just for self-preservation. That was a discussion for another time, but his insistence on the tonic was rather suspicious. After all, what King - what man, even - did not want an heir? 

*

Dasha entered her husband's chambers one evening for dinner to see him talking to a tall, dark-haired woman who looked familiar, even though they had never met before. His eyes were narrowed in anger, and looked up sharply as she entered.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Dasha said mildly, for the resemblence between the two was quite clear. The proud stance, curl of the lip, sharp cheekbones and harsh-cut nose.

The woman smirked. His mouth opened slightly in what looked like incredulity - the most caught off guard she had ever seen him - before he composed himself. "Sister?"

"You share a familial resemblence, and look a similar age. Cousin, perhaps?" Dasha smiled at the woman, even as her husband continued to look disbelieving. "Either way - a pleasure to meet you,"

The woman smiled a sharp smile. "I'm sure it is, girl,"

"Baghra," Her husband warned. "She is the Queen,"

"And you are the King," The woman scoffed. "I still call you boy," Dasha had never heard anyone speak to him like that before except Alina, cementing that they must be family.

A flash of anger crossed his face, which was replaced with a rather vindictive smile. "Darya, dearest wife, this is Baghra. My beloved mother, who only comes to the Palace to berate me,"

Baghra glared at him.

It was Dasha's turn to stare in disbelief. When he told her about his mother, she had believed the woman was dead. Also, they looked exactly the same age, early to mid thirties. She had heard Grisha lived longer lives, especially the more powerful ones, so Baghra must be strong in her own right too. Though now she thought of it, there was something about the woman that seemed older than her handsome appearance suggested. Ancient, even. This was no noblewoman, with a name and reputation to uphold. She suddenly wanted to ask how old her husband was, though good sense stopped her. Intentionally or not, both of them were looking at her in a similar way to how wolves might look at an injured deer.

Instead, she plastered a bland smile on her face, playing dull. "I am glad to meet the mother of my beloved husband at last. You must be so proud of your son, rising as high as he has done,"

"Pah," Baghra scoffed. "Rising high on a pile of corpses, perhaps. And he'd not have done it without the Sun Summoner,"

Darkling smiled without humour. "Baghra was just leaving,"

"She's not staying for dinner?" Dasha innocently asked, knowing the answer.

"Certainly not," He glared at her.

The woman did not seem to care, addressing her son. "You could not have found someone less like Alina to marry. Best hope she comes back, hm? That wild nature of hers is hard to predict. What will you do if she does not? Will you hunt her down? Drag her back here kicking and screaming? Would you even be able to anymore? I hear she went after the Stag,"

Her husband clenched his jaw. "That is none of your concern,"

Dasha kept quiet until Baghra had left, not wanting to get caught up in the strange dynamic between the two of them. After, there was definitely something heavy in the air. It was only over dinner that he addressed it.

"She teaches at the Little Palace, and spends her days making children cry. Everyone believes her to be a Squaller, and not related to me. I'd like it kept that way,"

"Of course," She said. "I never knew there were two Shadow Summoners,"

"Few people do,"

Again, she wanted to ask how old they both were, but that was a dangerous question. She attempted to lighten the mood. "I still think my mother is worse, but... she comes close,"

He looked amused. "You may have a point there,"

Later, after he left, she thought back to Baghra's strange agelessness, an agelessness that her husband possessed too. Neither of them had been born noble - they had lived as vagabonds in the forest, he had said once - but there must be enough separation from then to present day, as he had been the Darkling as long as any living person could remember. She glanced at the contraceptive tonic on her bedside and her stomach clenched in what may have been fear.

In that light, it seemed quite reasonable that a King who would live forever would not want a son to rival him.

*

"I heard the Tsar finally started sharing your chambers," Valentina asked her eagerly over tea one afternoon. She was heavy with her first pregnancy, belly swollen under her clothes.

"This whole palace is run on gossip," Dasha sighed. "Not that it's anyone's business, but yes,"

"Has he finally given up hope of Starkova coming back?" Natalya snorted.

"No, that's not it at all," She replied, somewhat flustered by the conversation. "I just... asked him, and he said yes,"

"You asked him?" Valentina gasped, face lighting up. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, Dasha. How far you've come!"

"Don't congratulate her," Natalya said, amused nonetheless. "Sleeping with that man is hardly a hardship to suffer through,"

"You never know," Sophia said, giggling a little. "He might be terrible in bed,"

"He's not," Dasha said absently, then flushed as they all laughed at her.

"Well, we may have a little prince or princess come along within the year," Valentina said. "You will have beautiful children, that's safe to say. No Lantsov chins in sight,"

Natalya grinned. "Yes, poor Tatiana had to outsource the father of her second son to bring some good looks into the family,"

More laughter ensued, though Dasha had the knowledge in her mind that no, there wouldn't be any royal children in the foreseeable future. As talk moved to discussion of Valentina's pregnancy, she realised she liked the idea of a child, her child. She would be a good mother. Nothing like her own had been to her. It was sad, really, that it was looking more and more likely she would never have one. 

*

Aleksander was walking through the gardens, having a discreet conversation with one of Tarasova's network, when something caught his eye and he paused.

"What on earth are you doing?" He raised an eyebrow at the sight of his wife, the Queen of Ravka, kneeling beside a patch of bright yellow flowers, digging in the dirt like one of the groundsmen. Her guards were stood some distance away, out of earshot but close enough to keep an eye out for threats.

She leant back on her heels, smiling up at him. Dirt was smudged on her face, her hair was coming loose from its braid, and the practical apron covering the plainer-than-usual dark blue gown. "Gardening,"

"And why would you be doing that, when we employ a whole team of gardeners?"

"I like it," She protested. "I was talking to the Head Gardener about preparations for the summer fete, and I mentioned how much I used to like gardening at my father's home. He thought it was funny, and offered me a section of my own. I don't go outside nearly often enough, and it's such a nice day," 

The positivity of it all was almost overwhelming. Aleksander shook his head, amused. "Very well. I suppose Os Alta will have to become used to the sight of their Tsaritsa digging around in the dirt. Perhaps you will start a trend,"

"Many people at court would benefit from some time digging in the dirt,"

"To that, I quite agree,"

*

"How are your gardens coming along?" Aleksander asked Darya over dinner one evening, noting her lips twitch. "What?"

"The day I met you, I never expected you would ever enquire about gardening,"

He huffed a laugh. "There is only so much I am willing to angrily rant about the fools at court before the sound becomes jarring to even my own ears. Would you like me to enquire about your pretty little maid instead?"

"No," Darya flushed that same shade of pink she always did. "I don't want that at all,"

"She looks at you, you know. Just as much as you look at her,"

"Irina has to look. It's her job to pay attention to me,"

"You are both incredibly dense,"

"You have no right to lecture me in matters of the heart. How long has Alina been gone, now? Ah yes, the same length of time since you married another woman. A year and a half,"

"She'd have gone with or without that," He brushed that off. "I only bring it up as it is frustrating to see you dance around each other under my nose, both too scared to act on it,"

"You are without a doubt the only man alive who encourages his wife to have an affair. This isn't some perverse longing of yours to see two women together, is it?" 

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "As if I would be so crass. Besides, if that's what I wanted, I could pay every whore in the city rather than putting in needless effort to manipulate my wife,"

"Your company is a delight, as ever,"

And hers was easy, uncomplicated and undemanding. If he had known his sister Ulla more than a few short days, he wondered if this was what it would be like. Though admittedly even he would draw the line at bedding his own sister.

*

Her sisters' arrival at the Grand Palace was joyous. Elena was old enough at sixteen to be presented formally at court, and Darya had arranged with her father that Ana also came too, to get them both away from that awful household. Their mother was sick, and thus unable to come too. Supposedly, at least. The one thing that Anastasia Glinskaya hated more than being unable to control her daughter was any threat to her pride, and the Tsar had certainly given her that on her last visit. The sickness was a way to save face, Dasha was sure, so people did not question why she was not playing matchmaker to her younger daughters.

Having her sisters in court, all to herself, was surreal. She introduced them to Valentina, Sophia and Natalya, showed them around the palace and grounds and took them to see a ballet at the theatre. The latter had been an almost magical experience, the dancers entrancing and otherworldly.

"I want to be a ballet dancer," Ana declared as they stepped into in the carriage to take them back to the palace. "None of you can stop me,"

"Good luck convincing Mother and Father," Elena rolled her eyes. "They'd sooner see you become a nun than wear a skirt that short in front of an audience,"

"Oh, but they looked so beautiful!"

"As if you could bend your leg that high! You're too short, besides,"

"I haven't finished growing yet,"

"Darya has, and she's ended up really short,"

Dasha smiled at her sisters' bickering. "I would quite like dancing in a ballet, I think. Not that I'd be much good at it,"

"Ravka's Queen, performing on stage," Elena smirked. 

"It's not much different to what I do at court every day. Parade around, smile at everyone, play a part and have everyone staring at me,"

"Your life practically is a ballet, Dasha. The beautiful, dainty maiden sold to the scary, dark witch-king,"

"Don't say that!" She hissed, hoping to the saints that the Heartrender guards on the outside of the carriage hadn't heard. "They hate that word. He hates it in particular,"

"What, witch?" Her sister frowned.

"It's what the Fjerdans call them. I mean it, Elena, you mustn't,"

"Does your husband still scare you that much?" Her sister raised an eyebrow. "I thought you looked much less petrified of him since the wedding, though have you just got better at acting? He doesn't mistreat you, does he?" There was a challenge in her voice, though what on earth she thought she was going to do if that was indeed the case was beyond Dasha.

"Of course not. We get along. Very well, in fact. Better than Mother and Father ever did," 

"But Dasha, are you happy?" Ana asked earnestly.

The unexpected question threw her for a moment. Dasha had gone into her marriage expecting very little, let alone happiness. A husband who didn't brutalise her or shame her with public affairs seemed too much to ask for. Yet she had friends here; Valentina, Sophia, Natalya and many of the other court ladies albeit they were less close. And Irina, of course, though she hesitated to group her with the others. She was away from her mother's insidious influence, and had got her sisters away too. She was beloved by the guards and servants of the palace, as well as many of the common folk for her charity work and unpretentious kindness. And her husband was, if anything, her friend.

"Yes," She said. "I suppose I am quite content,"

"What about his little Sun Summoner pet?" Elena was more skeptical. "Everyone knows he loves her, and would be in her bed if she was here. You saw him kiss her, for saints saint, in front of the whole court. And the way she was on your wedding day said it all,"

"But she's not here," Dasha said, for it was the easiest answer. Besides, it was easier to explain than 'I doubt I am capable of romantic feelings towards a man and am secretly in love with my maid'. "And she is definitely not his pet," She knew that much, at least.

"She'll be back, though, surely?" Elena pushed. "What happens then? She is the Sun Summoner - as much a part of court as you are. It's not like she can be hidden away,"

"Elena, I really do not mind," She said with a strong hint to drop the subject.

Her sister threw up her hands. "Fine, suit yourself,"

They fell into silence.

Then Ana said, "Mother's not really sick. You probably know already. She told us not to tell you,"

That made Dasha laugh. "I had guessed, but thank you anyway,"

"I can't work out why, though," Elena said. "I'd have thought she'd jump at the chance to interfere with your life here, and play matchmaker for us," She caught the look in Dasha's eye. "You know! You wretch, you have to tell us!"

She smiled, shaking her head. "It was last time you visited. She was berating me for... the usual," Both sisters winced in sympathy. "The Tsar walked in. He must've been listening at the door, to be that angry. She insulted the Sun Summoner, in between being awful to me. He caught her red handed and told her - and I am so wicked for savouring the memory - 'speak of Alina like that again and I'll have you flogged. Speak to your daughter like that again and I'll cut out your tongue',"

Elena and Ana both fell into stitches of laughter. 

"He didn't!" Ana gasped, wide-eyed.

"No wonder she was in a terrible mood on the journey home!" Elena crowed. "Gosh, I wish I'd seen her be humbled like that. Forgive me for every bad thing I've said about your husband, Dasha. Being married to someone terrifying clearly pays off,"

*

"Tell me about Alina," Dasha dared to ask one evening, two years since their wedding, after he seemed especially withdrawn.

"What about her?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Why you pine after her so much,"

"I don't pine after her," He said with no small amount of disdain.

"Yes you do," She said simply. "I know pining when I see it - I do enough of it myself. Tell me why, honestly. And the reason can't be 'because she summons the sun',"

He was silent for a long moment. So long she suspected he wasn't going to answer. But then, "She draws my attention like a moth to the flame. A light in the long, empty darkness of the years," And how many years was that? "Everything she does, from the way she laughs to the way she puts someone in their place, is magnetic - I could just watch her for hours on end. She has never been afraid of me, never flinched from me, only thrown worse right back in my face. She is my equal not just in power, but also in spirit. She understands me better than anyone. She is infuriating, brazen and obnoxious but utterly, unapologetically herself. Not only the one person I could never control, but the one person I would never want to,"

Dasha smiled. "Is that why you let her go?"

"She'd have despised me forever if I made her stay,"

"Were you the reason she left?"

He thought on that. "Not entirely. She wanted her own life, away from Os Alta, at least for a time while she's young. But I was a significant part of it. She accused me once of wanting her like a collector wants a rare bird - something wild and extraordinary, but all to myself, tamed and trapped in a gilded cage. I can't say she was wrong, for a time,"

"What changed?"

"I realised Alina in a cage, tamed and trapped, wouldn't be Alina at all. The day she left, I saw her in the courtyard. I was watching alone from a window. She looked as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. And despite myself, despite how angry I was that she was leaving, despite how I knew how her absence would ache, I smiled, because she looked happy," He finished that on a wry, sardonic note, looking her in the eye. "I need not tell you that is a foreign feeling, for me. Joy for others, even when it leads to my own misery,"

Dasha had to smile. "Yes, I can imagine," She paused. "You still want her, I assume? When she comes back?"

He nodded, once. "She will hold a grudge,"

Rightly so, in her opinion. "Then win her over," Dasha shrugged. "Be charming - I know you can be, you do it all the time to diplomats and people who'll be useful,"

"She sees right through all that. Has done ever since she was nine years old,"

"You can be charming and genuine," She couldn't help but giggle. "It doesn't have to be something she can see through,"

He glared at her. "I do not appreciate being patronised by my twenty-year-old wife,"

"It will work," Dasha insisted. "You're seeing it as a manipulation, even if your intentions are good. Charm her without expecting anything, or wanting anything in return. She owes you nothing. Don't treat her like the child you knew her as. She's more than she was when she was with you, and surely wants you to see that,"

That last part seemed to strike a chord. "I suppose you're right," Came the haughty, grudging reply. "How do you, who scarcely even spoke to a man you weren't related to before marriage, have such insight?"

"I'm married to you," She said, laughing. "You don't care for me enough to see me as yours, or manipulate me, or expect anything at all - thus, we get along just fine," At his taken-aback silence, she continued. "And, more importantly, I know women,"

He snorted at that. "For all you wish you knew them more,"

To that, Dasha just replied with a sniff, "At least the woman I want doesn't need winning back,"

*

The stack of correspondance on his desk was truly daunting. Having returned to his study after dinner, Aleksander had spent hours reading and replying to various letters and reports. It was now well into the night, and the pile was not yet depleted.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, returning to the latest missive from Mila Tarasova, containing intelligence from far and wide. The Apparat had resurfaced in Djerholm after two years underground, no doubt to try and scrape some crumbs of favour from Tatiana Lantsov by aggressively denouncing Ravka's new ruler. Novyi Zem was considering more solid trade links to Ravka, considering that the stability of the economy had held since the Lantsovs were ousted. And there were rumours of some mysterious, concerning project the Shu were working on in their laboratories, but nothing concrete enough to actually be useful, just a promise she would investigate further. Well, that was entirely useless information unless anything more relevant surfaced. At least he didn't have to write a response.

Aleksander set Tarasova's letter aside, glancing at the pile. Only one envelope left, at last. From... who? Ah yes, Van Eck, he remembered the name now. One of the Merchant Council of Kerch. Though why was the man writing personally, instead of on behalf of the Merchant Council? Weary, he picked up the letter opener and slid open the seal.

And, after reading the first few lines, despite his fatigue and boredom, he snorted with laughter. Somehow it was always more amusing reading about Alina from a displeased third party. He knew her well enough to read between the lines and guess at the truth despite the biased viewpoint. It was one of the first times he had thought of her without growing angry or saddened. He missed her, certainly - missed her with a tangible ache - and wished she was here to regale him with her own version of events, but now it was fondness rather than possessive longing with which Aleksander read Van Eck's letter. 

Somehow, this sat better than before. Dasha was right. Alina owed him nothing. After so long away, he was content to simply see her, talk to her, be near her. Which definitely qualified as the most pathetic thought he had had in centuries, but it was the truth. Nearly two years, it had been now. Nothing in comparison to his long life. Even though it did not feel that way at all.

*

I find Dasha fascinating to write about so sorry-not-sorry to those who weren't thrilled with her character last time. I only meant to spend one chapter back in Os Alta but as you can see, it got away from me. Now we're all caught up in the timeline to the same point in Alina's story. Whilst I love Darya as a character and want to show her own arc, I also wanted Aleksander's own mental state towards Alina in particular to be shown, to set them back up for later chapters. Let me know what you think in the comments! Next time, Alina is in Shu Han meeting with Mila Tarasova...