The morning after her wedding, Darya Glinskaya awoke blessedly alone.

She had always been an early riser, as dawn was when the old maids whom her mother assigned to sleep in her chambers with her woke up to start work. It had been years since she had not shared her bedchamber with a servant told to keep an eye on her. They had always insisted on shutting the drapes before bed, and despite the fact she loathed it, she was disciplined for objecting. The previous night, however, no one had come in after the Tsar left. Despite herself, Dasha smiled as she realised it was the rising sun streaming in through the east windows that had roused her from sleep. Not the sounds of shuffling feet and hissed commands to get up. It was so sweetly silent that she could weep.

These were an... impressive suite of rooms, the ones she had been given. Though, looking around, she acknowledged that they were not exactly to her own tastes. Not at all, even. The former Queen, Tatiana, had favoured heavy fabrics, rich colours, overstuffed chairs and daunting luxury. Overall, the effect was rather stifling. Gaudy, even. Just like the woman had been herself.

And they still hadn't managed to scrub the bloodstains out of the sitting room floor. One of the few times Dasha had spoken to her new husband the previous night was to nervously ask about the ominous marks on the expensive rug, as he led her through to the bedchamber. The Tsar had smirked rather spitefully.

"Tatiana Lantsov ran afoul of Alina's temper," Was all he said. "Her guards got in the way,"

Dasha hadn't missed the look on his face at the mention of the Sun Summoner. Their relationship was more complicated than she cared to examine. With her heart sinking even further, she realised that she now had a permanent reminder of her husband's mistress staining her floors. Not to mention the fact that multiple people had died violent deaths in the very rooms she was to sleep in.

Now, in the rosy light of dawn, she tried not to think about last night for fear that she would curl up in embarrassment, hiding her face from the world. Instead, Dasha slipped out of bed in her nightgown and padded over to the window. Windows, even. Her rooms back home, in her father's manor in West Ravka, had been those of a child; smaller and more girlish, with a chaise for a servant at the end of her bed. Here, she had the rooms of a grown woman. A Queen. The unpleasant ache between her legs reminded her of the fact, which again she tried to ignore. If she indulged the haze of anxiety simmering constantly under her skin, she did not think she'd pull herself out again.

Her own belongings were all in trunks piled against one wall. She supposed she would have to unpack at some point, or instruct the servants how to unpack for her. But none of her things really fit in a room like this. Not her favoured dresses in shades of eggshell white, pale pink, spring green and sky blue; not her delicate china ornaments; and especially not her collection of beloved books, many of them rather childish or frivolous rather than adult and dignified.

The Tsaritsa's chambers - and that was what she was now, she acknowledged numbly,Tsaritsa - were built into a corner of the Grand Palace, with windows that faced east and south, so as to get the best light of the day. They overlooked the beautiful, manicured gardens and fountains, with the city past the walls in the distance. She cracked open all of the windows, letting in the summer morning air. The breeze ruffled even the heavy curtains, freshening the rather stale-smelling room, and Dasha took in a deep breath, the nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach that had been present from the moment she awoke easing slightly. 

Now she was not distracted by the sickening nerves of the night before, she cast her eye around, imagining what she would change if she could. The rugs would be the first to go, and the drapes, replaced with light green or perhaps pale pink? Those dark-purple-and-gold-panelled walls (what had Tatiana been thinking?) would be painted a much lighter, less oppressive colour. She would get furniture to match the drapes, some airy paintings, and shelves for books and pretty trinkets. And some indoor plants on the windowsills, like she'd had back home. No doubt none of that would be allowed, of course, but perhaps she could at least ask someone to bring her a rug that hadn't witnessed a murder?

Dasha's favourite time of the day had always been dawn, once the old maid left but before most people woke up. There was a pleasant stillness and quiet to everything, when nothing was expected of her and she could just drift through her rooms, reading, painting, or just staring out of the window with the sunlight on her face. She enjoyed her own company, before her other maids came in - all of them terrible old crones, as per her mother's orders, rather than girls her own age - before her mother bothered her, before she had to play the perfect daughter and risk being ruthlessly belittled if she made a mistake. 

She did not know what was expected of her this morning. There would traditionally be a wedding breakfast, where the newlyweds joined their families in a private affair to celebrate the union. But her new husband had no family, and nothing of the sort had been mentioned to her. Whilst that in itself was nerve-wracking, as part of her was convinced she had somewhere to be and had forgotten, it was also rather freeing. She was a married woman now, not beholden to her mother or father. She was a Queen, who could refuse all company but her husband's if she wished, and she doubted he would be in any hurry to see her. Dasha was tempted to lock the door and take the day for herself, something she had never done before. If only she were as bold as Alina Starkova, perhaps she would've done.

No, her own mind corrected her. Alina Starkova was so bold she told the Tsar no and is leaving Os Alta entirely this morning. 

Dasha had not had the luxury of saying no. Before her father had brought her to Os Alta, he had summoned all three of his daughters to his study, a rare occurrence. Ordinarily it was only their younger brother Leo who was allowed in, who, despite only being eight years old, was the only one their father paid any real attention to. Lord Glinsky had told them of his plans to get one of them engaged to the new Tsar, who needed a marriage alliance with West Ravka to secure his rule over the lands. Preferably Darya, of course, as the eldest and best behaved, but he would be permitted whichever one took his fancy. Twelve-year-old Ana's eyes had widened at that.

Elena, her precocious middle sister, had asked why the Tsar needed a West Ravkan marriage alliance when he had just moved the Fold and scared them all into surrender. That had earned her a sharp reprimand from their father, but the girl was unabashed. Darya had wondered, after meeting Alina Starkova for the first time, if Elena would have been a better match instead. Though she had realised quickly that the Tsar did not care who his wife was, focusing only on the fact that she could not summon the sun.

She had heard the rumours of the Tsar and the Sun Summoner before coming to Os Alta. Her mother had told her, in fact, that Starkova was his little whore and had been since she was a child, but the girl was common-born, uncouth, rough and unsuited for being a Queen. Darya would simply have to bear her husband having a mistress with dignity and grace, as many women did. Most mistresses are not living saints, Dasha did not say, knowing that her mother would scowl and pinch her arm for her impertinence. Her old maids had told her it was a blessing that her husband had someone who could put up with the more degrading nature of a man's attention, whilst she as the wife would only have to suffer through the making of a child. None of which had made awaiting her wedding night any easier.

It had not been as bad as she was expecting, in truth, especially since she was terrified of her husband. Men in general made her nervous; she was rarely ever permitted to speak to men beyond banal pleasantries, let alone be left alone with one, let alone allow one access to her body in a way that she had always had drilled into her was dirty and whorish. Never mind that this man was the King of Ravka, the most powerful Grisha to ever live, and old enough to be her father. It had hurt, but not nearly as much as her mother had made out that it would. The Tsar had been as cold as Alina Starkova had suggested - saints, even his mistress had been more honest with her than her own family - though not cruel. He did not seem to take much enjoyment from her either. He had barely even looked her in the eye and did not encourage conversation, which she was almost grateful for as she had no idea what to say to him. To her surprise, he had asked her permission. Dasha wasn't sure that she could have said no - besides, her mother would slap her silly, knowing that the marriage had gone unconsummated and she wasn't really Queen - so just gave a shaky nod in response.

Her beautiful pale blue dress that she had worn yesterday evening was folded neatly over the changing screen, where she had placed it last night, unsure of what to do with it. Her husband had not taken it off to consummate the marriage - it was a relief, if anything, that he did not insist on seeing her naked as she did not think she could bear the embarrassment - and she was left to undress herself after he left. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to unlace herself out of the magnificent gown and to undo her hair without the help of a maid for the first time. She remembered how Alina Starkova had complimented the colour on her, one of the few genuinely kind things that anyone had said to her that day. The girl had danced with her when her husband had not, despite her own anguish at the marriage taking place. If only the Sun Summoner were a man, Dasha found herself wondering, with a small smile at her own absurdity. I could have married her instead. Though if Alina were a man, she would not be quite so pretty - 

A knock at her door snapped her from her guilty thoughts.

"Come in," She called, a little reluctant. 

"Moya Tsaritsa," The maid at the door - a young girl, around her own age - bobbed a curtsey, bringing in her breakfast. She was a stranger; the Glinsky's had only brought two female servants with them from West Ravka, and they would be overseeing her sisters now. "Good morning. I'm surprised you were awake already," She was unlike anyone who'd been assigned to Dasha in years, with a bright smile and warm, kind eyes. "Would you like breakfast in bed, or at the table?" 

In bed? Dasha's eyes widened at the indulgence, never having been permitted such before. "The table, please," She said hastily, but managed a small smile. "Thank you. What is your name?" She wished for a dressing robe to cover herself beyond her nightgown, but her own was packed away in the numerous trunks pushed against the wall. 

"Irina, Your Grace. Kind of you to ask," 

After Irina set out her breakfast at the table in the sitting room, the woman noticed the blue dress hanging over the changing screen. Along with all her underskirts and undergarments, folded perfectly on a nearby chair.

"I didn't know what to do with it last night," Dasha found herself saying apologetically. "I didn't want anything to get creased,"

"Saints, don't let it be known that I let the Queen fold her clothes," Irina pretended to be alarmed, making her smile. "Your Grace, that's not your job to worry about. Especially on your wedding night!" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I was expecting to find everything in a heap on the floor with the fastenings torn,"

That did win a chuckle from her. "I might not have undressed myself before but I'm careful enough to not tear anything,"

Irina just winked. "It wasn't you I was referring to, your Grace,"

Dasha understood then, and felt her cheeks flush hot, eyes cast to the floor. "Oh. I'm glad he didn't tear my clothes," If he tried, that might have been enough for her to say something at least mildly irritated. Or, in all likelihood, it would have terrified her even more. It might have even made her cry, to see her beautiful things ruined.

"Or remove them at all, by the sounds of it," The young woman said dryly. "Oh, do tell me if I'm too bold, your Grace. I've been told before I chatter on far too much,"

"No," Dasha said quickly, heading over to the table for breakfast. "I don't mind. You're already much nicer than all my maids from home," Those women had had permission from her mother to switch her hands and slap her for misbehaving or doing something wrong; harsh, cold women who were often needlessly cruel. 

"Yes, I saw the old crones who attended you yesterday," Irina pursed her lips. "Was it their idea to put you in black on your wedding day?"

"My mother insisted I should wear my husband's colours," Dasha sat down, staring at the magificent spread in front of her. To show to the court that you are his legally-wedded wife, not the Starkova whore, she had said, though all that had done was show everyone how much better Darya's husband's colours suited Alina. "This is a lot of food - I could never eat all of it," Her mother had always rigourously restricted her food, warning her of the importance of keeping a slender figure. "Would you sit with me and have some?"

Irina's eyes widened almost comically, caught off guard.

"I know it's not proper," Dasha continued in a rush, a little shyly. "But you've been so kind already, and it seems rude to leave you standing over me. There's no one else here to see. I'm the Queen now, besides. Who's going to tell me not to?"

The maid laughed at that. "Very well, your Grace. That is most kind of you," She pulled out a chair and sat down somewhat cautiously, glancing at the door as though the Head Housekeeper was going to march in any second and drag her off. 

It was not an unpleasant start to the day by any means. After finishing breakfast, Irina cleared away the plates then ran a bath for her; the taps were attached to the bathtub, through some clever Fabrikated innovation, and thus a warm bath didn't take a dozen servants carting up hot water from the kitchens. Her father's home might be luxurious and extravagent, but the Grand Palace truly was another step up. 

"Would you like us to send for the Tailor, your Grace?" Irina asked her, once she was dressed. 

"The Tailor? Does my gown not fit correctly?" Dasha frowned, examining herself in the mirror.

"No," The woman smiled. "Forgive me, I should have explained better. The Tailor is a Grisha named Genya Safina. She works with people, not clothes. Every morning, the old Queen had her lift wrinkles from her face, remove dark circles from her eyes, and colour her grey hair golden," She added, "Not that you need any of that - you're beautiful as it is. But either way, Genya will be available to you,"

Dasha declined on this occasion, though her curiosity was roused. Next time there was a ball, perhaps. Irina did her hair instead, placing a small tiara in the centre of the elaborate hairstyle. There was little for her to do today officially, but she thought she might take a walk around the palace and familiarise herself with the huge building, as well as the staff. Her maid could keep her from getting lost. Perhaps around the gardens too. Dasha had always loved gardening, and back home had her own small patch in the walled garden to cultivate with the gardeners' help. She wouldn't dare presume to ask for that here, but still, the weather was nice, and it would be good to get some fresh air. 

She had not counted on her mother finding her almost the instant she left her rooms. She had told Alina Starkova that she got along very well with her mother, which was true; Lady Glinskaya left no option otherwise. Her bony grip closed around Dasha's upper arm, as she smiled a wide false smile, bumping jaws with her daughter in the imitation of a kiss. "Darya, my dear, it is a pleasure to see you this morning," She lowered her voice as she leaned in, tone becoming harder. "You are the Queen in full, are you not?"

Dasha knew what she was asking, and flushed slightly. "Of course, Mother,"

"Good," Anastasia Glinskaya stepped back, satisfied, though Dasha did not miss the glance she sent Irina. That look practically spoke. Young? Pretty? "Now, you must leave your maid and come with me. Introducing yourself to the other court ladies is only proper,"

"I met them all weeks ago, Mother,"

"Not as Queen, you didn't. You always sat in the corner with a book, and barely spoke to anyone, quiet and mousey that you are. You must make a better impression than that, Darya - you are a grown woman, for all you act like a silly, empty-headed little girl,"

Her mother always knew how to make her feel six years old. After her pleasant morning, that suddenly made her angry, a feeling that was not overly familiar to Dasha. "You are right, Mother. I am the Queen. If they want to introduce themselves, they can come to me. Today, I am taking a tour of the palace. Would you like to join me?" Her tone was not obstinate or rude; just as mild as ever, in fact. 

Her refusal surprised her mother nonetheless. Of course it did; the little mouse had grown teeth after years of cowering from any conflict. That surprise fast turned to anger, however, and Anastasia Glinskaya grabbed her wrist, leaning in to hiss in her ear in a low voice that the guards - all oprichniki - could not hear. "You think that having a crown on your head and the Tsar's cock between your legs makes you above listening to your mother? Now is not the time to get brave with me, girl. I - "

"Is there a problem?" 

Her mother stopped talking at once as a tall, dark figure came up behind them from the other end of the corridor. Darya never thought she would be relieved to see her husband, though the fact he was somehow less intimidating than her own mother said a lot, really. The Darkling's eyebrow was arched at the scene before him, disdainful yet knowing. There was no way he had heard what was said, but the tableau revealed enough. 

"Of course not, moi Tsar," Her mother said, sickly sweet. "I was just telling my dear daughter how radiant she looks as a married woman,"

"No you weren't," She did not know where the words came from, nor the mental strength to yank her wrist out of the woman's grip. "Have a good day, Mother. I will see you at dinner," 

Her mother's features contorted in outrage for a split second at the clear dismissal, but there was little she could do in front of the Tsar that wouldn't embarrass them both further. "Moi Tsar. Moya Tsaritsa," She bobbed a flawless curtsey, then left with one last poisonous look at Dasha.

Dasha's new-found bravery fast evaporated in the face of her husband, and it was all she could do to squeak out a polite greeting of her own before scurrying away, Irina and two guards following. 

"Your mother seems a delightful lady, your Grace," Irina's tone was not objectionable, but Dasha caught the displeased twist to her smile. Her maid was leading the way, guiding them through corridors without being asked. "Do you need to go somewhere quiet?" Those were not words of judgement; rather, an offer of comfort, tinged with sympathy.

Dasha laughed, somewhat shakily. She had been dangerously close to tears. "I'm fine, thank you. Though I would be grateful if you could show me the gardens, I need some fresh air," She paused. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough. Would you like to inform the guards to not let her into your rooms?"

"I can do that?" Her eyes widened.

Irina chuckled. "Of course you can. As you said earlier - you're the Queen,"

Dasha was just realising exactly what that meant. "I am, aren't I?" The Queen of Ravka, not a silly little mouse.

She spent a delightful afternoon with Irina, who showed her through the palace grounds. The gardens were magnificent; beds of bright flowers and perfect roses, vivid green lawns and exotic greenhouses, sparkling fountains and ancient trees. Her maid was excellent company; the more they spoke, and the further they got from the palace, the more Irina relaxed around her. 

"It's a beautiful time of year, your Grace," The girl said, sounding almost giddy. "When they told me I was to be the Tsaritsa's handmaid, I could have wept for joy. They had spoken to your old servants and said you liked gardening, painting, reading, and such like. Why, to think on a day like this I'd have been shut away inside cleaning, rather than looking at roses and feeling the sun on my face!" 

"I'm glad they chose you," Dasha said genuinely, enjoying her infectious enthusiasm. "Out of interest, why did they?"

"Oh, I know everything about fashions and hairstyles and jewellery," Irina said, somehow without bragging, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder. Dasha's eyes focused on the large daisy she had tucked behind her ear. "I've worked here since I was ten, and always loved looking at the court ladies in their gowns. I'd sneak into the seamstress' workshops and watch them be made, and later I'd sketch some ideas myself with charcoal. They thought I was a nuisance at first, but then took me more serious and started to listen. Suppose I made enough of a name for myself helping to style other court ladies that they thought the new young Tsaritsa would appreciate me on hand,"

"You sketch?" Dasha said, with a smile. "I'd like to see them. I'm not very well versed on court fashions - my mother had me dressed how she dressed at my age, because that was the 'proper' way,"

"Saints, she gets more charming by the second," Irina said, grinning. She had a lovely smile, Dasha noted with a swooping feeling in her stomach. Saints, not again. "I'd love to show you my sketches, moya Tsaritsa,"

"You can call me Dasha," The words came out before she could stop them. Don't be a fool, Darya. "In private, at least,"

Irina's so-lovely smile grew. "Of course," She paused, bending to pick a rogue cornflower growing on the edge of the path. "Here," She passed it to her with all the grace and charm of a romantic hero from a novel. "It matches your eyes, Dasha,"

Irina's eyes were a beautiful shade of apple green. Dasha was too choked to speak, simply tucking the flower into her own hair, somewhere below the tiara.

*

Her mother and sisters left three days later. In this time, Dasha had been careful to not let her mother corner her alone, or give her an opportunity to hiss more poison in her ear. She would not be sorry to see her go back to the other side of the Fold, though she would miss her sisters. 

"Be brave, Dasha," Bold, precocious Elena said as she embraced her tightly. Despite being two years younger, her sister was taller than her already. 

"You too," She drew back, looking over at their mother, who was snapping at the servants loading their carriage. Their father's goodbye had merely consisted of a few cold words; 'do your family proud' before he turned to talk last minute details on trade deals with the Tsar, who was there for courtesy's sake.

"She was always worse to you than to us," Elena shrugged as Dasha embraced little Ana. "She's still vile, but she never had us watched every hour of the day by old crones," 

Dasha did not even want to think on the reasons for that. "I'll try and arrange for you both to stay here soon," She said, glancing between them. "We'll say it's to find you both husbands or some other nonsense,"

Ana giggled. "Thank you, Dasha,"

Elena, however, was looking at the Darkling, who was still talking to their father. "If he treats you badly then write me, and I'll come and shout at him. Or steal you away in the night," 

The thought was so absurd that Dasha laughed, tearily. "Don't be ridiculous,"

"At least he's handsome, I suppose," Elena's smile turned sly. "Not that you'd even notice,"

"Stop it," Dasha hissed, glancing around, but their mother was too busy being awful to the staff to notice. Thoughts of dark curls, apple green, and a daisy behind an ear flashed across her mind and she ruthlessly quashed them. With all the Grisha around, it would be just her luck if one of them could somehow read her mind.

"What do you mean?" Ana asked with wide eyes.

"Nothing," She said, as Elena grinned. Then she relented. "Oh, I'll miss you both so much,"

"Even when none of your clothes go missing, or your books get crumpled?" Elena asked.

"Even then,"

She cried after her sisters left, alone in her chambers, but then gathered herself together. Her mother's advice had been sound, even if she did not want to follow it out of principle. Darya sat at her writing desk and began to pen a series of invitations. Her schedule was to become very busy, but it was necessary if she did not want to hate her life here. She wrote to various court ladies, as well as people like the Head Housekeeper and the Head Cook, asking them to join her on different occasions for tea. It would be a good idea to make friends with people here; not just those of her station, but also those who ran the palace behind the scenes.

As each of these meetings came and went, Dasha felt a little more like she belonged and a little less like she was playacting. It was easier, not being a mouse when her overbearing mother was not around, when no one here knew her as anything but Tsaritsa. She had easily won over the servants by simply bothering to talk to them and ask about their concerns, and how they would like things to be improved; something her mother would never have dreamed of doing. Most of the ladies were eager for a chance to get close to the Queen, and she was respectful and polite to all of them, though she had to admit she had several favourites. 

Her favouites were all younger ladies, from families of varying status, and were the least affected and most genuine of the lot. Lady Valentina Koryagina was a vivacious social butterfly, who was friends with everyone but hated gossip and did not have an unkind bone in her body. She had been married for a year in a rare love match, to a man slightly below her station, but seemed happy. Lady Sophia Grigoreva was more quiet, like Dasha was herself, and was a talented musician who did not appreciate the often insincere airs of court. Her husband was a plain but kind man who served on the Tsar's council. And Lady Natalya Tereshkova was very well read, with a quick wit and sharp cynicism that had Dasha in stitches of laughter. She was married too, to a man old enough to be her father, and left him to his country estate whilst she spent three weeks a month at court. 

These three ladies were the ones whom she found herself inviting back on multiple occasions. Such as that afternoon, whilst her husband was occupied at the Little Palace with the Grisha council and did not require her presence for court.

"You are so lucky, Dasha," Valentina said with a grin (she had told them all to address her by name in private). "You are the envy of most ladies at court, not just for marrying the Tsar, but marrying one of the best looking men in Ravka,"

"Yes, have you seen the state of my husband?" Natalya snorted, disdainful. "Picture that fat old pig rutting and grunting over you,"

"I'd feel more sorry for you, Tasha," Sophia started with a small smile. "If you didn't spend so much time after dark with that handsome footman of yours,"

That had them all giggling, as Dasha's eyes widened. How awful, to be married to such a man; who was she to judge Natalya for being unfaithful, in that case?

"The Tsar may be fair to look at," Dasha replied. "But he scares me half to death," She quickly added, "Not that he's mistreated me at all. He was very... respectful," Compared to others, which was a low bar. "I have just always been nervous around men, and he..."

Natalya laughed. "Is one of the most intimidating ones out there. I'll give you that. I wouldn't dare talk back to him the way I talk to Sergei,"

"He also pays me no mind at all, when we're not in public. Not that I want him to. But it hardly puts me at ease," In fact, it made her feel like the timid little mouse her mother had always told her she was. 

"But you're so beautiful," Valentina said. "What man wouldn't want you?"

"A man who's still in love with the Sun Summoner," Natalya said flatly. "You saw him kiss her in front of the whole court, did you not? We always suspected, but that proved it,"

"She kissed him, actually," Valentina corrected, grinning. "Very passionately. I was nearby, and had to fan myself," She realised then who she was talking to. "Sorry, Dasha,"

But Dasha was smiling. "Truly, I don't mind," She said, for it was not jealousy that she was feeling, just inadequecy. "She is welcome to him. I don't want him to love me, but - saints, I sound so pitiful - how do I even talk to him?"

"I was nervous around men, too, before I married," Sophia said kindly. "I had no brothers and my uncles were always away at the Front. And, of course, I wasn't allowed to talk much to any men who weren't family, so I had no idea how to talk to them at all,"

"But then you married Abram," Natalya pointed out. "Who is kind and gentle and doesn't have a bad bone in his body. Dasha's husband can cut a man in half at fifty paces. I was there, the day they took Os Alta, when you were all sent off somewhere safe. Tatiana Lantsov used all the ladies still in court as a human shield for when the Sun Summoner came after her - she'd held her mother and brother hostage in this very room. Starkova cut down - quite literally - every man in that corridor and both of the guards in here too, with barely more than moving her hands about. And she's the younger and weaker of the two,"

All of them fell into silence, staring at the faint bloodstains on the carpet. Even though, for Dasha, that wasn't it at all.

"He's not going to cut Dasha in half, though," Valentina said, the same time as Dasha herself said, "I need to get a new rug,"

The tense moment dispersed as they all laughed again. Though the laughter soon broke off at the sound of a knock at the door.

"Come in," Dasha called, only to sit bolt upright at the sight of her husband stepping inside, any trace of a smile fading from her face. All the others got to their feet, hurriedly curtseying with. She herself was silent.

"Moya Tsaritsa," He said, cold and expressionless as ever. "Ambassador Hansen has requested yet another court audience," Was that a bite of irritation in his tone? "Our presence is required in the throne room," Like her friends said, his face was objectively handsome, but it held little appeal to her whatsoever. And she was clearly just a prop to him; as though to show everyone that he really was human, promise.

"Of course, moi Tsar," She glanced at the other three ladies. "I will see you all tomorrow,"

"Moya Tsaritsa," They all curtseyed to her, as propriety dictated, the previous casual nature of their conversation set aside now there was company.

Her husband escorted her to the throne room, guards falling in place behind them. His arm under her hand was solid, his stride long, his kefta-clad form tall beside her. This was the man she was supposed to desire, to love. Saints, Darya really did not like men, did she? Those things were what other women admired in men, weren't they? To her, they were remarkable only for being unappealing. She had walked on Irina's arm to a dress fitting the previous day; Irina was taller than her, dark-haired too, but slender, warm and graceful, full of life when often her husband might be made of carved stone, and dressed all in white. She had helped in the fitting, her small hands passing skeins of cloth around Darya's waist, chest, hips, to demonstrate to the seamstresses how certain colours or shapes would look. Each place her hands had been burned, and Darya had to focus on keeping her breathing steady -

"Do try not to flinch from me like a startled mouse in front of the Fjerdan ambassador," And then, unexpectedly, he spoke to her. "We are arguing for the rights of Grisha in Fjerda, which will be somewhat undermined if my own wife is afraid to sit beside me,"

A sickening flush spreading across Darya's face in embarrassment at being chided like a child. A dull child, who could not make any conversation nor control herself in front of people. Then, to her surprise, she realised that no, she was angry. His words were reminiscent of how her mother had spoken to her. "I'm not a mouse," She snapped, sounding pathetic even to her own ears. "And I don't ever flinch in public,"

"You only show your prejudice in private, then?" He raised a cruel eyebrow. 

"Prejudice?" She was caught off guard at the accusation. "What prejudice? Against men?"

He stopped for a moment, then, looking at her with an odd sort of smile. "Against men?"

Dasha didn't know what to say, so said nothing, heart hammering in her ears.

"I was referring to the fact you can scarcely look me in the eye, so afraid of and disgusted by the feared Grisha,"

"I'm not scared of you because you're Grisha," She said, baffled. "And you don't disgust me," You just don't appeal to me, either.

He assessed her for a moment, before taking her arm again and continuing to walk. "Funnily enough, I believe you. Why are you scared of me, then?"

She hesitated, debating being honest in her head. "I don't know how to act around you. I don't know what to say to you. You just want me to be a prop, a non-Grisha Queen. You didn't marry me for my company,"

The Tsar laughed harshly. "True enough. Smart of you. Other women would try and win my affection," When they have no chance of doing so, was left unspoken.

"I don't want your affection," She said, a little panicked. 

That earned another curious look, but by that point they were at the opening doors of the throne room, ready to be announced. Dasha was incredibly glad that conversation - the longest she had ever had with him - was over.

*

It had been three months since the wedding, and his wife was still afraid of him.

With court adjourned, after two frustrating hours listening to the pompous Fjerdan ambassador wax on and on, Aleksander offered his arm to the woman beside him. Darya Glinskaya's hand was impossibly tiny, her touch light and soft. As though she was too skittish to even grip his arm properly. She knew her manners, however, and to anyone else appeared flawless. The Tsar and his Tsaritsa descended the dais and left the hall. Once they were in a more private wing of the palace, Darya let go immediately, eyes cast down as she bobbed a perfect curtsey.

"Do excuse me, moi Tsar," And then she was walking away, headed to her chambers, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

That was how she had been ever since the wedding. The perfect Tsaritsa in public, but meek and withdrawn in private. To him, at least; he had heard her giggling with her maid, or the other court ladies she had befriended, which silenced as soon as she noticed his presence. Aleksander could not blame her, even for the formal address that was dropped between most married couples in the privacy of their own company. He hadn't given any other name for her to use.

Three months since the wedding meant three months since Alina left. He had been apart from her before, for much longer than this, however this time it was different. She could be anywhere in the world. And he had never felt so far from her in the over ten years he had known her. Nor so alone. Part of him wished he'd never let her go, though he'd have lost her for good if that had been the decision he'd made.

Darya seemed content enough with her position, and showed a good level of initiative, having befriended many ladies at court, taken charge of organising various events, and started several charitable projects within Os Alta that had endeared her to the people. There were still those who cried out for their beloved Sankta Alina as Queen, and most likely always would; no matter how much effort Darya put into the poor, she would never outshine a living saint, though she could still do a lot of good regardless. He needed someone good, so that when he did something terrible but necessary, people were willing to look the other way. But even as he saw the Queen talking eagerly with her friends, or treating the guards and servants with that kind, earnest manner of hers, she still shrank away a little from his own touch and looked at him with wide eyes, smile fading, whenever he entered the room.

He had thought it was because she held prejudices against Grisha, him in particular, but their earlier conversation proved him wrong. Against men? Had she been abused in the past, and feared men as a result? That would explain her skittishness. 

He didn't know what made him follow her, knocking on the door before pushing it open. "Darya," Aleksander rarely used her given name.

She froze at her writing desk at the sound of his voice, turning around and quickly getting to her feet. "Moi Tsar?" There was a sketchbook, brushes and small tin of paints set out on the desk. He hadn't known she liked to paint, though it somehow fitted her well.

"I was informed you dislike your chambers," He had overheard her mention it to her friends in passing, in fact, but telling her that might scare her off even more. Aleksander did not particularly care about his wife beyond how she presented herself publicly, though it would be less unpleasant for everyone if she did not jump like a startled rabbit (not a mouse, he remembered with amusement) every time he looked in her direction. He could do this one nice thing, he supposed.

The young woman flushed, eyes lowering. "I like my chambers very much. I do not wish to appear ungrateful,"

"Tatiana Lantsov had terrible taste," He said bluntly. "I dislike your chambers,"

"You've only been inside them once before, moi Tsar," She said without thinking, only to go an even deeper shade of red. It was true, he had not visited her bed since their wedding night. He doubted she had any protests to that, however; her comment had not been meant as provocative, judging from the mortified look on her fact, simply a fact.

That wrung a short laugh from him, which clearly surprised her. "So you do have a spine. What I am trying to say, moya Tsaritsa, is that, as Queen, you are allowed to decorate your chambers how you like and don't have to put up with gaudy purple and gold walls if they offend your eyes. Nor," He glanced down. "Bloodstains on the rug,"

She smiled faintly, actually meeting his eyes for once. "Thank you,"

*

"What are you reading about today, Dasha?" Irina asked her one afternoon, as she dusted her chambers.

Her name out of the girl's mouth always made her pause from where she sat in the window seat. Dasha's morning had been rather draining. She had begun to organise some form of charity as Alina Starkova had advised her - and, of course, because the idea appealed to her greatly - but had underestimated how many people she would have to talk to to make this happen. It was worth it, of course, but lunch had been deliberately taken alone (well, apart from Irina) in her chambers, and the afternoon was for herself.

Nonethelesss, Irina's question was welcome. "A romance. Well, tragedy too, I suppose. Danik and Mariya. It's about a Duke's daughter who falls in love with a guardsman. I think you'd like it, if you'd like to borrow it afterwards?" Irina had already borrowed plenty of Dasha's book collection, treating them more gently than she did even the Tsaritsa's most expensive jewels. They were always returned in pristine condition. The other girl was a voracious reader, especially as she had never had the chance nor money to read or buy many books herself.

"Oh, that's on at the theatre as a play!" Irina said, excited. "Do you want to see it?"

"I've never been to the theatre," She replied. 

"Really? We can't have that - I go all the time, me and my brother get the cheap seats. I love it, and I'm sure you will too," 

Her curiosity was roused. "There is nothing else I have to do this evening..." She paused, then smiled. "Very well, yes, let's go. Can you tell the guards we'll be leaving the palace grounds? And, saints, find me something to wear! People dress up, don't they?"

"If they're sitting in the royal box, certainly," Irina laughed at her. 

"Are you trying to persuade me to go just so you get a better view?" 

"No!" Her friend said, indignant but grinning. "I really think you'll enjoy it. The view won't hurt though,"

It turned out to be a delightful evening. They took a carriage from the Grand Palace to the doors of the theatre, guarded by two Heartrenders and a company of oprichniki. People stared, and whispered, and muttered - at Dasha, of course, to them Irina was invisible - and she had to make several polite greetings to various nobles she had met at court, but the majority of the audience was middle-class and not allowed anywhere near her. It was a relief to sit in the dark anonymity of the royal box - she had stopped the attendants lighting a ridiculous amount of candles, as apparently it was the custom to light up their seats so everyone could get a good look - with an excited Irina at her side. It wasn't unusual for a noble lady to come here alone, when 'alone' meant accompanied by a servant and guards.

Watching her book come to life, acted out by the players on stage and accompanied by a full orchestra, was truly magical. Dasha looked on with rapt attention the entire time, and the occasional look to the side showed that Irina was doing the same. They both cooed at the sweet romance developing, gasped at the revelation of many scandals throughout, and wept at the tragic ending, the hero dying in the arms of the weeping heroine. 

"Saints, we must both look pitiful," Dasha sniffed as she dabbed her face with a handkerchief. 

"That just shows it was a good story," Irina replied. "You see now why I love the theatre, Dasha?"

"I do," She said, smiling. "We'll have to go more often,"

Dasha liked to think Irina's green eyes lit up at that, but it must have just been wishful thinking.

*

Her husband was in a dark mood. Dasha saw it in his face, and felt it in the way he gripped her arm tighter than normal as they entered the hall to meet yet again with the Fjerdan ambassador. She did not know much about politics, her father having never deemed girls clever enough to understand such things, but she was not completely ignorant of the fact that Fjerda was not holding up their side of the treaty nearly as well as Ravka and Shu Han. 

"His Majesty, King Einar of Fjerda, would like clarification on the disappearances of several companies of elite Fjerdan military near the Ravkan border," The arrogant ambassador all but sneered. "I note that the Sun Summoner is absent from court. She has, in the past, ruthlessly hunted and killed our men. As those were times of war, that can be overlooked. This, however - as I do not need to point out - would be in direct violation of the treaty signed barely a year prior,"

The Darkling's voice was sharp from where he sat on his throne beside her. "Interesting you admit to troops being present near the Ravkan border, Ambassador Hansen. If these elite soldiers turned out to be Druskelle, that would also be a violation of the treaty. Fjerdan military are forbidden from crossing the border, and Druskelle are forbidden from being closer than five miles to it. In addition, several Grisha soldiers have disappeared under suspicious circumstances from posts near the border in recent months,"

"Fjerda knows nothing of your missing, ah, soldiers," The ambassador hesitated over the word 'soldiers', clearly meaning 'witches' instead. Darya had never noticed the careless slights people threw at Grisha; at least, until she got married and witnessed her husband's anger at each and every one. "If any trace of them is found, we will of course inform you. As a gesture of goodwill," He offered a false smile, as though knowing that no trace of them ever would be found.

The Darkling's eyes had narrowed dangerously, letting the silence hang (and the ambassador begin to shift uncomfortably) before speaking. "King Einar forgets, as do you, that Fjerda is not the stronger party in this treaty. Your witch hunters are not permitted near the border - if they have strayed, then their lives are void. If I learn that any of my Grisha have been hunted by Fjerdans, I will expand the Fold a mile north for each one lost. Not to mention giving the Sun Summoner my blessing to do some hunting of her own. She will be only too glad to oblige,"

That chilling statement set the tone for the whole session.

Once court was over, the Tsar all but dragged Darya out of the room; she was forced to jog to keep up with his long strides. She did not know if he had forgotten he still held her arm as he marched into his chambers, slamming the door behind him. Her heart was beating like a frightened rabbit at being trapped alone in a room with him in such a temper. She had never seen him truly angry before, not enough to lose his composure at least.

"Even under the threat of the Fold, they hunt us," He snarled, pacing up and down the room, black kefta swirling behind. "It's always the same, after all these years. We are no longer at war, there's no tactical advantage. The hate Fjerdans hold in their hearts for Grisha even overshadows their own survival instinct. They hate us without reason, without logic, for very little gain. What more can I do to stop such evil, when a wall of shadow filled with man-eating monsters has little effect?" 

He rounded on her, as though waiting for her to chime in angrily herself, blinking as though he had forgotten who she was for a moment. 

"Did you kill their men?" Dasha asked for lack of anything else to say, adding hastily at his dark look, "Not that I'd blame you if you did! They violated the treaty first,"

He huffed a brief laugh, filled with bitterness and some small amusement. "No, I didn't kill them, nor order their deaths. That rat-faced ambassador was right, it was almost certainly Alina. She enjoys hunting Druskelle far too much to concern herself with a treaty - she and her friends are good at it, too. I'm not surprised that's the first place she went,"

"Do you miss her?" She dared to ask, not out of jealousy (saints only knew she didn't want him to herself), more... curiosity. And she hoped this would distract him from his anger.

The Darkling frowned. "Very much," After that unexpectedly earnest reply, he cleared his throat and gave an equally unexpected apology. "Forgive me for dragging you through the palace. I did not intend to... frighten you,"

She smiled faintly, somehow less scared of him now she had seen his temper and he had not once taken it out on her. "It's fine. I have been told before I have a calming presence. You are welcome to shout all you like. So long as it's not at me,"

He returned her smile, briefly, before moving on. "Tell me about your charitable projects. I looked like a fool in a recent council meeting when they were brought up and I did not know a thing about what my own wife does with her time,"

Dasha could not help the twinge of eagerness that leapt within her at the chance to talk about her work. "Well, every week I hold a court, of sorts, for people in need to come and talk about what ails them. Matters of law get directed elsewhere, of course, but if it's as simple as a woman needing a Healer for a difficult pregnancy or such like, then that can be arranged," It was an eye-opening experience for one as sheltered as she was. "I also work with a network of convents within Os Alta and beyond to make sure poor children get fed and clothed, and that schools have the books and supplies they need," She paused. "Since the renovations, I also had the seamstresses turn all the old Queen's drapes and dresses, even the material from her armchairs, into clothes for those that need them,"

He smirked at that. "I'm tempted to send a missive to Djerholm to tell Tatiana that her possessions are being used to clothe the poor and needy,"

"I can't imagine she would be best pleased," Dasha smiled, remembering the awful woman from the time she had been waiting to be betrothed to Prince Vasily. 

"If she was in her grave, she'd be rolling in it," Her husband said bluntly, making her laugh.

Later, she returned to her newly decorated rooms in the early evening, only to be greeted by Irina, who seemed strangely flat. "I heard you spent some time with the Tsar. Is he finally warming up to you?"

"Not in the way you're asking," Dasha said with a wry smile, as Irina helped her out of her carefully-chosen clothes behind the changing screen (a nightly ritual she had to talk through, to distract herself from improper thoughts). "He is interesting to talk to, though, now he bothers to engage me in conversation. Perhaps we will be companionable, if nothing else,"

"Marriages have been built on worse," Irina shrugged, still uncharacteristically listless.

"Are you alright, Ira?" Dasha frowned, concerned, having slipped her long silk nightdress over her head. "If you're sick, please have the next few days off,"

"No, thank you," She smiled over her shoulder as she put away her clothes carefully, sounding a little more like herself. "It's just a headache, is all. I won't need time off, but it's kind of you to offer," She added, almost as an afterthought. "You're always so kind,"

Dasha had been told as such before, but from her, it was somehow more touching. "I try to be," 

"But that's what makes someone truly kind," Irina turned to face her. "You don't have to try, you're the Queen - you could be cruel and selfish and demanding and no one would bat an eye. But you are anyway," She broke off, as though catching herself. "Can I get you anything else before bed, moya Tsaritsa?"

Dasha, somewhat baffled by her outburst, shook her head. "Goodnight,"

"Sleep well, Dasha,"

Irina left her chambers, her white servant's dress disappearing around the door after her. Dasha, for one stupid moment, wanted to call after her. Stay here with me, she would say, and they would do nothing but sleep beside each other, but that would be enough. To feel her body heat, to see her dark curls fanning over the pillow, to fall asleep to the smell of her cheap lavender perfume, to wake up beside her... 

Though, more likely, what would happen was that Irina's face would screw up in confusion, which would turn to revulsion and wariness. She would hand in her notice at the earliest opportunity, and there would forevermore be rumours about how, for the first time in history, the Tsaritsa was more of a threat to young maidservants than the Tsar. Worst of all, they would be true. Not to mention her mother would hear of it eventually, the consequences of which did not bear thinking about. 

So Dasha went to her cold, large, over-soft bed alone, head filled with foolish fantasies, tinged with the sharp sting of knowing they could never be.

*

This chapter turned into an absolute monster and had to be cut in half, so the second part will be posted very soon! (I even had to cut several scenes with Dasha's friends and Irina that I would've liked to explore). I can't lie, I love the dynamic between Dasha and Aleksander. I enjoyed Dasha coming out of her shell, standing up to her mother and becoming more comfortable in her new role, as well as Aleksander learning to see her as a friend and confidante rather than an annoyance. I want to clarify that their relationship is not a romance by any means, more like a friends with benefits situation (spouses with benefits, maybe?). Please comment a few words to give some feedback on this one, as it's very different from the rest of the story so far by being both Alina and Aleksander-lite.