Valeriya felt suffocated in her dress.

It was a ruffled blue number—off-the-shoulder with delicate straps, the neckline gathered just enough to soften the silhouette. A corset hugged her waist, accentuating her figure, even though it would be hidden beneath her red dress kefta.

She liked knowing she was dressed up underneath.

Even still, she could barely breathe.

In less than an hour, she would be at the Grand Palace, surrounded by all the people she couldn't stand.

In the past, she never cared for the suffocating formality of these events. But there had been a time, years ago, when she could at least tolerate them.

Because she had never been alone.

During the showcases, she and Nikolai used to sneak off onto his balcony, stealing bottles of kvas from the kitchens and drinking until the stars blurred together.

It was a terrible idea—one they regretted each morning when the world spun and their stomachs churned—but it had been theirs.

A tradition.

And now, he was gone.

Valeriya's head swam, her vision blurring. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palm.

She would not cry.

It had taken an hour to perfect her hair and makeup. She wouldn't waste it now.

A knock at the door made her jump.

"Vale? You in there?"

Zoya.

Valeriya glanced at herself in the mirror, quickly checking for any trace of her frayed emotions. Then, forcing herself to relax, she flopped onto the bed.

"Come on in, Zoy."

Zoya entered, resplendent in her dress kefta—her usual blue, but with elaborate silver embroidery and a striking collar. Delicate silver chains wove through her dark hair, catching the candlelight.

Valeriya's own kefta mirrored hers, except hers was red with black accents, her hair adorned in matching embellishments.

"You didn't run away to sulk, did you?" Zoya teased.

Valeriya sat up with a shrug. "Didn't feel like it."

Zoya's sharp gaze softened. She crossed the room, patting Valeriya's head as she sat beside her.

"You doing okay, sunshine?"

Valeriya hesitated.

For a moment, she considered brushing it off.

But then—"Not great."

She swallowed, debating whether to say it out loud.

Zoya, however, already knew.

"We don't have to talk about him if you don't want to," she murmured. "I know you miss him."

"It's just..." Valeriya exhaled, voice barely above a whisper. "It's hard. Especially on nights like this. Nights that were only bearable because of him."

Her voice cracked.

Zoya pressed something into her palm.

Valeriya looked down.

Her ring.

"Keep this close," Zoya whispered, gently pressing Valeriya's hand to her chest, just over her heart. "And he won't fade. Your memory of him will live on."

Valeriya sniffled, trying desperately to keep herself together.

"I've lost so many people," she murmured, voice shaking. "But him—"

Zoya cut her off before the weight of it could drag her under.

"Let's focus on happy things tonight," she said, pressing her forehead to Valeriya's. "Like how David's going to get dressed up and spend the entire evening staring at Genya. And how trashy these noble bitches are going to look."

Valeriya let out a watery, hiccupy laugh.

Zoya grinned, pulling back.

"Let's get you all fixed up so you can break some hearts."

"That's your job."

"And I'm damn good at it, too."

♕

There was a very real chance Valeriya was going to throw herself off a balcony.

She had found David easily enough—she knew his hiding spots better than he did—but she barely had time to enjoy his company before people started crowding, and he all but bolted for safety.

Coward.

Every other Grisha in attendance wore their kefta, but Valeriya had refused.

She didn't care what the others thought—even when Ivan shot her a displeased look.

She had worn this dress every year since Nikolai left.

He had loved it. Had always told her how breathtaking she looked in it. Wearing it made her feel closer to him, even though he was with the Saints now.

Still, some things never changed.

The ladies invited by the Queen were as gaudy and overdressed as ever—just as Zoya had predicted.

Speaking of Zoya—Valeriya hadn't seen her since they arrived.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Fedyor and Ivan by the dessert table.

Fedyor was attempting to shove a pink meringue into Ivan's mouth.

Ivan, stone-faced as ever, refused.

They argued silently—then, finally, Fedyor forced it into his mouth.

Valeriya could swear she saw Ivan smile.

The world didn't end, so it must have been a trick of the light.

She grabbed a drink from a passing tray, downing it in one go.

Then—

She saw him.

The guard.

The same one from the hall.

Her body tensed, but before she could move, Kirigan strode across the room toward King Poytr.

He moved like he owned the place.

"Tsar. Moya tsaritsa," he greeted smoothly, bowing before launching into small talk.

Valeriya turned away.

The more she listened to the King and Queen speak, the more tempting the balconies became.

Before she could walk off, her gaze snagged on Vasily.

She grabbed another drink from a passing tray, tipping it back without a second thought.

Champagne.

She barely had time to process it before another shift in the atmosphere caught her attention.

Alina had arrived.

Dressed in a black kefta embroidered with gold.

She looked every bit the Saint they wanted her to be.

Valeriya took in the way she held herself, the way her eyes flickered toward Kirigan.

She recognized that look.

A foolish girl falling for a man who cared for power, not people.

Zoya had fallen into that same trap before.

Valeriya had kept a close watch on her then.

And she would keep an even closer watch on Alina now.

The demonstration began.

The Inferni started first, flames bursting toward the ceiling, illuminating the ballroom in flickering golds and reds. They tossed fire between them, manipulating it with practiced ease, their control flawless.

Gasps rang out across the room.

Valeriya barely noticed.

Instead, her eyes found David.

The idiot was staring.

Genya stood in front of him, but she hadn't turned yet. The moment she did, David would look away, pretending to be doing anything else.

And then, the second she turned back—

He stared again.

Valeriya giggled.

A nobleman beside her shot her a glare.

She feigned a delicate cough.

The Inferni's display came to an end. Applause erupted.

And that was when she saw him.

The guard.

The same one from before.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

Pulling her attention from the man, she scanned the ballroom. A strange unease settled in Valeriya's gut, tightening like a fist.

She exhaled sharply and threw back another glass of champagne, hoping the warmth of it would smooth the edges of her nerves. It didn't.

The ballroom had grown stifling, the weight of too many people pressing in on her from all sides. She needed air.

Slipping away unnoticed, she made her way to the front of the Grand Palace, past the carriages waiting to escort guests home. The cool night air bit at her skin as she sank onto a bench, exhaling slowly.

Her kefta felt too much, too heavy, so she shrugged it off, placing it beside her.

For a while, she just sat, absentmindedly picking at a flowering bush near the bench. The night stretched on, time slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there before a voice shattered the quiet.

"Are you alright, love?"

Valeriya jerked, heart slamming against her ribs.

Zoya.

Saints, she hadn't even heard her approach.

She nodded hastily, attempting to mask the lingering tension in her frame. "Just a bit overwhelmed."

Zoya's gaze was knowing. "Because of the Lantsovs?"

Partially.

Mostly.

"Yeah," Valeriya murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Zoya didn't press.

Instead, she took Valeriya's hand in hers, squeezing gently. "Well, I'm not dragging you back in there."

Relief bloomed in Valeriya's chest—only for it to plummet at Zoya's next words.

"But Kirigan needs our help."

Valeriya went still.

She hated helping Kirigan.

And judging by the tension in Zoya's frame, she wasn't particularly thrilled about it either.

Still, moments later, they found themselves underground, standing in a dimly lit chamber.

It smelled of damp wood and something faintly metallic.

And there—seated before them—was him.

The Conductor.

The man who had allegedly helped smuggle Alina out of the Little Palace.

Valeriya didn't care much for the politics of it all. But what did interest her was the name the Darkling had just mentioned.

Nina Zenik.

Valeriya's pulse stuttered.

She snapped out of her daze, realizing she had been listening—to his heartbeat.

It had been racing from the moment they entered, but now it was practically slamming against his ribs, so loud it drowned out Kirigan's words.

Fear.

Pure, unfiltered fear.

She pressed her lips together. She didn't like doing this. She wasn't Ivan, who relished the intimidation, or the Darkling, who thrived on control.

Torture was an unfortunate necessity in this line of work, but she preferred when the suffering was deserved.

Ivan stood too damn close to her, muttering his deductions under his breath. Valeriya merely nodded along, confirming them through the man's pulse, listening for falsehoods, for flickers of deception.

The Darkling stepped closer.

Valeriya instinctively stepped back—

And slammed into Ivan's chest.

His arms steadied her, hands gripping her waist, but she immediately pushed him away, bristling.

Ivan huffed a quiet laugh.

Bastard.

Then—

The Conductor's pulse spiked.

The Darkling had mentioned Nina again.

Valeriya's mind cleared, his heartbeat fading into the background as she pieced it together.

This was the man who helped Nina escape.

For a brief moment, a single thought crept into her mind—

I could use him.

But she shoved it away just as quickly. Who knew what Kirigan was capable of? She wouldn't put it past him to have some ability to sense intentions.

The Darkling raised a hand, signaling Ivan and Valeriya to step back.

She wasted no time in doing so.

As she passed Zoya, she squeezed her arm—a silent message, a moment of solidarity.

Then she was gone, slipping through the wooden door without looking back.

She was done.

Done with this saints-awful night.

And Saints, she was so ready to sleep it off.

Author's Note

The dress I picture of hers under her kefta is the one in the beginning gif.