TW! Mentions of past sexual assault

FREYA DREAMT THAT night. Of a fountain tinged red, of screams emanating from a hut. Of a boy with dirtied golden hair weeping over his friend's corpse, the smoke of a hundred grenades tainting the air grey. She walked through the ruins of a city she used to know. Streets that she had once walked with her brother. Now the buildings were nothing more than piles of rubble, and the gravel was painted crimson with blood.

Wherever she went, a voice she did not know echoed around her. This country gets you in the end, brother.

She woke gasping and covered in sweat. It was still dark out, and the people around her were sleeping, bundled in thin sleeping bags lined with old fur. She cupped her hands over her mouth to muffle as much sound as possible. Her nightmares were never scary in the sense that monsters lined the shadows. That had not happened since she was a child. Instead, her dreams were imbued with horrors she would rather forget. The glassy stares of the dead, the loud sounds of explosives and gunfire, a hand reaching out from beneath a pile of rocks, cold and dead.

As her breathing calmed and her heartbeat slowed, she could only stare at the blond-haired prince sleeping on the other side of the dying campfire. Freya had never seen him so peaceful. There was no furrow between his brows. No lines of worry marred his face. He was calm and relaxed, inhaling slow and long breaths.

Freya's sleep hadn't been calm since the first skirmish over a year ago when a drüskelle axe had hung precariously above her head. That day seemed so distant now. So mundane and unimportant. Freya had seen a dozen other bloody battles since then. A hundred different tragedies. Her hands were covered in the blood of so many people that she couldn't even remember them all.

Your hands, she scoffed at herself internally. As if her cruel and monstrous acts stopped at her wrists. As though by the end, there could be any part of her that wasn't covered and dripping.

Sleep would not come that night again. She knew it wouldn't. There was little more to do but keep staring. At the stars or Nikolai, it mattered little. Not for the first time, she wished there was someone to hold her and lull her back to sleep. But she was a soldier of the Second Army, and they did not get such comforts in life.

Tomorrow, they would reach Ulensk. That was where she would find comfort. In a room full of her friends, no matter how scarred beneath the surface they might all be. For now, she just had to grit her teeth and get through it. Heaving a heavy sigh, she twisted herself until she was facing the night sky.

Maybe if she counted enough stars, she would be able to pass the time quickly enough.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Freya!" the loud and bubbly voice of Vanya Volkova rang through the courtyard of the Mayor's manor the moment they rode through the gates. She hurtled herself down the stairs, red kefta swishing around her legs.

Freya let out a laugh at the sight of her. Djel, it was so good to see her. After weeks of being away – of pain and blood and strangers – she finally saw something familiar. The relief in her chest was like a flower of heat. It bloomed and spread through her body. She climbed off her horse as quickly as she could, opening her arms just in time to catch Vanya as she hurtled herself forward.

The squeeze of Vanya's arms around her torso was tight, suffocating her, but Freya did not want her to let go. She inhaled the girl's homey scent – a nice mix of standard-issue soap and the flowery perfume she somehow managed to smuggle in with her.

"I am so glad you're back! We feared the worst!" Vanya pulled back, roving her eyes up and down Freya's body. "Are you alright? Are you injured? Do you need to sit down?" Her fretting was incredibly endearing. Freya grinned at her and shook her head.

"I'm fine now," she told her, grasping her hand tightly. "I promise." The sound of other people approaching made them pull away even further, turning in the direction of the newcomer. Vanya's eyes instantly widened when she noticed who it was.

"Your Highness!" she yelped, bowing at the waist quickly. Nikolai's face twisted into a grimace at the action and he quickly raised his hand to stop her.

"Please, just Nikolai. I am a soldier here, same as you," he said, gesturing to his uniform. "I don't need any special treatment." Freya's smile widened as something cluttered inside of her. She would never get used to this. A man of noble blood that did not flaunt his wealth, did not demand respect. Just a normal boy of nineteen, fighting for his country.

"His regiment was the one that found us at Mosava," Freya told Vanya. "And they were sent to escort us here too." Vanya nodded, eyes flicking over to where Harshaw was handing his horse's bridle off to a stable hand. A deep frown etched itself onto her face.

"Did no one else make it?" The previous excitement in her voice had dissipated. What was left was a painful and sullen acceptance of the reality of their situation. It had been long since so many Grisha were lost in a single battle. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't walked into a trap. Freya tried to chase away all of those thoughts, but it proved pointless. The urge to cry was not as sudden as she had expected it to be. She still struggled to not let the tears fall.

Don't cry in front of them, she told herself. Save your breakdown for another time. She hadn't quite allowed herself to mourn any of the people that lost their lives that day. She had suppressed any feelings the best she could. When she had wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and hide away in the darkness forever, perhaps let the shadows swallow her whole, she had forced herself to smile and continue. Weakness was not an option. Distraction was something she could afford even less.

"I'm sorry," Vanya muttered, clasping Freya's shoulder. The squeeze of her fingers around her skin was barely enough to keep her from disappearing into her mind, but it was an anchor nonetheless. Freya inhaled sharply and shook her head to chase away the stupor.

She turned her eyes away from Vanya and Nikolai, instead looking up at the large Mayor's house in front of them. In her entire life, she had only seen it from a distance. Sometimes, she passed it when she walked the streets on the days that she got a break from everything. The Mayor had not once invited the Second Army in.

"Why are we at the Mayor's manor and not in the camp?" The camp outside Ulensk was not as gritty and dirty as the First Army encampment closer to the border. It was meant to be a place where soldiers came to recuperate, and much more intricate missions were planned. Unlike the camps further north, it was not meant to be canon fodder. Certainly, not the first line of defence. Maybe that was why the Mayor had always turned his nose up at them.

He was a retired First Army soldier. From what Freya had heard, he had undergone basic training in Poliznaya and continued to serve for twenty years. That was more than most people did. Usually, when a soldier's mandatory military service was up, they took the chance to get out. The Mayor was seen as a war hero. He took part in many gruesome battles. Freya would understand if his disdain for them stemmed from the fact that the entirety of the military camp was Second Army and that they did not serve closer to the border. Where they were needed.

"He heard that the Prince's regiment was coming here," Vanya explained, confirming Freya's suspicion. "He offered to house the men during their stay. He also invited some Second Army soldiers to dine with him tonight." At least the man was clever enough to invite some Grisha. It was clear he did not want them there, but that was easily hidden from view when he invited them. No one could verbally complain about discrimination.

Not that they would've been able to do that anyway. The Mayor provided the military camp with whatever was required. Not once had they been cut off from supplies because of his anger towards Grisha. Besides, the manor was his private estate. It was up to him to invite whomever he wanted.

"Then I must offer the Mayor my thanks," Nikolai said through gritted teeth. He did not meet Freya's eye when she looked at him. He wasn't happy with the special treatment. The reality was that the Mayor had extended his invitation because of Nikolai's presence. The Twenty-Second regiment might've gotten some privileges regardless, but it was only amplified with a prince serving in their ranks. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Freya watched with pursed lips as Nikolai walked away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The dinner was, to Freya's great surprise, a pleasant occasion. The Mayor did not shy away from a conversation with anyone, regardless if they were Grisha or not. It was rather refreshing, despite Freya knowing the man did not like them most of the time.

Such good food hadn't been provided to Freya since she left the Little Palace. The spices brought her senses alive, and the softness of the meat was just right. The wine was sweet on her tongue. Truly, it was just the thing she needed after everything that happened. A perfect evening to draw her attention away.

Vanya sat opposite her at the table, with Luca just to the girl's left. Nikolai sat beside Luca, and the two were engaged in topics about things Freya did not understand. Something about ships and new weapons, but she couldn't be sure. The two spoke words that she had never heard in her entire life. It distantly reminded her of how Luca and David would always bury themselves in David's experiments.

It was the first time in weeks that Freya saw Nikolai's eyes shine so brightly. He was utterly enthused about the discussion. He and Luca could not be more cut off from the world around them.

That left Freya to chat with Vanya. The two quickly caught up – not that there was much to say, it had only been a month since the two saw each other. Vanya hadn't been sent on a mission in a long while, which meant she and Luca were stuck twiddling their thumbs. How two very skilled Heartrenders could be kept off the battlefield was a mystery to Freya.

"At least the winter fete is around the corner," Vanya sighed, leaning her head on her palm. "Luca will get called back to Os Alta for that. And wherever he goes, I go." She did not sound the least bit disappointed with that. The two of them had grown up together. From the moment Luca's powers had manifested, the two had learned and trained together. Freya would not be surprised if they could tell each other's heartbeats apart from miles away.

"I don't know if I want to go to the winter fete," Freya admitted. She had been twice already. Each time, she was nothing more than a spectacle for the nobles to gawk at. She was not a human to them. Not a soldier that defended their perfect rich lives. She was a show, a pretty painting they could look at, their entertainment.

The only positive thing about the fete was that she could get horribly drunk with Zoya and dance with whomever she pleased. She might not have been a favourite the boys at the Little Palace flirted with, but she was like a rare diamond during the fete. A perfect glittering jewel. The nobles and military officers flocked to her like moths to a flame.

"I need a break!" Vanya proclaimed. "I hate sitting around doing nothing. If I'm going to do that, I might as well do it at home and not in some rugged camp." She took a large sip of her wine. "I miss my bed! The cot's here are so uncomfortable. It makes my back–"

A chair screeched across the floor loudly. Freya's head snapped in the direction of the sound. Her breath caught in her chest. Luca had all but jumped from his seat, eyes wide as he took a shaky step away from Nikolai. The blond prince was staring at Luca with shock, his hand outstretched. Luca was clinging to his arm as if he had been burnt.

Vanya turned in her seat, reaching towards Luca to comfort him, but he jerked away from her too. "Apologies, moi tsarevitch, but I want to turn in for the night." His voice was so small and shaky. He suddenly looked like the child he was, not the weapon he was crafted to be. He did not waste a second before scurrying towards the door, his red kefta the last thing anyone saw of him. Before Freya could ask what had happened, Vanya stood up and followed after him.

The silence that followed their departure was suffocating. Nikolai had not moved from his stiff position, hand still outstretched. He looked shocked and confused. Utterly unsure of himself. The other soldiers and the Mayor could only stare. After a few more moments of silent shock, the conversation started again.

Freya could not bring herself to join in. What had happened? The look on Luca's face! He was afraid. He looked more like a wounded animal than anything else. She thought about asking Nikolai, but he looked just as confused as she was.

Slowly, she stood up, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. She failed miserably, as a few of the soldiers from the Twenty-Second instantly started asking where she was going. With a smile that she hoped didn't look too strained, she excused herself for the night. Each step towards the door, down the hall, and then towards the room Luca had been given for the night felt too heavy and sluggish. It was like an anvil was tied to each of her feet.

When she finally made it to his door, she stopped. Would she even be wanted here? Sure, she and Luca were close friends, but what if he wanted to be alone? She lifted her hands and made three quick gestures with her fingers. The sound around her died out, but the noises inside the room were amplified enough for her to hear.

The water of a bathroom sink was running. Luca was gasping, and Vanya was whispering something comforting. Freya let her hands fall away, then knocked. She waited with bated breath for what felt like ages before the door handle moved down, and a small crack appeared between the doorframe.

Only a fraction of Vanya's face was visible through it, but it was enough for Freya to see the grim expression. Something was definitely wrong. In the many years, she had known Vanya Volkova, she had never seen her look upset at anything. The air inside her lungs felt as thick as oil. Every muscle in her body tensed.

She didn't know what to say. Eventually, she squeaked out, "Is everything alright?" It was a weak thing to ask. Something to use so she didn't have to dig deep into a real issue. But how could she? She didn't know what had happened to make Luca react that way. She didn't know what he felt, what he saw. This was unlike those nights when he cried because of an argument with his father. There was no visible reason for him to act the way he did.

"This, um, isn't the best time," Vanya muttered through the crack in the door. Her eyes nervously flickered behind her for a moment. Freya's breath hitched. She was about to nod and walk away from the situation, not wanting to intrude where she wasn't needed when another voice came from further in the room.

"No, let her in," Luca called. Vanya hesitated but then pulled the door open further with a heavy exhale through her nose. Freya swallowed thickly as she stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind her.

When she turned around, it took a while to see where Luca was. Her eyes flickered between the carefully made bed, the open door to the ensuite bathroom where the tap was still running, and then the many couches and settees. Finally, she noticed a slight movement in the darkest corner, enveloped by shadow. Luca was sitting there with his knees pulled to his chest. One of his arms held them firmly in place, while the other rested on them, fingers burrowed deeply in his dark hair. His grip on his hair was so tight his knuckles went pure white.

Freya could only stare for a long while. Luca's breaths were coming out short and ragged and his skin looked pale and clammy.

"Sometimes, I wish I had inherited my father's shadow summoning abilities," he laughed, the sound desperate and almost disbelieving. "Then maybe I could disappear from the world." The words were so genuine. Luca slightly shook his head. "I'm sorry. This hasn't happened in years."

It took a while for Freya to understand what this meant. She shook her head. "Don't apologise," she dismissed him, "We all have bad days." She paused briefly. "I just... want to understand." Vanya's head snapped towards her, hair whipping colour into her cheeks. Her mouth fell open to protest, but then Luca was speaking again.

"I haven't told anyone since it happened." Freya's jaw tightened. It was very personal then. A great secret. She wondered how many people knew and who they were. It could be just Vanya since she very clearly knew. The golden-haired Heartrender stood with her arms crossed and her face tightly fixated, like a sentry standing guard.

With careful steps, Freya approached Luca. When she was only a foot away from him, she lowered herself onto the floor. She wanted to be on his level throughout this. Not someone demanding to be told, standing above him like a threat, but a friend offering to lend her ear. That's what she was, and she wanted Luca to know that. Whatever Luca told her, she would lock it in her heart and mind.

She crossed her legs. "You don't have to tell me. It is your choice. I can just be here until this passes." Luca gave a small strained smile at that. Then he shook his head and inhaled deeply as if steeling himself.

"I think the King wanted to punish my father," he began. Freya blinked at him, unsure of what he meant. Her mind ran rampant with a thousand possibilities. "It was during my first winter fete. I was fourteen and the only reason I was allowed to come was because King Pyotr wanted me to be presented before him. The presentation went well. I only received a few remarks about how skinny I was and how I wasn't a Shadow Summoner." He shrugged as if those things were not already insults. "I was still upset by them, obviously. I didn't know that was the least of my worries that night." He waved his hand, dismissing the whole ordeal.

"I remember it was about midnight when I grew bored. I was the youngest Grisha there. Everyone was at least two years older than me and I had barely spoken to any of them. So I convinced my mother to let me go home," he continued. His voice was becoming more and more strained as he went on. "She let me. I had almost made it to the exit of the Grand Palace when a servant approached me. She said the King wanted to see me."

It felt like cold water was dumped over Freya's body. Alarm bells went off in her head. Genya's words from years ago blared like sirens. I want you to be careful. The King requested you personally. She knew what Luca would say before the words were even out of his mouth. Hot tears burned her eyes.

The realisation of what must've happened struck her like a steel-tipped whip. She wanted to surge forward and wrap her arms around Luca. I was fourteen, he had said. Fourteen. Freya remembered how he had looked back then. Still a child, face round with baby fat. Something coiled tightly in her belly and she wanted to be sick.

"You don't have to continue," she gasped, the words choked. Luca's quartz eyes flooded with tears. He shook his head, wiping furiously at his eyes. It did not help, the tears spilt onto his already reddened cheeks.

"Do you know what he told me?" he asked, laughing incredulously. "This will teach Kirigan who holds the power." Hot red anger shot through Freya at those words. She remembered suddenly what the situation was like between the King and the General back then. It was whispered about constantly during meal times by the older Grisha. Apparently, Kirigan had made a fool of the King a few too many times during a council meeting by proving him wrong. It was not enough to take away any funding and privileges the Second Army had before. He had to go after a child as well. To satiate some fucked-up idea of revenge.

"Does your father know?" Freya couldn't imagine any scenario in which the Darkling wouldn't have set the entire Grand Palace ablaze. Kirigan might've lacked in showing affection towards his son, but surely he wouldn't be so cruel as to ignore this.

"Of course not!" Luca cried, the sound raspy from tears. "What could I have possibly told him? Hey, Dad, the King raped me last night! It sucks that we can't do anything about it because he's the King! Anyways, have fun at the council meeting today!" His words stung, because they were true. Luca showed no signs of stopping in the self-deprecating speech. "Your little boy was forced onto his knees yesterday. He bled all over the King's sheets. He has bruises on his-"

"Please, stop," Freya breathed, launching herself forward to pull him into her arms. Luca did as he was told, resorting to just crying. He buried his face into her shoulder and heaved heavy sobs. His hands clung to her so tightly that it hurt. Freya didn't pull away. She had tears of her own running down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Luca."

It took ten minutes for Luca to calm down. Another five more before he pulled away from her and curled back into the same position as before. The tears had dried on his face by then, leaving them blotchy and red.

"When Nikolai touched me tonight, I freaked," he said with a shuddering inhale. "He didn't even do anything wrong. His hand just skimmed my forearm. But I remembered Pyotr's hands on me. And suddenly it was not Nikolai Lantsov sitting beside me, but that wretched disgusting pig."

Freya nodded. He had not needed to explain himself. She had assumed that was the case the moment she realised where his story was heading. A Lantsov King. A Lanstsov Prince. It made little difference. She knew that Nikolai would never do such a thing. At least, she liked to think he wouldn't. How well did she truly know him? They had spoken once at the winter fete, then she had opened up to him while standing above the crimson clover she was growing. The royal hunt had followed, the first time she had ever felt the need to be close to him.

It had been two years since she saw him. When he appeared had Mosava, standing in the doorway of the hut, her rifle aimed at his chest, she had thought he was an illusion. He was no longer the same boy he was back then. His appearence changed, why should his personality not do the same? Two years was a long time. Especially for someone stuck in a war zone.

No, her mind screamed. Nikolai was not like that. No, no, no. She grit her teeth until it hurt. This was not the time for her to spiral into these thoughts. She could do that later when she was alone and not when her friend was sitting in front of her, cutting himself open so she could see inside his heart and mind.

"Who knows, then? Your mother?" Luca inhaled deeply and shook his head.

"She would tell my father. I know she would." Freya didn't know much about Katya Kuznetsov's realationship with General Kirigan, but she trusted Luca's word on the matter. "Van knows, obviously. Genya does too. She was the one to take me back to the Little Palace." That made Freya even more physically sick. Genya was Kirigan's spy, but she had no doubt she would keep this secret if Luca asked. She was two years older than him. Had been experiencing Pyotr's cruelty for months by the point it happened to Luca. Freya could imagine the whirlwind of emotions she must've felt, leading a broken and bruised boy back home. The world was truly cruel. "David knows too."

It was difficult to imagine David, of all people, dealing with such knews. Djel knew that the Durast was socially awkward at best, completely disconnected at worst. He did not understand most human emotions. But him and Luca shared a room since they were thirteen. It made sense that he would know. He would've been there when Luca came back.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"Not even your Lantsov Prince?" It was meant to be a joke, but Freya could still hear the doubt in Luca's voice.

"He is not my Lantsov Prince." She smiled grimly. She didn't know why Luca called him that. Her smile dropped quickly, and she said in a serious tone, "Especially not him."

Luca gave a thankful hum.

They sat there for two more hours in complete silence.

Author's Note

I debated for a long time whether I should add this bit of Luca's backstory into the book. I didn't want to be one of those authors who use rape and sexual assault for shock value. I feel like I've developed Luca's character and personality enough to put this in though. His motives and inner turmoil have two causes: his father and what the King did to him. A lot of Luca's actions will be directly impacted with this trauma he suffered in childhood, and I hope I will be able to represent the aftermath of something as traumatic as what happened to him well.