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Summary
“You’re late,” she informs the Darkling, not looking up. They’re in the private garden attached to the monarch’s suite in the Great Palace. It might be winter elsewhere in this hemisphere, but it is summer in Ravka, and over this small slice of paradise in particular. The time when that might have been difficult for Alina to pull off is a distant haze; she lets her mind skitter over the memories and doesn’t dig deeper.
That way lies madness. A conclusion both she and Nikolai have reached, after the first chaotic years of their reign.