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"I'm surprised you're even going." He had said so half a dozen times, but he was still having a hard time accepting it. He had invited her, of course, but he had never expected her to accept. She was a spiteful little thing, and he had expected her to sit it out and sulk until he returned to his room after the reception. Instead, here she was at the cathedral, red-eyed and clearly exhausted. She probably hadn't slept. Nikolai bent to rest his forehead against her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her. "You don't have to come," he told her.
"Of course I do." Zoya kept her bloodshot eyes downcast as she knotted his tie. "How would it look if your general didn't attend your wedding?"
Not good, Nikolai was sure. He said nothing, turning his head so his temple was on her shoulder, doing his best to meet her eyes. She steadfastly refused to look back at him.
"I'll be with Genya, if you need me," she said, "getting very, very drunk."
It was wrong to hear her voice so flat. There was no trace of her usual spark. Pulling back, Nikolai lifted his hand, placing his cool palm against her neck, his thumb brushing the soft spot behind her ear for just a moment before she pulled away from him. Softly, he said, "I'll save you a dance."
When she finally looked at him, her eyes were blazing, the blue fire of dragon flame. "Don't bother."
He had never seen her look at him like that. Usually, he only saw adoration and mild disdain in Zoya's eyes. This was a far more frightening combination of fury and absolute despair. Though he knew it was unwise, Nikolai found himself asking, "You're angry? Aren't you the one who insisted on a political marriage?"
She scoffed. "I've never felt so betrayed in all my life, Nikolai." She was gripping his tie like she wanted to strangle him with it. "Even after I said what I said." I love you, she had said. It should have changed everything, but the ways of the world were the ways of the world no matter what their personal feelings were. Just the same, he couldn't blame her for hating him for this. "I'm beyond angry."
"Zoya--"
Again, she hissed, "Don't bother." Then she sighed, letting go of his tie and carefully smoothing it down. Softly, she asked, "Did you know her dress is white?"
What did that matter? Raising a brow, Nikolai pointed out, "In Ravka, brides wear white wedding dresses."
"She isn't Ravkan. She's Shu." Zoya shivered when Nikolai lifted his hands to grasp at her hips. He was genuinely shocked when she didn't bat him away. "In Shu Han," she said, "wedding dresses are red." She met his eyes. "White is worn for funerals."
It took all his strength to keep his fingers from digging into Zoya's skin through her dress. He wanted to pull her close, to keep her in his arms for as long as he possibly could. "Zoya," he said, gently, "we wear black for funerals. And you're wearing black."
She rolled her eyes at him, and he didn't fail to notice the gathering tears. "You don't say!" she scoffed. This time, when he touched her cheek with his hand, she didn't pull away, instead turning her head to press her lips to his palm. He would miss the warmth of her.
She only pulled away from him when Tolya popped his head in the door. Giving her a long look before he glanced to Nikolai, he said, "It's time."
Before the door had even closed behind them, Zoya grabbed for the carefully folded collar of Nikolai's jacket, pulling him down to her and kissing him breathless. "This," she said, her lips brushing his with every word, "is what you're giving up by marrying her."