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It had started to rain. The heavy drops of it hit Nikolai’s uncovered head. His hair creating pathways for rivers to run down the sides of his face.
Still, Nikolai stood statue-still in front of the dark tombstones.
“Whatever it’s worth,” Nikolai whispered, his words drowning in the sound of the storm. “I hope you are all at rest.”
The names of his mother, his father, his brother stared up at him silently.
It was the anniversary of their deaths. An anniversary of the day that the crown that was never meant to be his was placed on his head. And he should have felt some sort of nostalgia–maybe some sort of grief–but he stood in front of his family and struggled to feel anything but a crushing kind of loneliness.
He would never say that he never wanted to be king. He’s been ambitious. He’s always been ambitious and he knew that his brother wasn’t the kind of ruler that Ravka needed. But it was different now. He had the crown. A kingdom that did not want to get better. Countries breathing down his neck—wolves ready to catch a fox with their teeth.
Nikolai stared at the name of the king. The man who had raised him to be a son, even if that wasn’t the whole truth of it. The selfish bastard who was far from perfect, but had been Ravka’s king.
For the first time in his life, Nikolai wished he had someone to guide him through the next steps. Someone who might have been able to forge a path ahead and teach him how to cross mountains while parting rivers.
He tilted his head up to the rain that dropped heavily on him, hoping that he could be washed clean from the worries that were staining him.
Thunder rumbled angrily at him and a thought like lightning rushed through him.
He rushed to his horse and took no time to ride to the Little Palace. He rushed past guards, dignitaries, governors, all of those who wanted to wring him for solutions and resources he didn’t have.
Maybe, I’m just as selfish as my father was after all. The bone chilling thought crept through him like a shiver, but still he pressed on.
The usual calm, level-headed, and in-control manner he prided himself on had been stripped away. All that was left was a deep desperate want. A want that would shed this heavy, gilded crown–even for just a moment–so that there was nothing but…him.
His steps quickened until he was outside the all too familiar oak door. He could hear her humming and moving about her nightly routine. His fist was raised, poised to knock, and still he hesitated. He could still turn around. Vague thoughts of Princess Ehri and the arranged marriage that was supposedly the key to saving his kingdom flitted through his mind. His fist tightened. Then his body made a decision before his mind could continue its circling debate.
He knocked. The humming stopped. The door opened. And Nikolai felt the breath exit his body.
Zoya’s hair was down. Her black hair fell down her shoulders in a riot of waves. Her nightgown peeked out from under a silken robe. Her eyes glittered with annoyance and surprise.
She was everything that Nikolai wanted. She was everything he wasn’t ready to handle.
“Your Majesty, what–”
Zoya’s inquiry was cut off as he brought his hands up to her face and backed her into the room, the door slamming shut with a loud bang. He expected her to push him away, to shove at his hands and call him a lunatic, but she didn’t, which didn’t surprise him either. As much as he had tried to ignore her through the wars, the disasters, the impossible trap of arranged marriages, she wasn’t the kind of woman who he could ignore–especially when he caught her sometimes staring at him in the same ways he was always staring at her.
Her breath was faintly brushing against his lips. Her pulse had an erratic rhythm against his fingers.
“It’s the anniversary, isn’t it?” Zoya whispered. Her hands wrapped around his. They were like fire against his icy skin–something to scorch the inside of him.
Instead of replying, he just tugged her closer.
“Nikolai, this is foolish. If people saw you come into my room–The rumors already surrounding us are already–”
“Please…” Nikolai’s voice was hoarse. His throat felt raw from all the words he wished he could have said. His insides scraping against each other, as he tried to fight for any semblance of an explanation for his behavior. But all that came out was, “Please don’t say anything. For tonight. Can we let the rumors be true? Just once.”
She smelled like a garden in full bloom. The scent of wildflowers curling against his nose as his fingers threaded through her hair. He could feel Zoya hesitating. He watched as a thousand questions flicker through her eyes.
But he also watched her as she took him all in. She could feel how desperate he was. She could taste how much he needed her. Or maybe she just liked to hear him beg.
It didn’t matter.
Everything stopped mattering as soon as she had wrapped her arms around his torso, and brought her mouth up against his.
And Nikolai felt his world stand still. He was in the eye of the storm. The rioting of his thoughts. The backhanded world of the court. The disasters that felt like they were pressing against his sides suddenly stopped. They all felt distant as Zoya’s lips pressed against him, making him forget, making him breathe, making him believe that he was whole.