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War is never easy. That, he has learned.
And once, perhaps because of the naivety of his now wife, he had wished for peace after the destruction of the fold.
But as he had feared, it had only made it easier for their enemies to cross their borders.
The peace he seeks now, as he returns from the war front, is simple. He wants a few moments for himself before seeking out his beloved wife, before taking her in his arms to kiss her senseless.
As he opens the doors to his chambers, he sighs at the sight of his war room— empty, if a bit messy. Just the way he left it. But— the slight shuffling accompanied by some low murmuring coming from his bedroom puts him on guard. Straightening himself, he makes to stride forward with careful steps, as to not make a sound, all while his hands shoot up to concentrate, forming a small cut of shadow.
But, he drops his hands slowly as soon as he takes her in.
She is standing in front of his mirror, with her chin held high while sporting an uncharacteristically deep frown. Her tiny frame is all but drowned in the black kefta she is wearing — his, he realizes, though one of the newer ones he had requested. One with not only black embroidery, but with gold stitching as well, to represent her and her light.
It seems as though his little wife does not notice him watching her, since she continues, her voice echoing through his bedroom mock deep.
“Ivan, my kefta!”
She shakes her head at her own words and sighs.
“Ivan, my kefta!” She tries again, this time, her arms, or well, his kefta’s sleeves flail around dramatically.
It is not until then that he realizes what she’s doing.
Perhaps the correct response is to be irritated his beloved is imitating him, making a mockery of him.
But he cannot help but find it ever so endearing.
Something about her, trying to find it in herself to be stoic and imposing, the sheer opposite of herself, while wearing his clothing is simply something too adorable to be irked at.
Instead, he chooses to indulge her — his terrible mood now having faded with the gift of his wife being so.. herself.
“Stiffen your shoulders, and frown more,” Aleksander suggests from where he’s standing, wearing a fond smile.
His wife turns her head, her mouth opened in shock and eyes nearly popping out of her skull.
But then, even as she has been caught, the corners of her mouth tilt upwards, unable to keep herself from beaming at him.
“You’re back early.”
“I am.”
He does not move, but instead leans against the door-frame observing his little wife near drowning in his kefta.
"Now, straighten your back and tense your shoulders.”
“Sasha—“
Tilting his head and raising his brows, Alina does as she is told whilst looking him straight in the eyes.
“Tilt your chin up, there you go, squint slightly, now frown,” her lips turn into more of a pout and he cannot help but snicker at the sight, “no— not like that, no pouting, just relax your lips—“ Alina does as told once again and molds her features into a frown, “excellent. Now, link your fingers together, and let your arms relax.”
Aleksander assesses her, and cannot help but feel proud as she looks quite like himself in times where he needs to wear his mask though still show signs of disapproval.
“Turn around and take a look,” and she does. For a moment, Alina stands completely still before inevitably letting herself collapse forward as she sighs.
“Saints, how do you do that all the time?”
“Hundreds of years of practice. You will get there, moya solntse.”
“I will have to take your word for it, then.”
Aleksander pauses— what he wants to ask, he already knows the answer to. That, has he ever lied to her? — Long ago, before their life together, before their rule, she had been but a girl, and had made him feel like a boy. A century ago, she had left him for being untruthful. Until he had found her, with her little tracker, and a stag. Long before, he had done something he could not come back from.
Until he could. Until his power was hers too.
A simple trade off, for her to listen, after her tracker had left her.
“I will never lie to you again,” is what he tells her instead, his eyes somber, as he remembers his missteps.
“Sasha—“ Alina turns and tilts her head. She wants to say more, he can tell. And that she knows where he's coming from. But he refuses to have this moment ruined for what he cannot change.
He would rather make up for it instead.
Finally, he takes a careful step closer, and another, and another, until all he has to do is reach out his hand to touch her.
“I believe you,” she admits then, and he lets the weight of it pass on.
Allows himself to be here, in this moment with her instead.
“I have missed you so,” Aleksander confesses, his eyes open and honest as he reaches out to cup her cheek in the palm of his hand.
“And I you,” Alina murmurs as she leans into his touch, almost as if she revels in feeling his touch upon her skin as she closes her eyes.
Her two hands finds a place to rest on his upper arms and he leans down, pressing his forehead against her own, letting himself sigh as if a great burden has been lifted off his shoulders.
Having her, touching her, just being with her, has brought him solace he never thought possible, that he once thought himself undeserving of.
A century spent at her side, and although that voice still creeps into his mind at times, his Alina has convinced him otherwise.
He leans in closer still, his nose nuzzling hers for a moment, until their lips brush ever so slightly, but stays there, and waits for her.
Alina moves, her lips capturing his in the sweetest of kisses, and finds that the peace he once sought, even mere minutes ago, is nothing compared to the peace she brings.