Archive of Our Own ^beta

Only when the nobility and magnates spread out through the castle, taking advantage of the rare goods imported just for the ball, did Nikolai feel like he was forgetting something. He looked around the lavish ballroom in search of you, even just a glimpse of your dress or your hair. Alas, he saw none. Logically, he knew you were not in any kind of danger but lovers rarely are reasonable. There’s this strange itchiness in the back of his head that made his fingertips and feet tingle. In a room full of people, he felt uncomfortably lonely without you next to him; the world felt strangely wrong when you were not around.

He walked through the crowded halls asking about you - Grisha, guests, guards, no one seemed to have seen you recently. Despite the audible uneasiness in his voice, he dismissed any questions regarding your assumed well-being. Truthfully, the inquiries were only slightly misguided. You were probably perfectly fine and it was he who was sick with yearning because of your absence. Not sure what to do or where to continue his search, Nikolai simply marched forward, hoping to miraculously bump into you at some point. After all, what kind of miserable night is it going to be for him if he can’t dance even one time with his beloved queen?

Then, a gust of cold wind tugs at his clothes. His eyes look towards the direction of the night breeze only to discover one of the balcony doors being cracked open. Could it be…?

Nikolai approaches the windowed door with hopeful vigour. His heart stops for a moment, only to resume beating at a feverish pace:

As if unbothered by the grand ball, you’re leaning against the guardrail of the balcony, watching the starry sky. Moonlight washes over your silhouette, painting you more of a creature of dreams rather than reality. Cold wind tugs and waves the hem of your lavender gown but you don’t seem to mind it. To Nikolai, you appear almost inhuman like he just stumbled upon a dryad that got too caught up in looking at the moon and forgot to hide from the human gaze. It must be by the Saints’ mercy that he’s the one to not only admire the nymph but hold her heart as his own.

“You come here often, красивая девица?”

Startled, you turn around to look at the unexpected guest. Upon seeing Nikolai’s face, you sigh and let your shoulders relax - you can discard all of your facades around him without ever hearing a word of criticism. Without thinking about it, your lips curve into a smile.

“Only when I need a moment to breathe,” you answer before turning back to look at the sky again.

Nikolai leans on his arm against the guardrail. His watchful gaze studies the side of your face, his thoughts slipping away to gush about your beauty, while he’s trying to keep his focus on the more important matter that is checking up on you. The longer his eyes trail your features, the more he grows convinced that you are, in fact, a dryad and have put some kind of spell on him that has bound his thoughts to you.

“You worried me, love,” he speaks softly, as though he’s afraid his words might further spoil your mood, “disappearing so suddenly.”

With an apologetic look on your face, you meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. I just…” You look away for a moment, gathering thoughts. “It all became a little too much: the people, the noise. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Nikolai brings your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on your wedding ring. “I will always worry for you.” The gold jewellery glistens in the pale, silvery moonlight.

 Part of you still finds it hard to believe that a man of his sort is doting on you. Funnily enough, he’s thinking the same - what unimaginable machinations of the universe blessed him with you taking his name?

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you. The noise of people enjoying the evening is distant and muffled like it’s coming from another reality, somewhere far from the microcosm of the balcony. As mentioned before, lovers tend to belong to another species. Nikolai and you are just staring at each other with complete devotion in your eyes, silently exchanging confessions and oaths even death can’t quite break.

The sound of someone walking past the balcony door pulls you back to reality. Although the awakening is not welcome, you find it necessary. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your guests, мой царь? They came from far away to meet their king.”

“Oh, please, they didn’t come here for me. Why else attend a ball if not to admire the queen?”

“That’s your reason for attending.” Nikolai doesn’t find it in himself to lie and deny the accusation. “Most people just want to dance, talk and have a bit of caviar.”

Jokingly, he puts a hand on his chest. “Are you calling me special?”

You only shake your head and bite your lower lip but it’s not enough to stop the wide smile from spreading across your face. “I never said that.”

Nikolai frowns at your denial but the playful glint in his blue eyes rids his expression of all seriousness. “No, I’m pretty sure I just heard you say ‘Nikolai, you’re the most amazing man I have ever met’. Why, thank you. I must agree.”

His half-serious cockiness makes you laugh out loud. If he didn’t look pathetic before, he surely does now: the king of Ravka, staring at you with a soft smile and a dreamy gloss in his eyes. For a moment, he’s not noble in any way, shape or form. Nikolai is just a man - a man who gladly traded deference for love. Your laughter rings in his ears, his yearning mind hoarding the beautiful sound as though it desperately needs it for survival. Even the efforts of the talented orchestra are drowned out by your happiness as there is no other music he wishes to listen to.

Only when you’ve stopped laughing does he continue the conversation, never daring to interrupt something he adores so much: “Are you feeling better, милая?”

“I will soon.”

The orchestra finished one of the more upbeat pieces and in a true show of their expertise, they smoothly transition to a slow, sombre tune. Because of the distance between the balcony and the grand ballroom, the music is muffled as though the artists are performing their song in a nearly-forgotten dream; as if the soft tune belongs to another realm.

“In the meantime,” he says as he offers you his hand, “may I have this dance?”

You only giggle as you put your palm on top of his. Soon, you’re slowly swaying to the distant melody with his arm protectively wrapped around your waist. It’s not an actual ballroom dance, so you feel no embarrassment in comfortably placing your face against his shoulder. Out there, among lords and magnates, maybe this would be considered too casual but on the balcony, it’s the only way one should dance. The time seems to stop as you and Nikolai rock to the rhythm of the sombre tune. 

After what feels like both seconds and hours, you lift your head off his shoulder. Nikolai’s dreamy stare is following your small movements, never missing as much as a twitch of a muscle. If he could, he’d engrave your face on his eyelids, so he doesn’t have to go more than a few seconds without seeing you.

“As much as I appreciate your concern,” you begin quietly, as though raising your voice might burst this little bubble of careless romance, “you don’t have to run after me anytime I need to get away for a moment.”

Nikolai answers in an equally low voice: “I also don’t have to kiss your beautiful face but I just can’t help myself, you know?”

You’re still giggling when you feel his lips against yours. It’s sweet and tender and absolutely consuming. There’s a certain intensity to this kiss - the passion known only to those obsessed with something, whose intrinsic instincts can’t just casually enjoy the object of their desire. His warm lips feel perfectly moulded for yours as he’s silently pouring the contents of his heart for the world to see.