#c. vasily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thearchvillain · 2 years ago

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gardenias. | nikolai

part I

nikolai lantsov x reader

summary: Os Alta is alive with whispers of ambition as the Ravkan court gathers to find a queen for Vasily. Y/N, a merchant’s daughter, has no desire to be part of the spectacle. Forced to attend by her parents, she plans to keep her head down, avoid attention, and disappear before the night is over.

But secrets rarely survive the palace walls. A late-night meeting in the winter garden places her directly in the path of Nikolai Lantsov—the charming and unpredictable younger prince. Now, the one man she’s been desperate to avoid is far too interested in her plans, and to her dismay, she doesn’t entirely mind.

With her freedom on the line and the stakes rising, Y/N must navigate the court’s dangerous games—and the pull of a prince who might just unravel everything.

preview:

“I promise not to scream if you tell them you didn’t see who I was meeting with. Eryk’s done nothing wrong.” He lifted a brow, a sinuous smile curving his lips. “Do you promise not to bite, too?” Blood rushed furiously to her cheeks, indifferent to the fact that she was fighting desperately to keep her composure as she glared up at him, impervious to his taunting, or at least pretending to be. “I promise no such thing.” He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, a look of terrible amusement in his eyes as he whispered, “Good.” Then he straightened back up, hands in his pocket, all graceful, unruffled confidence. “But I find those sorts of nefarious activities are better enjoyed when one is well-rested. Shall I escort you to your room? Make sure you don’t accidentally commit some act of treason on your way to it.” She was careful to control her breathing, aware that she was one inhale too deep from being pressed against his chest. “Is that what this is about? You think I’m planning some grand act of treason with Zaitsev?” “Well, you have that look about you. A bit insolent, a bit treasonous.” “I thought you liked that.” He made a soft tutting sound, looking deeply entertained by the defiant tilt of her chin. “Of course I like you. It doesn’t mean I will just let this go.”

word count: 6k (i know. don't @ me, i made it even worse in the rewrite)

tropes/warnings: not cannon, vasily's still alive, nikolai's kinda suspicious that y/n is about to commit some kind of treason and it's reflected in the way he acts, there is tension and innuendos though sljdf

a/n: i'm not going to lie to you, this is absolutely going to be a multi-part. i'm enjoying writing nikolai being a teasing menace far too much not to explore it further, and i think nikolai would be far too curious and fascinated by y/n to just let it go (and a bit worried about what she's up to). i hope you enjoy it!

The air inside the winter garden was laden with the scent of jasmine. There was an oppressiveness to it, a warm humidity that lingered beneath the overbearing fragrance and made it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just the nerves finally catching up to her. Tempting fate with illicit late-night meetings had a way of leaving one breathless, and that was precisely what Y/N was currently doing. Tempting fate.

She’d already sat down and stood back up several times, which did nothing to soothe her fraying nerves, so now she kept walking up and down the path instead, focusing on the repetitive sound of her steps. Her fingers were sticky with sap, the leaf she’d plucked from some peculiar bush rendered a soggy mess. She’d have thrown it away, but then she would have nothing to distract her from the nervousness pooling inside her chest.

This routine she had fallen into was why, when the door clicked open, Y/N halted in place, startled by the interruption. There was a beat of silence in which she could hear the startled flutter of her heart before the door closed and the key turned inside the lock. Disappointment solidified to stone inside her chest. A servant must have noticed the door was unlocked and locked it from the outside, that was all. Zaitsev wasn’t coming, and now Y/N would have to pick the lock again, this time with a slightly bend hairpin, in order to get back to her rooms.

Dragging in a shaky breath, she turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction, towards the second door that led directly to the palace grounds. Taking the outdoor route back to her room would be a detour, but it meant she was less likely to be seen, and Y/N hoped the cool night air might help her figure out her next step.

“What’s the rush?” A voice came from somewhere behind her, startling in the deafening silence. “You’re missing out on the flowers.”

Y/N halted mid-step, breath caught in her throat as she stilled in her spot, uncertain. He continued, undeterred. “Or is the collection not exotic enough for the refined taste of a Ketterdam princess?”

This was not the Lieutenant’s voice - it was too silvery, too playful. Refined in its accent - not a native Kerch speaker, but a very well-educated one. Educated enough to have guessed who she was before ever hearing her speak. Shit.

She balled her fists and found her fingers still sticky, at once regretting both the leaf and her choice to assume someone had locked the door from the outside and not the inside. “I—” She cleared her throat, schooling her voice so she wouldn’t sound so guilty. “It’s the smell in here. It’s overpowering.”

“Perhaps the lady would find it less offensive in the daytime.” There was a pause, interrupted by the click of his boot against the marble floor. She swore she could hear the smirk in his voice as he continued, “As most people do.”

What she should have done was excuse herself and head for the grounds. Y/N knew this on an intellectual level. On a more practical one, she had a talent for talking back, and very little for demureness. “You are here too, are you not?” she said instead, then cursed inwardly when he chuckled in response.

“Touche.” She could hear him moving through the silence, his steps slow and deliberate. Could almost imagine him as a predator closing in on its prey in some distant, exotic forest. The foliage certainly fit the part. “But I like the smell at night. It’s jasmine, by the way. Night-blooming jasmine, to be specific. My mother’s favourite.”

She didn’t want to continue this conversation, but she thought that if she played along, she might still get him to pay her detour no mind. Men liked polite. “Oh? Does she garden?”

This made him laugh. It was a pleasant laugh - the kind that belonged to someone intimately familiar with the action, who found her question inexplicably amusing. “Saints, no. That would be quite the sight, though - my mother with dirt-stained hands, taking care of a living thing.”

While Y/N could empathise - her own mother was more delicate with her porcelain than with her children - she wasn’t about to discuss familial trauma with a stranger at three in the morning. So why was he? “I feel you are trying to make me guess who you are.”

“Well, as fun as that sounds, you could also simply… turn around. The joke will make much more sense that way.”

“But I am escaping,” she said, as if this was also very obvious. “It would be silly of me to show my face now when I still have a chance of getting away.”

“Is that what you are doing, escaping? Huh.” There was a rustle of fabric as he shifted in place, closer than she thought he’d been a moment ago. “Women don’t run away from me very often. What a thrilling change of pace.”

Y/N had to stop herself from snorting at this. For one, it was not very ladylike, but also, one did not go about mocking strange men with her back turned on them. She thought this one might just be egotistical enough to take it in stride, but she refrained from testing that theory out for now. “I’m glad I could thrill.” Her voice was bland, open to interpretation. Was she amused? Irritated? Disdainful. She hardly knew herself, and maybe that was the problem. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Would you like me to?” he asked, perfectly conversational.

If Y/N had had a drink to choke on, she would have. Instead, she forced her voice to stay even, and she shoved back that frustrated, sheltered part of herself that had always been bad at keeping her mouth shut. “A thrilling proposition, but one I will have to refuse. I’m keeping to a strict diet of sensibility these days, and none of that sounds very sensible.”

“Some would say that meeting Lieutenant Zaitsev at three in the morning isn’t a particularly sensible activity, but here we are. Minus Zaitsev, unfortunately.” He said the word unfortunately the way people did when they found very little unfortunate about a situation.

At this, Y/N spun on her heel, suddenly aware of the sound of rushing blood and the pitter patter of her heart in her throat. Prince Nikolai looked as pleased by this reaction as a cat would as it dug its claws into some poor, unsuspecting creature, or dipped its whiskers in a tub of full-fat cream.

And it truly was the prince standing in front of her, who had been standing behind her this whole time, and all Y/N could think about right now was that the joke did indeed make sense. Queen Tatiana did not seem like the type to take up gardening.

He was in his full regalia, as polished as he’d been earlier tonight - all shiny medals, crisp lines and the sort of lazy indifference that came with inherited importance and disarmingly good looks. She’d half expected the illusion of grandeur to dissipate this close to him, and at such an ungodly hour, but she instead found him more imposing this way, as impeccable as he’d been from afar.

She had to admit; she found that moderately irritating, amongst other things.

Y/N forced herself to stop gaping and lower her gaze, contrite. This, at least, she was supposed to be well-versed in. “My apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t recognise your voice,” she said, switching to Ravkan. She wanted badly to turn her back to him again, if only to hide the heat in her cheeks.

“How could you? I’ve never had the pleasure of speaking to you before tonight.” Y/N did not think she was imagining the subtle note of accusation in his voice just then.

Not that it wasn’t a fair point; she just did not like that he’d noticed it, that he’d noticed her. She had simply assumed there were enough girls being paraded around that her absence wouldn’t be noted, not until her parents finally lost their patience and shoved her at either prince, at which point she had intended to make herself terribly unamusing.

That plan, she thought, was already failing, if the amused way Nikolai was looking down at her was anything to go by. He had tipped his head to the side, eyes trailing along Y/N with the sort of intense curiosity she could feel burning against her skin. “No need to apologise. I’ve had enough performative politeness to last me a year.”

“Are you implying my apology was performative?”

Nikolai caught her eyes and smiled at the indignation in them. “I’m implying you’ve been avoiding me. The only thing you’re truly sorry about is getting caught tonight.” She had been right - he had the sort of mouth that lent itself to charming, easy smiles, the kind that made it hard to look away.

“That’s a bit presumptuous. Perhaps I’ve simply been avoiding everyone.”

“Well, I am a prince. One would assume this allows for some presumptuousness, at least.” He eased back against one of the smooth stone pillars, head tipped back, as he regaled her with a smirk. “Are you supposed to be shy? Is that it?”

Y/N scoffed. “I’ve run my mouth enough to know that playing that card wouldn’t work anymore.” She wasn’t sure what else to say but the truth, not when he looked at her like that. Too discerning for someone who was supposed to be used to unfettered, unquestioning admiration. People tended to take her downcast eyes and her rosy-lipped smiles as a given. She was sweet, deferential, a proper young lady. But Nikolai had handed her an accusation instead, and now she didn’t know what to do with it.

As if sensing her unease, Nikolai pushed himself easily off the pillar and made to step around her. “Yes.” There was an undue amount of proximity between them as he passed her, eyes trailing along her features, before he disappeared behind her back. “Pretending to be boring won’t work, either. I’m glad you gave up on that after two sentences.”

“Yes, I need to work on keeping my tongue in check,” she said, sullen. “How did you know who I was?”

She didn’t think Zaitsev would have told him, even if pressed - he feared his sister’s wrath far too much for it - and Y/N doubted he could recognise her from the back, especially in the deep dark of the conservatory. Yet there was something unsettling about the cavalier way he considered her question as he toyed with the flowers. Relaxed. In control.

“It’s in my job description,” he said, as if that might explain the overabundance of information on her. As if the Lantsov royalty were famous for taking their job seriously.

She bit her tongue and said instead, “Is it? I’ve heard princes have people for that. To stand behind you and whisper information over your shoulder.” Y/N could just imagine it now, a nondescript figure at Nikolai’s side, their voice low and quick. She is Braam’s brat. A member of the Council, and a rather powerful one. We might need him at some point, so play nice. Except she wasn’t yet sure if Nikolai was here to play nice.

He chuckled at that, an indulgent sound. “You’re not wrong, but I find those overbearing. They can be tough to get rid of when one wishes to slip away unnoticed,” he said, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sure you can relate.”

She moved from her spot to follow him as he slowly made his way down the winding path, keeping a few paces back. “Well, mine usually know very little, but they are very good at keeping me from slipping away.”

“Yes, clearly they’re very good at their job.” He leaned in to smell an unnaturally orange flower, but Y/N caught the tail end of a smile on his lips before it disappeared behind a shadow.

“Oh, they are, but he left them back home. Wouldn’t want the Court to think I’m anything but obedient.”

He turned his head from her flower to look at her, flashing her a grin. “Can’t imagine why anyone would assume that.”

To be fair, Y/N wished there had been more disobedience to speak of in her record, but the prince didn’t need to know that. She was perfectly content with allowing him to assume the worst of her and did her best to look the part as she lifted her eyebrow. “Speaking of disobedience. Where is Eryk? I mean, Lieutenant Zaitsev.”

The hope was that once she put it that way, Nikolai would be free to assume all manner of less than savory things. Not an ideal outcome if you asked her mother, but a perfect one if you asked Y/N. I’m a headache, it was supposed to imply. So don’t bother with me. And Y/N liked to imagine there was some truth to that statement.

“Am I boring you that much?” Nikolai placed a hand across his heart, and Y/N hated herself for getting distracted by the way his fingers splayed across the medals, long and elegant, the snow white of the glove at odds with the deep blue of his uniform. “You wound me, Miss Braam.”

Oh good, she thought as she blinked and looked away from him in frustration. He’d glossed right over her innuendo - a modern man, just what she needed right now.

“It was not my intention, Your Grace. You are a delight,” she said dryly. Her problem was that it wasn’t really a lie - Nikolai seemed delightful, in a precarious sort of way. It was just not the sort of delightful that she could not allow herself to indulge in at the moment, and that she felt far too on edge to appreciate thoroughly. “He promised—”

Nikolai interrupted her, one gloved hand raised elegantly, as if he were used to people shutting up at a mere wave of his hand. Impressive, but Y/N found it rather annoying just how well it had worked on her, too. “I sent him away,” he said, stopping his walk to turn around and face her fully. “Alas, he obeyed. You’re stuck with me instead.”

Y/N felt the frustration that had been festering in her chest rise like the tide, choking out the words in her throat. She knew she had to keep it down, had to appear forlorn rather than irritated. A lover scorned, rather than what she truly was - simply annoyed by Nikolai’s snooping. She hadn’t meant to drag Eryk so deep into it, and she certainly didn’t appreciate the fact that this would inevitably delay her plans.

“Right,” she muttered, voice tight. She hoped she sounded the part at least, turning away from Nikolai to cast her gaze into the distance, worrying at her lip. She'd kept most parts of herself shuttered for so long now she couldn't will her face to remember the sadness.

She must have done something right, because Nikolai moved in the periphery of her vision, coming around to face her again. There were fingers on the edge of her jaw, the material of his gloves soft and runny against her skin. Not cotton, silk. Because of course it would be silk with him. She didn’t fight him as he gently guided her chin so that she was looking up at him and his gaze trailed along the planes of her face as if he were drinking her in. There was something so gentle and sympathetic about the curve of his lips then that she almost believed him. Almost.

“As lovely as you look in all your teary-eyes, heartbroken glory,” Nikolai said, the amusement in his voice bleeding into his eyes, into the corner of his mouth. He brushed his thumb across the dip of her chin. “I sincerely doubt you are anything of the sort. It’s that Ketterdam blood in your veins. Pragmatism above all else, no?”

And perhaps she only had herself to fault for this. She had been a bit too ready to play with him when he’d prodded, too quick with her words, too forward with her answers. Now, she couldn’t exactly roll it all back and pretend to be a lovesick fool. He wasn’t buying any of what she was selling, and she couldn’t fault him for it. She wouldn’t have believed herself either.

She sneered as she jerked her chin against his hand in a display of defiance, hoping for a convincingly withering look. “And is pragmatism an unfamiliar concept in Ravka? Quit playing with your food, Your Highness. This would’ve gone a lot quicker if you’d just told me what you wanted from me in the beginning.”

His mouth curved, a sort of satisfaction bleeding into his smile, as if he enjoyed nothing more than to see the facade crack. “Now that’s more like it.” His eyes slipped down, taking in the angry curl of her lip, the unrestrained clench of her jaw before he looked back up into her eyes. “Now where would the fun be in that, hm?” He was still looking at her as if he were observing a particularly riveting piece of art, one that might reveal some secret meaning if only you looked patiently enough. “Perhaps I didn’t want it to be quick.”

Y/N could agree with him on this - she did not think the youngest Lantsov wanted anything done quickly or haphazardly, especially when it seemed to bring him an undue amount of amusement. She tested the give of his grip - which was light enough that she thought she could easily bat his hand away - but he did not budge, their eyes still boring into each other. “Well then, perhaps I wish to rush it along.”

He chuckled, and she felt his breath brush against her flushed cheeks. “Do you, really?” His grip loosened, but she could still feel his fingers on her jaw, a ghost of a touch seeping warmth into her skin as he trailed them along the jut of the bone. “Leave then. I won’t stop you.”

When she didn’t move, he looked back up from his fingers to her eyes, gaze questioning. “Why, you’re a curious thing. Brought her to be paraded about the Court in the hopes of securing a marriage, no? But then you so diligently avoid both my brother and me.” His lips quirked, a shadow of a smile. “Strange. Can you blame me for being curious? For taking my time to figure you out?”

At any other time, the genuine curiosity in his eyes might have flattered her, even thrilled her. He was charming and handsome and slightly perilous. And she was supposed to be young and silly and unburdened by common sense. To have such singular attention of a prince pointed at her should’ve rendered her a blushing mess. But all she could think about right now was that he was the last person she wanted figuring anything out.

A change of plans, then. “Maybe that was the ploy all along? Have you ever considered that? Avoiding you, ignoring you.” She tipped her head to the side, leaning into his touch until she could feel the pressure of his fingertips grow heavier against her jaw. She tried to imagine herself as someone brazen, like it was a robe she could simply slip on. “It got your attention, did it not?”

He obliged her, his fingers slipping to cup her cheek, thumb brushing across the curve of her cheekbone. His eyes ran across her face and for a moment, she believed she almost had him. But he didn’t seem to have inherited any of that signature Lantsov foolishness. “I admire your talent for improvisation. Really, I do. It’s almost disarmingly charming.”

“But?”

“But, I’m not buying it. It would’ve been too risky of a plan. And unless you’re more arrogant than I am - which I doubt - I don’t think you expected anyone to come looking.”

If she hadn’t been so annoyed by him intercepting her every move, she might have taken this as a compliment. Instead, she narrowed her eyes, finally irritated enough to reach up and grab his wrist. The rich, thick wool of his uniform was rough beneath her fingertips, golden buttons digging into her palm as she pulled his hand away from her face. She hated how aware of him she was when she let go.

Nikolai let her, grinning delightedly at the sudden display of insolence, as if he’d been waiting for it from the start. “Not particularly gentle. I like that.”

“Fine. Let’s stop pretending to flirt then.” Because that is what this was - make believe. She thought she could see something more sinister lurking beneath it. He didn’t believe she was meeting Zaitsev for a moonlit tryst between forbidden lovers - which, in all fairness, was an entirely correct assumption. He didn’t think she was truly interested in him either - which was mostly correct. She was busy plotting, but not blind. Which had to mean he thought there was more to this, and which meant she was in trouble. She just preferred her troubles to be more forthcoming, and less charming.

“Who says I’m pretending?”

She levelled him with a look. “Please. How did you know when and where I was to meet Zaitsev?”

He watched her for a moment, chin dipped, his eyes unreadable in the darkness. She thought he might have been smiling, but it was hard to tell as he turned on his heel and strolled away. There was something languorous and insolent about the way he moved, like he was a study in effortless regality, the moonlight glinting off the gold details of his uniform, his hands clasped behind his back. If it was meant to unsettle, well… it was doing its job.

“Now that would be telling,” he said, voice playful. “And I like to keep an air of mystery about myself. It adds to the charm, I think.”

It would have added to the charm if that mystery hadn’t been immediately threatening to her and her plans.

“Fine,” she ground out. “Why care to find out about it at all? Why care to follow me? You could’ve assumed any number of more straightforward reasons for my disinterest. I want to be a nun. I have several lovers and no energy to take on more. I don’t believe in marriage, especially not to men I don’t know who also happen to have a reputation.”

“So, which one is it?”

“Maybe it’s all the above.” She lifted a brow. “I’d make a terrible nun.”

“Saints, I’m half in love with you already.” With a flash of a charming grin, he leaned against one of the giant tree pots and looked at her. “I told you. You never introduced yourself, and this charade has been going on for three nights now.”

“So your explanation is that your ego made you do it?”

“My ego makes me do great many things, dear Miss Braam. A character fault, I know, but no one’s perfect.” He didn’t sound remotely sorry about it. “So, what’s my reputation?”

Deciding they weren’t going anywhere soon, Y/N made her way to a stone bench that ran along one side of a small fountain. The waterworks were off for the night, leaving the water a motionless, dark mirror behind her. “Other than being disgustingly charming and well educated? None.” She sat down and continued, interrupting him before he could start gloating. “But you are handsome and intelligent, and that makes the bad things a lot easier to keep under wraps.”

He considered her for a moment, surprisingly silent in his contemplation, before dipping his chin once and strolling over to where she sat. “An astute observation. Some might call it cynical, but I suppose it’s fair, given the circumstances.” Y/N had half expected him to defend himself, but Nikolai simply smiled down at her, as if he’d read her mind. “So, other than general disappointment in mankind. Why are you avoiding me?”

“Well, I have a perfectly sensible explanation for that.” She said leaning back on her hands and tipping her head to her shoulder as she looked up at him. At least he was a pretty sight - she’d give him that. “My parents are tentatively hopeful—” There was absolutely nothing tentative about her parents; she was lying through her teeth again. “But I know better—”

“Of course you do.”

“Would you stop driving me up the wall for two seconds?”

Then Nikolai was laughing, and Y/N realised that all the other times he’d done it was only a good mimicry of amusement. This was the real thing. Startling and unrestrained, it left her looking up at the glass ceiling in faux exasperation, trying to hide her smile.

“Anyway. It’s the crown prince’s hand that’s on the table, right? And you said it yourself - we Ketterdam princesses are a pragmatic bunch. As nice as it sounds, I’m no royalty. So why waste my breath?” She shrugged. “Your kingdom needs political alliances, not my money. And if I’m debasing myself like a dairy cow at a cattle fair, I’d at least prefer to have a chance. I, too, have an ego.”

When she dipped her head back down, she realised Nikolai had been watching her from where he stood, playing absentmindedly with the buttons of his cuff. “From what I’ve been told, your father is a very rich man,” he said after a moment of consideration. “And I hear that sort of thing makes a woman rather attractive. Political alliances can be bought.”

“Oh, is that why you keep flirting with me? Does my father’s money make me so irresistible?”

“Well, that and the insolence.” He smirked. “But mostly it’s the insolence. Us Ravkans, we’re just not as pragmatic.”

“I can tell.” She smiled at him, unable to help herself, before dipping her chin to the side as she dragged her fingertips along the cold surface of the water. “Besides, I’m not too keen on being shipped off to a foreign kingdom, much to my mother’s dismay.”

This was a half-truth, but Y/N was well-versed in those. Yes, her mother was very much dismayed. No, Y/N did not mind being shipped away from Ketterdam. She just wished to do it on her own terms. But Nikolai did not need to know that - homesickness was much easier to believe than whatever truths she hid in her heart.

“Not even for a crown?”

She blinked up at him. When he looked at her like that, she thought she could imagine him as something plucked out of a children’s book. Like he might be a knight in one of those terribly depressing Ravkan stories about dead martyred girls. Like he might hold her body close to his chest and mourn over her in a field of poppies, impressive even in tragedy. She supposed then that she understood why all the girls flocked to vie for his attention once they’d done their duty of doting on Vasily. This, she thought, is what a prince is supposed to be.

“I have no interest in crowns. They seem heavy.”

“What is it than interests you then?”

Freedom. Agency. All things that were hazy and indescribable to her. She smiled up at him. “Now, that would be telling. And I like to keep an air of mystery about myself, too.”

“Fair,” he conceded, the amusement only a faint twitch in the corner of his mouth. He was standing over her now, looking down as she sprawled back on the cold stone. She could feel the fabric of his pants brush against her dress, where the silk lay across her knee, thin and insubstantial. She’d almost forgotten for a moment that she was supposed to be annoyed about her failed meeting, about his prying, about the ungodly hour and no bed in sight. Instead, she allowed herself to be thrilled for just a second, let herself be foolish. She’d been afforded so little foolishness in her life.

“Why were you meeting him?” he asked then, voice quieter and more serious than it had been at any point before. It was a proper question, she realised, not a provocation or a taunt. He wanted an answer, and she knew she couldn’t give it to him, not really.

“He has something I need.” Want. She’d meant to say want instead of need. The word sounded too raw for her liking, too close to admitting to a lack of control. It was more of a truth than she’d meant to offer him.

She pushed herself up to stand, and Nikolai shifted to the side to give her space. He was still close, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that when she looked up at him, he could see the steely determination in her eyes. “Go on then, make your threats.”

His gaze slipped down to the stiff set of her shoulders, the way she curled her fingers into fists at her side, nails digging into her palms. He hummed, and she felt it reverberate in her chest. “I suppose I could threaten to drag you back to your parents. Demand an explanation?” He said it in such a way that it felt less like a threat than an offer. As if he’d meant to say, Is this what you’re asking for? But he looked like he found the mere idea of it repulsive, as if it were beneath him. She felt Nikolai dealt in charming grins and soft-spoken, elegant threats - dragging her to her parents must’ve seemed positively barbaric to him.

“Yes, I suppose you could.” She turned where she stood, so that now they were facing each other fully, inches separating them as she looked up. “I promise not to scream if you tell them you didn’t see who I was meeting with. Eryk’s done nothing wrong.”

He lifted a brow, a sinuous smile curving his lips. “Do you promise not to bite, too?”

Blood rushed furiously to her cheeks, indifferent to the fact that she was fighting desperately to keep her composure as she glared up at him. “I promise no such thing.”

He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, a look of terrible amusement in his eyes as he whispered, “Good.” Then he straightened back up, hands in his pocket, all graceful, unruffled confidence. “But I find those sorts of nefarious activities are better enjoyed when one is well-rested. Shall I escort you to your room? Make sure you don’t accidentally commit some act of treason on your way to it.”

She was careful to control her breathing, aware that she was one inhale too deep from being pressed against his chest. “Is that what this is about? You think I’m planning some grand act of treason with Zaitsev?”

“Well, you have that look about you. A bit insolent, a bit treasonous.”

“I thought you liked that.”

He made a soft tutting sound, looking deeply entertained by the defiant tilt of her chin. “Of course I like you. It doesn’t mean I will just let this go.”

“That’s not—,” she stuttered, blindsided by the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “That’s not what I meant!”

“But you are blushing again.”

She hated this. No. She hated herself for not hating this nearly as much as she ought to. And she hated the fact he was aware of it, too. There was an uncanny perceptiveness to his eyes when he caught her gaze, something self-satisfied in the sinful curve of his smile. It was as if he could hear the jackrabbit flutter of her heart, could feel the restless warmth that spread across her skin.

“Enough, Your Grace. We don’t have time for this.” She hated how exasperation had bled into her voice, especially when Nikolai remained as calm and poised as ever, watching her. “I can hear the birds start their singing; soon, the servants will be up. Someone might see us.”

He held her eyes for a moment, silent, and she knew he was listening, that he could hear them too - the harbingers of dawn. It would be daylight soon. Then he nodded, a note of finality to his voice. “Very well. I’ll find you tomorrow. Threats are better when made over a glass of fine brandy, anyway.”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “Same place, same time.” She would never get a good night’s sleep.

But the damage was done. It must have been the high-pitched, panicked sound of that no, or the unguarded expression that flashed across her face. Whatever he’d seen, it made Nikolai shift his stance, gaze reassessing. “I will find you,” he repeated, then added with a smirk, “privately. Unless the lady prefers to save me a dance?”

“Why would I ever… oh.”

He was a picture of ease - shoulders loose, hands in his pocket - looking like he had all the time of the world. It made her overly aware of how locks of her hair had fallen out of her up-do, burdened with the late hour. Of how she pressed her shaky palm flat against her bodice, weary of its tightness. She envied him for his poise. She wanted to reach out and ruin it.

“Oh,” he repeated, smug. And he had every right to be - she would’ve gloated too if she’d been that efficient in finding just the right buttons to press. And he’d done it with such grace that part of Y/N was impressed against her better judgement.

Save me a dance. It was a threat, not a request.

She could almost see it now. Nikolai, impressive in his full regalia, strolling across the ballroom towards her, a picture of single-minded determination. A gloved hand offered and an upturned gaze, promising nothing but trouble. She would know it was all for show, that it was not real - but the Court wouldn’t. All they would see was a prince singling her out, boldly showing his favour, and out of the blue at that. She couldn’t think of a worse thing.

“That’s low,” she said, voice dripping acid. Inside, she was fifteen again, entirely out of her depth, her mother’s voice ringing in her head. Silly girl, she hissed. These are not the games we women can play and win.

“No, Miss Braam, it’s pragmatic. Simple. Elegant.” He would take her hand and spin her out of her carefully crafted obscurity, thrust her under the scrutiny while the waltz played. The realisation was a rope tightening around her wrists, binding her hands until all she could do was watch the situation spiral out of her control.

And he was watching her; she could feel it, but her mind was elsewhere as she turned away from him. The boning of her bodice making it hard to breathe, digging painfully into her hips. She felt along her finger for the smooth gold of her ring, and she spun it around. Once. Twice. Thrice. Breathe. Once more. You can figure this out.

“Miss Braam?” She heard him step around her, keeping at a respectful distance as he dipped his head to catch her eyes. She must’ve looked terribly pale for his voice to have suddenly softened. “No one will know, I promise. All I want to do is talk.”

“Oh, is that all?” she bit out, pinning him with a glare. “Well then, your will is my command. Right?” Gathering her skirts, she quickly lowered herself into a mocking curtsy, holding his gaze defiantly from beneath her lashes. Then she turned on her heel and marched for the door that led to the palace grounds, heels striking the ground with an angry staccato.

“That was not my intention—”

She ignored his voice and the sound of his boots behind her, focusing instead on tugging angrily on the wrought iron handle that refused to budge beneath her hands. She tugged at it again, a frustrated sound escaping her. “They are plants for Ghezen’s sake, not the Royal treasury. Is this truly necessary?” She reached up to pull another pin out of her hair, a lock slipping down to brush against her bare shoulder. Now she probably looked like she actually had been doing something terribly interesting, not just arguing in circles with an entitled prince.

“They are expensive plants,” he said from somewhere beside her. “Are you trying to pick the lock?”

“I do not try to do anything, Your Highness. How do you think I got in here before?”

She was just about to lower herself into a crouch when she felt his hand at her elbow, pulling her up. When she turned to glare at him, she found him dangling a bundle of ornate keys from his forefinger, eyebrow raised. “May I?”

It had occurred to her to refuse him on principle - but it was near dawn, and she had been trying to keep that stubborn, vindictive part of herself in check for a while now. This was good practice. She nodded and looked up at the glass ceiling, focusing on the deep, lazy stretch of the night sky beyond instead of the way his shoulder brushed against her arm as he came closer and unlocked the door.

“I hope you will reconsider my request for that dance at some point.”

She looked at him, incredulous. “You threatened me with it.”

“Yes, it is an unfortunate coincidence that the thing I wish for is the same as the thing that threatens you.” He held her gaze for a moment, a smile playing across his lips, before he looked down between them. Y/N followed his gaze reflexively, frowning when she realised there was a flower in them, so delicate and white that it almost blended into the silk of his gloves. “Since you don’t like the smell of jasmine,” he said and held it out to her.

Y/N stared, uncertain. Curiosity was a familiar, unrelenting beast inside her mind, and she decided she did not have the energy to fight it tonight. “What is it?”

“Gardenia. A personal favourite.” He waited for her to take it from his hand, then smiled at her. “Go. I’ll wait ten minutes and leave out the other door.” With that, he turned and strolled back in the other direction - unhurried, languid, and infuriatingly prepossessing. His voice carried over to her as he looked back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Miss Braam. I look forward to tomorrow.”

For a moment, Y/N remained standing there, still reeling, before she forced her limbs to comply and stumbled out onto the grounds, desperate for fresh air. It was only then, and once her senses had cleared on her way back to her bedroom, that she realised he hadn’t lied about the flower. Its fragrance was a sweet, charming thing.

If later on she put it in a small crystal glass and placed it on her nightstand, that was only because she hated seeing flowers go to waste. And if her mind was full of its fragrance and the memory of Nikolai’s fingers running along the slope of her jaw, she blamed it on weariness and the uncontrollable nature of dreams.