#n. zaitsev | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thearchvillain · 1 year

Text

gardenias. | nikolai

part I

nikolai lantsov x reader

summary: the setting is a grand event hosted at os alta. the intention finding a future queen for crown prince vasily. the reader is a merchant's daughter trying to keep a low profile after her parents had dragged her there (against her will) with the hopes that she might catch the prince's attention. she, on the other hand, has different plans. plans that get entirely upheaved by none other than the younger prince nikolai who interrupts her illicit late-night meeting in the winter garden. now she's caught attention of one of the two people whose scrutiny she'd been trying so hard to avoid for the last few days and she's not entirely sure she actually minds it.

preview:

“Changed your mind?” she snapped, spinning on her heel to glare up at him. “No. I’m not giving you what you want,” His fingers slipped from her wrist, releasing her, his gaze trailing up her arm thoughtfully. “But I am wondering if I should escort you to your room just to 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 fully pressed against his chest. “Is that what you think? That I’m planning some grand act of treason with Zaitsev?” “Well, you do have that look about you. A bit insolent, a bit treasonous.” “I thought you said you liked that.” He made a soft tutting sound, looking deeply amused by her display. “Of course I like you. That doesn’t mean I trust you.” “That’s not—,” she stuttered, finding herself somewhere between irritation and being blindsided by the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “That is not what I meant.” “No, but you are blushing again.”

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, there is physical touch (can you tell it stems from frustration?)

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). note that while this is their first time meeting there's still a lot of tension that will only continue to grow, so 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 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. After all, tempting fate with illicit late-night meetings had a way of leaving one breathless.

Y/N twisted the leaf she’d plucked from one of the bushes, the sap sticky against her fingertips. She’d have thrown it away, but then she’d have nothing to help her get rid of the nervous energy that accompanied late-night meetings and ill-advised activities. She’d already stood up and sat back down several times, which did not work, so she kept crushing the leaf and walking up and down the path, the rustling of her skirts the only sound in the quiet night air. Until it wasn’t.

She halted in place when the sound of a door clicking open interrupted the repetitive routine of her steps and she turned towards the sound. The moonlight was scarce amongst the foliage, casting everything in such profound darkness that Y/N had no doubts that choosing this as a meeting place had been the right decision. It also meant that she had no clear view of the door and could not tell why Zaitsev was lingering in the doorway instead of quickly sneaking inside the way she had.

Then there was the distinct click of a door closing and a key being turned inside a lock, and the disappointment solidified to stone inside her chest. Someone must’ve noticed the door was unlocked when it shouldn’t have been and locked it behind her. Now she’d have to do the whole lock-picking routine all over again, this time with a slightly bent hairpin, just to get out. Because Zaitsev wasn’t coming, or he’d have been here by now.

Turning on her heel, she headed in the opposite direction, towards the door that led outside. Taking the palace grounds back to her room was a detour, but at least she’d be less likely to stumble across someone out there, and perhaps the fresh air would help her decide on what to do next.

“What’s the rush?” A voice came from somewhere behind her, startling in the silence she’d gotten so used to. “You’re missing out on the flowers. Or is the collection not exotic enough for the refined tastes of a Ketterdam princess?” Y/N halted mid-step, shoulders drawn taut as she went very, very still. This was not the lieutenant’s voice - it was too silvery, too playful, too refined in its accent. Not a native speaker, but a very well-educated one. And one who knew 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 into something less agitated, more agreeable, perhaps even innocent-sounding. Pay me no heed, it seemed to say, I’m just a silly girl who’s gotten off-track on her way to the room. “It’s the smell. It’s overpowering.”

A soft chuckle came from behind her, closer this time. “Perhaps the lady would find it less offensive if she came to visit the gardens during the day.” There was a slight pause, the click of boot against marble. She swore she could hear the smirk in his voice as it trailed off. “As most people do.”

“You are here too, are you not?”

“Touche.” His steps were jarringly loud in the silence but slow and languid as if he were a predator stalking his frozen prey in some exotic forest. He was closer to her than she’d been expecting, a few paces back if her hearing was right. “But I like the smell. It’s jasmine - night-blooming jasmine, to be specific. My mother’s favourite.”

She felt a scoff rise in her throat that she nearly choked on before she managed to suppress it. Neither of them was here for the damn flowers, and both of them knew it, and yet he stopped and waited for her answer as if they were having a genuine conversation. Perhaps 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 nice laugh - the kind that belonged to someone intimately familiar with the action, whose mouth had been made for laughing and who found her question infinitely amusing. “Saints, no. That would be quite the sight, though - my mother with dirt-stained hands, taking care of a living thing.”

Y/N did not respond immediately. She could sympathise; her own mother was more delicate about handling her porcelain than her children, but she wasn’t about to talk about it to a stranger. So why was he? “I feel like you’re trying to get me to guess who you are,” she said eventually, keeping her voice bland.

“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’re doing? Escaping? Huh.” There was a rustle of fabric as he shifted in place. “Women don’t tend to run away from me very often. What a thrilling change of pace.”

Y/N had to stop herself from snorting. For once, it was not very ladylike, and also, one did not go about mocking strange men with her back turned to them. She thought he might be egotistical enough to take it in stride, but she’d never been much of a gambler. So she settled instead on a faint, vague sound that could be left to interpretation. Was she amused? Irritated? Disdainful? “I’m glad I could thrill. Are you going to stop me?”

“Would you like me to?” His voice had gone low and goading, though he never moved from his spot. He didn’t sound threatening, but maybe that was the problem. Y/N might not have been much of a gambler, but she did tend towards the ill-advised.

It had occurred to her that it’d probably be advisable to be more nervous about this strange man spurring her on while standing behind her. But then again, that frustrated, sheltered part of her had always been really bad at keeping her mouth shut. “A thrilling proposition, but one I will have to refuse, unfortunately. It has been said I’m a sensible creature, and none of that sounds very sensible.”

“Neither does meeting Lieutenant Zaitsev in the dark at three in the morning, but here we are. Minus Zaitsev, unfortunately.” He said ‘unfortunately’ the way people did when they found nothing unfortunate about a situation.

At this, Y/N spun around, all of a sudden aware of the sound of rushing blood in her ears and the pitter-patter of her heart in her throat. Shit. Prince Nikolai looked as pleased by this reaction as she imagined a cat would as it dug its claws into some poor, unsuspecting mouse or got its whiskers in a tub of full-fat cream. Because it was the prince standing in front of her, who’d been standing behind her all this time, and all she could think was that the gardening thing now made complete sense. The joke did indeed make sense.

He was in his full regalia, as polished as he’d been hours before, all shiny medals, sharp 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 once he was up close and at this ungodly hour, but the more she stared, the clearer it became that he was as impeccable as he’d been from afar. She found it somewhat irritating.

Y/N forced herself to stop gaping and lower her gaze, demure. This, at least, she was well-versed in. “My apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t recognise your voice.” She wanted very 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. It was a fair point; she just did not like that he’d noticed it. He tipped his head to the side, eyes fixed on Y/N with the sort of intense curiosity she could feel burning against her skin. “Oh, no need to apologise. I’ve had enough performative politeness to last me a year.”

“Are you implying my apology is performative?”

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

It was a fair point, which is precisely why Y/N did not deign answer. There was no point in pretending when she could see that smile morph into a knowing smirk. And besides, she was not used to such careful scrutiny. People tended to take her downcast eyes and her rosy-lipped smiles as a given. Polite, deferential, a proper young lady. But the prince her 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 stone pillar he’d been leaning against and made to step around her. There was an undue amount of proximity between them as he passed her, eyes trailing along her features before he focused on something behind her, silent.

“You know exactly who I am, don’t you?” she asked carefully. He’d called her a Ketterdam princess. Hells, he even knew who she’d intended to meet and when.

There was something unsettling about the cavalier way he considered her question while he toyed with the flowers of a bush he was currently perusing. He’s amused by this, she realised. Relaxed, in control. “It’s in my job description,” he said, as if that might explain the overabundance of information on her, and plucked a flower from its perch among the leaves.

“Is it? I’ve heard princes have people for that. To stand behind you and whisper over your shoulder whenever they see someone coming over.” She is Braam’s brat. He’s a merchant and a member of the council. 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 gesture. “You’re not wrong, but I find those quite overbearing. They can be tough to get rid of when one wishes to slip away unnoticed,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m sure you can relate?”

“Mine usually know very little but are very good at keeping me from slipping away. Father calls them guards. I call them— well, something less generous.”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it but for a tug at his lips. “Yes, clearly they’re very good at their job.”

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

“Yes,” he said, clearly amused, “Saints forbid someone think that.”

“On the topic of disobedience… Where is Lieutenant Zaitsev?” She hoped that once she put it that way, whatever interpretation the prince chose would lead him to believe the meeting was nothing more than the carnal sort. Less than ideal interpretation if you asked her mother, but perfect if you asked Y/N. I’m a headache, it was supposed to imply, don’t bother. And Y/N liked to think there was some truth to that statement.

“Am I boring you that much?” Nikolai placed a long-fingered hand across his heart. “You wound me, Miss Braam.” Oh good. He glossed right over that—a modern man, just what she needed right now.

“I would do no such thing. You are a delight,” she said dryly. And it wasn’t really a lie - Nikolai did seem delightful, in a precarious sort of way. But Y/N had indulged in this game for too long and felt far too on edge to appreciate it. She continued hurriedly, “He promised…”

Nikolai interrupted her, one gloved hand raised elegantly as if he were used to people immediately shutting up. Which was fair, but it was still annoying just how well it had worked on her. “I sent him away,” he said, turning to face her fully. “Though I must say, if I were in his place and meeting you at three in the morning, I would’ve put up much more of a fight.” She did not particularly care for the knowing glint in his eyes. “Alas, he obeyed - so it seems you’re stuck with me instead.”

Y/N felt her frustration rising like a tide, choking out the words in her throat even as she fought to push it down, to appear forlorn rather than irritated. She saw him move in the periphery of her vision, abandoning the flowers he was playing with, and then there were fingers on the edge of her jaw, the material soft and runny against her skin. Not cotton. Silk. Because, of course, it would be silk. She didn’t fight him as he gently guided her chin so that she was looking up at him, determined to hide the glint of anger in her eyes. When he looked down at her, she wanted him to see a girl slighted by a lover, not a girl supremely irritated by the fact she’d have to find some other way to get the papers from Zaitsev now that he had been spooked by a prince.

Nikolai’s eyes trailed along the planes of her face as if he were taking her in, so gentle and sympathetic she almost believed it. Almost. “As lovely as you look in all your teary-eyed, heartbroken glory,” Nikolai said, the amusement in his voice slowly bleeding into his eyes. “I sincerely doubt you are anything of the sort. It’s that Ketterdam blood in your veins. Pragmatism above all else, no?”

Maybe she had been a bit too ready to play with him when he prodded. Now, she couldn’t exactly roll it back and pretend to be a lovesick fool. He wasn’t buying any of it. Pressing her lips together in irritation, she tried to free her chin from his fingers, only to find them slipping further so as to hold her jaw in place.

He smiled when he saw the flash of indignation in her eyes. “Now that’s more like it.” It sounded almost like he was satisfied to see the facade crack, amused by the more raw, unschooled reaction she’d offered him. What in Ghezen’s name was he playing at?

She jerked her chin against his hand in a display of defiance before staring him down. “And is pragmatism an unfamiliar concept in Ravka? Quit playing with your food, Your Highness. We could’ve been done with this quicker if you’d just told me what you want from me in the beginning.”

“Now, where would the fun be in that, Miss Braam?” He was still looking at her as if he were observing a particularly riveting piece of art that might reveal some secret message if only one looked patiently enough. “Perhaps I didn’t want it to be quick?”

No, he was right; Y/N did not think the youngest Lantsov wanted anything done quickly or haphazardly. She tested the give of his grip, which was light enough that she thought she’d be able to bat his hand away easily, but he did not budge, their eyes still boring into each other. “Well then, perhaps I want to rush it along.”

He chuckled, and Y/N felt his breath brush against her flushed cheeks. “Do you, really?” His grip had loosened, but she still felt the presence of his fingers against her skin, a ghost of a touch seeping warmth into her skin. She had yet to bat him away. “Why, you’re a curious thing. Brought here to be paraded about the Court in hopes of securing a marriage, no? But then you so uncompromisingly avoid both my brother and me.” His gaze turned questioning. “Strange. I suppose I want to take my time with you, figure it out.”

At any other time, she might have been flattered, thrilled even. But all she knew now was that he was the last person she wanted to figure anything out when it came to her.

Change of plans, then. “Maybe that was the ploy all along. Have you ever thought about that? Avoiding you. Ignoring you.” She tipped her head slightly, leaning into his touch until she could feel the pressure of his fingers grow heavier against her jaw. She tried to imitate his brazenness, like it was a robe she could simply slip on. “It got your attention, did it not?”

He obliged her, tips of his fingers dragging along the edge of bone as his eyes ran across her face, searching, curious. She almost thought she had him. But this particular prince did not seem to have inherited that signature Lantsov foolishness. “I admire your talent for improvisation, Miss Braam. Really, I do. It’s quite charming—“

“But?”

Nikolai chuckled. “But, I’m not buying it. It would’ve been far 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. Aside from Zaitsev, of course.” He added that last part with a teasing glint in his eyes. “It would’ve been a waste of time you could’ve spent playing us like a fiddle, which you’re so clearly capable of.”

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 to pull his hand away from her jaw. The rich, thick wool of his uniform was rough beneath her fingers, an odd contrast to the silk of his glove, golden buttons digging into her palm where she gripped it. She hated how aware of him she was as he let go.

Nikolai let her push his hand away, 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.”

“Can we be done pretending to flirt now, Your Highness?” Because that’s 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 interested in him, either - which was mostly correct because she was busy plotting but not blind. Which meant he knew there was more to it, and which meant she was in trouble. She just preferred her troubles to be more forthcoming and less charming.

“Who says I’m pretending?”

His words dragged her out of her preoccupation, and she shot him a flat look. “Please, we’re past that. 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 be smiling, but it was hard to tell as he turned on his heel and proceeded to stroll towards a plant that looked as out of place in this climate as Y/N felt. She followed him with her gaze, watching the moonlight glint off the gold details of his uniform, winking, his hands clasped behind his back, something languorous and insolent about the way he moved. He was a study in effortless regality, and if it was meant to unsettle her… 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 wasn’t 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 for more, I don’t believe in marriage, especially not to men I don’t know who also happen to have a reputation.”

In all fairness, Nikolai himself didn’t have any lousy reputation to speak of other than being disgustingly charming and educated, but she knew enough about both his father and his brother to be apprehensive. If anything, he was handsome and intelligent, and that made things a lot easier to keep under wraps.

“So, which one is it?”

“Maybe it’s all of the above.” She leaned forward, conspirational. “I’d make a terrible nun.”

“Saints, I’m half in love with you already.” With a flash of a charming grin, he leaned again against one of her pillars and watched her momentarily. “I told you. You never bothered to introduce yourself, and this whole charade has been going on for three nights already. By the second night, I was suspicious as to what you were really doing here. The third night, I was proactive.”

Realising they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon and that her heels hurt her feet, Y/N made her way over to one of the stone benches that surrounded a small fountain; the waterworks shut off for the night so that the water was a still black mirror behind her. She sighed as she sat down. “So your explanation is that your ego made you do it?”

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

“Well, I have a perfectly sensible explanation for not approaching either of you. If you’d like to hear it?”

He was picking apart a flower he’d plucked, like a gardener’s worst nightmare, when he looked back towards her and smirked. “Another one? Are we dropping the hard-to-get ploy already?”

Y/N ignored the jab, leaning back on her hands and tipping her head to the side as she watched him. At least he was a pretty sight. “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, you menace.”

Then Nikolai was laughing, and Y/N realised that all the other times he’d laughed or chuckled at her words, it had only been a good mimicry of amusement. This was the real thing. Startling and unexpected and distinctly unrestrained. It left her looking up towards the glass ceiling in faux exasperation, trying to hide her smile. She would not be charmed by him or any of this.

“Anyway. It’s the crown prince’s hand in marriage that’s on the table, right? 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? Your kingdom needs political alliances, not my money. Nothing’s going to come of it.” She shrugged, unperturbed. “And if I’m debasing myself like a dairy cow on a cattle fair, I’d prefer to have a chance at least. I, too, have an ego, you know.”

When she dropped her head back down, she realised Nikolai had been watching her from where he stood. He was playing absentmindedly with the buttons of his cuff, looking like he was considering saying something, then deciding against it. She wanted to ask him about it, but that felt like engaging him too much, and she was supposed to be trying to get rid of him.

“From what I’ve been told, your father is a very rich man,” he said eventually. “And I find that sort of thing makes a woman rather attractive. Political alliances can be bought, you know.”

“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 the insolence. Us Ravkans, we’re just not as pragmatic.”

“Oh, I can tell.” She gave him a brief flash of a smile before she turned to watch the ripples disturb the mirror surface of the water where she dipped her fingers. The water was cold and startling; it reminded her of the silk of his gloves. “And besides, I’m not too keen on being shipped off to a foreign kingdom. Much to my mother’s dismay.”

This was half a truth or half a lie - depending on how you wanted to look at it. Yes, her mother was very much dismayed. But no, Y/N did not mind being shipped off from Ketterdam; she just wished to be shipped off on her own terms. But Nikolai did not need to know that. Homesickness was much easier to believe than whatever feelings she truly held in her heart.

“Not even for a crown?”

Her gaze shifted back to Nikolai, who was now strolling over to her, appearing genuinely curious. As she gazed up at him, he looked like something 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 be the one to hold her body to his chest and mourn over her in a field of poppies, impressive even in tragedy. She supposed, begrudgingly, that she understood why all the girls flocked to try and get his attention once they’d done their duty of doting on Vasily. This, she thought, was what a prince was supposed to be.

Y/N blinked, driving the image away. “I have no interest in crowns. They seem heavy.”

He stopped a few paces from her. “What is it that interests you then?”

Y/N was glad he asked if only so she could grin insolently. “Now, that would be telling, Your Highness. And I like to keep an air of mystery about myself, too.”

He took another step forward so that now he was standing over her, looking down at where she was sprawled back on the cold stone of the fountain bench, a playful glint in his eyes. “Fair. I suppose I should’ve seen that one coming from a mile away.”

“You really should have”, she said with a smile, head tipped back as she gazed up at him. For a moment, they looked at each other. He, standing so close she could feel the fabric of his pants brush against her dress. She leaned back on her hands, aware that she could, but did not want to shift away. 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 feel the thrill of it for just a second, let herself be foolish. She had been afforded so little of it in her life.

“Why were you meeting him?” he asked then, voice quieter and more severe than it had been at any point since they had started talking. Y/N’s eyes slipped away from his, and she looked into the dark corners of the garden behind him. She worried the inside of her cheek as she considered her options. Playful avoidance didn’t seem like a good choice right now, but neither did the truth, at least not the whole truth.

“He has something I need.” Want. She’d meant to say want instead of need - the word sounded too raw for her liking, too much like admitting to a lack of control.

She pushed herself up to stand, causing Nikolai to shift slightly 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 she knew he could stop her if he decided to.

She looked up at him, a determined look in her eyes. “I’m not telling.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. “I assume you can see how that might seem rather worrisome to me.”

Y/N dipped her chin in acknowledgement. He was right. She had lied and tried to manipulate her way out of this in every way imaginable. To the point she even implied that she was meeting a man she barely knew when that could well enough have absolutely obliterated her reputation. If desperation was a scent, she was sure she was reeking of it. She could not hold it against him if he worried what she was up to, not at this point of the conversation.

“And I assume you know I won’t just let it go?” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

“You? Unrelenting.” Her gaze slipped down to his chest, to the crisp lines of his uniform, then back up to his eyes. “I never would’ve guessed.”

He smiled at that, though it was a bit strained. “I could drag you to your parents. Tell them I found you here, alone, waiting for Zaitsev. Demand an explanation. You know how it would look.”

He looked like he had found the mere idea of it repulsive, as if it were beneath him. It would undoubtedly have been the simplest solution to this conundrum, but Y/N had a distinct feeling that wasn’t Nikolai’s preference. He dealt in charming grins and soft-spoken, elegant threats. Dragging her to her parents must have seemed positively barbaric to him.

“Yes, I suppose you could,” she said softly, her voice at odds with the fluttering of her heart. A thought had come to her then, unbidden but not entirely unwelcome. What if he did? It would spell a scandal, but that was something she could work with. More than that, it was something that could work in her favour. She dropped her gaze down to his hands, where he’d put them in his pockets. Her skin remembered the feel of the silk against her jaw, prickling at the thought of his fingers wrapped around her arm. Anticipation was an animal inside her chest, a shuddering of her ribcage. Yes, this could work.

Nikolai must’ve noticed her hesitation because he followed her gaze down and let out an incredulous chuckle when he saw the goosebumps scattered across her bare arms. “I didn’t mean to drag you there literally,” he said, sounding almost offended by the implication. But then that princely indignation softened into something else entirely. Amusement, if she had to guess. “Though I could, if that’s your preference?”

Y/N felt all that blood that was coursing through her vessels rush to her face, hot and burning and shameful, spreading up her chest until it reached the cheekbones. She closed her eyes and let out a frustrated breath. Collect yourself, you frivolous fool. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she asked, voice biting.

“I can. I just don’t want to. I was wondering how much it’d take to make you blush.” He tipped his head, perusing her. “Though I am surprised at what did it in the end. How…. unconventional of you, Miss Braam.”

She opened her eyes to glare up at him. “Satisfied?”

“More than you can imagine.”

How was this even a conversation they were having? “Great”, she ground out, embarrassed, “now that we have pleased you, are you going to make good on that threat?”

“Oh, that wasn’t a real threat, and you know it,” he said like he’d read her mind back there. “I wonder, however, why you’re suddenly so willing to yield. Eager even.”

Wonderful. She knew she should’ve played it up more, begged for leniency perhaps, or started crying. But it was three in the morning, for Ghezen’s sake, and the man in front of her was irritatingly impervious to her acting skills. She doubted he’d have believed her even if she had been able to produce actual tears. In any case, she wasn’t eager to consider the implications of his deduction skills a hair’s breadth away from his amused gaze.

She tried to side-step him to head for the door, eager to put distance between them without admitting that his proximity had rendered her a flustered bundle of nervous energy. But Nikolai deftly held out his hand to catch her wrist and pull her back to where she had been standing. There was no harshness to it; he’d been careful not to grip too hard or pull too firmly, but Y/N still gasped when she was stopped in her path.

“Changed your mind?” she snapped, spinning on her heel to glare up at him.

“No. I’m not giving you what you want,” His fingers slipped from her wrist, releasing her, his gaze trailing up her arm thoughtfully. “But I am wondering if I should escort you to your room just to 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 fully pressed against his chest. “Is that what you think? That I’m planning some grand act of treason with Zaitsev?”

“Well, you do have that look about you. A bit insolent, a bit treasonous.” She jutted her chin up defiantly and did her best to sound as smug and self-assured as he did whenever he spoke. “I thought you said you liked that.” He made a soft tutting sound, looking deeply amused by her display. “Of course I like you. That doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“That’s not—,” she stuttered, finding herself somewhere between irritation and being blindsided by the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “That is not what I meant.”

“No, but you are blushing again.”

She hated this. No, she hated the fact that she didn’t hate this nearly as much as she should have. She hated that he was aware of it, too. There was an uncanny perceptiveness to his eyes when he caught her gaze, something almost self-satisfied in the sinful curve of his smile. She swore he could hear the jackrabbit flutter of her heart; she just hoped he couldn’t. Bastard, she thought resentfully, mostly because he was not much of a bastard at all.

“You want to retaliate, don’t you? Push me away? Hit me?” he said with a soft tut of reproach. “Now, Miss Braam, that’s no way to convince me of your harmlessness or that you’re not partial to treason.”

“Would it truly be treason if the prince asked for it?” She was not so unsettled by him that she could not see the glint of danger in his eyes, the way he seemed poised to catch her in the act. It was as if he wanted her to step out of line the same way he had when he took her wrist. She narrowed her eyes at him, accusing. “You want me to retaliate, don’t you?”

Nikolai hummed his assent, the sound low and amused, a vibration against her ribcage. It occurred to her that he was too close for any sort of propriety, though it did not happen to her to step away. “But let’s not pass judgment on me just yet, Miss Braam. I have felt your pulse.” She startled when she felt him run the back of his finger along the inside of her wrist. It was a fleeting sensation that radiated up her arm, gone as soon as she’d looked down at his hand. “And I don’t think that had been fear I felt against my fingers or unease I’d seen in your eyes. It’s something else, is it not?”

“Does that bother you?” She lowered her voice, trying to sound defiant rather than defensive. She didn’t like being seen this easily. “That I’m not afraid?” She’d met too many men like that. Men who thrived off fear, who chased that smallest drop of terror like a shark scenting blood. They liked to make her feel small and afraid and got angry when she didn’t let them. She searched his eyes, all colour swallowed by the swell of his pupils in the scant light, looking for that glint of frustration, the flash of anger.

“Of course not,” he said instead, laughing like she’d said something ridiculous. “I wouldn’t have let it come to this if I thought I scared you. I have no taste for seeing fear in a woman’s eyes.”

Y/N blinked at him, suddenly disoriented. It felt like taking a step only to find there was one more stair to go, like swinging a sword at something solid only to have it dodge at the last moment.

“You seem disappointed.” It was not a question, though his gaze was curious as it flitted across her face, searching for something.

And he was right, in a way. She wanted the facade to crack, for vitriol to start spilling out, and for him to render himself simpler to understand. She wanted him to remind her how to be afraid so she wouldn’t waste precious time on his easy smiles. She could not afford to be curious, much less charmed.

“Enough. We don’t have time for this.” She hated the exasperation that bled into her voice, especially when he remained as calm and poised as ever, watching her silently. “I can hear the birds starting to sing; soon, the servants will be up, and 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. Then he nodded, a note of finality in his voice. “Very well, I’ll find you tomorrow.”

“No.” She tried hiding the panic in her voice by clearing her throat. “Same place, same time.” She would never get a good night’s sleep. But the damage was done, no matter how hard she tried to keep her voice in check. It must have been the high-pitched, panicked sound of that no or the unguarded expression that flashed across her face, but something made Nikolai shift his stance, his gaze reassessing. Shit.

“I will find you,” he repeated, then added with a smirk, “privately. My final offer. Unless the lady prefers to save me a dance?” He was a picture of ease - shoulders loose, hands in his pockets, like he had all the time in 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 palm flat against her bodice, weary of its tightness. She envied him for his poise. She wanted to reach out and ruin it.

She sighed, exasperated. “Why would I ever… oh.”

“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 so gallantly that a part of Y/N was impressed against her better judgment. 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 an upturned gaze, promising nothing but trouble. She would know it was all for show - and she had a feeling he’d make a show of it - but the Court wouldn’t. All they would see is the 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. There was no point in denying it now when she’d all but handed him this piece of information with that frantic slip-up. Like she was fifteen again, panic-stricken and out of her depth, and maybe she was, maybe she had been from the moment she turned around and decided to underestimate him. Silly girl, her mother’s voice rang in her head, these are not the games us women can play.

“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 scrutiny while the waltz played. She could feel the realisation like a rope tightening around her wrists, binding her hands until all she could do was watch the situation spiral out of her control.

He was watching her; she could feel it, but her mind was elsewhere as she turned away from him and walked a few steps down the path, spinning the ring on her index finger over and over again. The boning in her bodice was making it hard to breathe, digging into her hips.

“Miss Braam?” There was a beat of silence before he approached her, halting at a respectful distance. His voice was softer when he spoke, “All I ask is that you talk to me tomorrow. No one will know.” She must have looked terribly pale for him to turn suddenly so serious.

“Oh, is that all?” She bit out, spinning around on her heel to pin him with a glare. He had her there, her hands all but bound, but she didn’t want him to think she’d go down that easily. “Very well, I’ll play. But fair warning, I tend to bite when cornered.”

Something flashed across his face, an indiscernible emotion he wiped almost as quickly as it appeared. In its stead, a faint smirk appeared. “I was hoping you would”

“You… Insufferable.” She glared at him one last time before turning around to march for the door, not trusting herself with another word now that eloquence seemed to have abandoned her. She tugged at the wrought iron handle with determination, intent on storming out, only to find it refusing to budge.

She tugged it again, a frustrated sound escaping her. “They are plants for Ghezen’s sake, not the royal treasury - is this truly necessary?” Her hands went up into her hair, tugging at one of the pins and letting another lock of hair slip out. Now, she probably looked like she 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. Amusement bled into incredulity as he noticed what she was doing. “Are you trying to lock pick the door?”

“I do not try to do anything, Your Highness. How do you think I got in here the first time?” She had started bunching up her skirts to lower herself into a crouch when he interrupted her, laying a hand briefly on her forearm as if to stop her. She looked up to see him dangling a bundle of keys from his forefinger, eyebrow raised.

“May I?”

She wasn’t particularly proud that her stubbornness made her consider refusing him on principle, but it was dangerously close to morning, and she was so very tired. Tired enough that she didn’t move when he stepped closer and reached down to unlock the door, and tired enough that she didn’t immediately fight him when he turned to look down at her.

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

“You threatened me with it.”

“Yes, it is an unfortunate coincidence that the thing I hope for is the thing that threatens you.” He smiled at her, then looked down between them, at his hands. Y/N followed his gaze only to realise there was a flower in them, so delicate and white that it almost blended into the whiteness of his gloves, the green of its leaves stark in contrast.

“Since you don’t like the smell of jasmine,” he said, as if that explained everything, and held it out to her.

She considered not taking it, but her curiosity was a familiar and unrelenting beast, and she decided not to fight it any longer, at least not tonight. “What is it?”

“Gardenia. A personal favourite.” He stared at the flower in her hand momentarily, then smiled. “Goodnight, Miss Braam. I look forward to tomorrow.” With that, he strolled back towards the door that led inside the palace, unhurried, languid, and infuriatingly prepossessing.

For a moment, Y/N remained standing there, still reeling, before she forced her limbs to move and stumbled out into the outdoor gardens, desperate for fresh air. It was only then, and once her senses had cleared on her way back to her room, that she realised he hadn’t lied about the flower, its fragrance 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 inside of her wrist, she blamed it on weariness and the uncontrollable nature of dreams.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov x reader #grishaverse x reader #nikolai lantsov imagines #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov x y/n #nikolai x you #nikolai x reader #nikolai x y/n #shadow and bone #sob #shadow and bone imagine #nikolai lantsov my beloved #tbh nikolai drives me insane every time i write him #this is a monstrosity of a fic and i have zero regrets #gardenias

488 notes · View notes

helshades · 5 years

Text

@valiha:

I remember some of this from school, buy I've also forgotten some. It's good to be reminded. Have you already talked about your favorite perfumes and why you like them?

Now that is a splendid idea. Using the plural, I mean, to mention favourites. I’m already incapable of choosing between two things practically as a way of life, so in terms of perfume, the old ‘What would you take to a desert island?’ meme reads to me like a cruel & unusual punishment.

For a long, long time I mourned my sheer incapacity to find myself The One, the one fragrance that would be me and which I’d wear to my deathbed and which to everyone else would be my scent—in retrospect, it wasn’t naïve only for the utter lack of self-knowing that ambition required, but also because it might have been rather bold of me to assume that the makers of Signature Scent 1.0 wouldn’t end up butchering the juice in reformulations, if they didn’t plainly cancel the production to replace it with some trendy abomination. You need spend very little time indeed in the perfume-crazed world to meet legions of mournful wearers of Opium or Féminité du bois, to say nothing of the distraught Guerlain aficionados out there. And then you’ve got your vintage perfume dealers who scrutinise batch codes frantically—such fun!

So, no unique signature scent, but I do have my list of most-cherished smells amongst my alarmingly-large collection:

Grimoire, L’Eau de Merzhin (Anatole Lebreton)

L’Heure bleue, Jicky, Jardins de Bagatelle & Après l’ondée (Guerlain)

Opium (Yves-Saint-Laurent)

Ce soir ou jamais, Grand Amour, Eau du ciel, Un matin d’orage [eau de toilette version], & Ninfeo Mio (Annick Goutal)

Ambre Russe, Aziyadé, Equistrius & Musc Tonkin (Parfum d’Empire)

Rouge Hermès

Ostara (Penhaligon’s)

L’Ombre dans l’eau, Eau de Lierre, Olène & Volutes (Diptyque)

Œillet Sauvage, Mon numéro 10, Nuit de tubéreuse, Traversée du Bosphore, Séville à l’aube, Drôle de rose, Voleur de roses, Timbuktu & Bois Farine (L’Artisan parfumeur)

Chergui, Daim Blond, Fleurs de citronnier, Sa Majesté la Rose & Five O’Clock au gingembre, Chêne, Clair de Musc (Serge Lutens)

Très Russe (Institut Très Bien)

Idole, Akkad (Lubin)

Habanita (Molinard)

Maroussia (Slava Zaitsev)

Youth-Dew (Estée Lauder)

Quite frankly, I could have included Guerlain’s Shalimar but in a bout of snobbery I didn’t, even though I wear it a lot in the summer. It is too wearable, precisely, and Guerlain releases three terrible flankers per year. Above all, Shalimar itself is a riff on the sublime Jicky, one of the house’s monuments, a complex beauty uniting aromatics (chiefly, a scrumptious lavender), citrus, spices, woods, balms, vanilla and leather which has been dazzling since its creation in 1889. I adore it. I’m incapable of wearing it in the summer.

I did, however, include a perfume I probably shouldn’t have: Opium, one of the most brutally beautiful things ever created by Man, and one that should have been left to die a glorious death a long time ago instead of reformulating it every five minute, not to mention the zillion horrid flankers milking the prestigious name to oblivion. A tragedy. Still, I added Opium to the list because I do own bottles of it in its original 1977 formula and in spite of the light maderisation, typical of vintage fragrances, its personality is intact. The funny thing is that when I was very young, everybody was wearing Opium, or more accurately attempting to do so because it isn’t that easy a perfume; now, you won’t smell it everywhere you go. You will, however, be subjected to the terrifying caramel bomb that is Black Opium, and suffer greatly.

In passing, and to speak of perfumes my mother used to wear when I was in my formative years, I cheated a little by including Habanita, the mother of all orientals that contain vetiver, a great-aunt to all orientals anyway, a pioneer in the style because when it was created in 1921 (as an oil meant to be dabbed on cigarette tips to cover the foul smell of smoke!) it was the opposite of what the market was like, but this luxurious monster soon became the flappers’ favourite fragrance (the perfume version was finally released in 1924). It was advertised at the time as ‘The Most Tenacious Perfume in the World!’, which wasn’t entirely unwarranted. It is made from nearly 700 essences, and in spite of various reformulations since the 1980s its core is unmistakable: a fresh start like a cologne with lemon and orange blossom, followed by languid flower queens, rose, jasmine and heliotrope, on a bed of soft leather impregnated with balsamic vanilla, musk and cedarwood.The thing is, Habanita is my mother’s perfume. I have a cologne version for the summer, but the winter version is kind of a personal taboo—so I retaliated by introducing her to Rouge Hermès.

If you haven’t been stalking me but you know one or two vague things about perfume, in seeing the list above you may have noticed that I’m completely obsessed with naturalistic florals and opulent florientals. I have two modes, apparently, where perfume is concerned: ‘Wet Garden’ versus ‘Fellini Woz Here’. I suspect that growing up during the late 1980s and 1990s, when women wore powerhouses over the Working Girl suits (and under the capillary sauerkraut) and femininity was all but rambunctious, but young girls could only wear Anaïs Anaïs and the Lancôme catalogue—I’m living my 1980s now, you see. Only, apparently I’m also living my 1880s at the same time. I had a lot of trouble not including the entire catalogue of L’Artisan Parfumeur and Diptyque and Parfum d’Empire, then. I didn’t include, either, perfumes that I love but don’t actually own (yet), like things by Jovoy, Frapin, Oriza L. Legrand or Atkinson’s.

You might have noticed also that there is only one (1) vetiver-based perfume on this list, which is the exhilarating Timbuktu. The list contains zero chypre, however, because I have trouble with oak moss in general, especially in the traditional chypre harmony of oak moss, cistus/labdanum, patchouli and bergamot. I’m peculiar about patchouli and I loathe it with fruit. Moss I love only truly with perfumes so green cows will follow you with hungry eyes, which is why the mossiest juice on the list, L’Eau de Merzhin, is more like faceplanting in grassy fertile soil than anything else. An excellent antidote to the terrible ongoing of ‘fruitchouli’ and caramel overdose, methinks.

Lastly... no, I didn’t include Nahéma, which I love. Yes, I have a zillion roses in my collection, and I’m still debating the inclusion of The Different Company’s Rose Poivrée, but the thing is, I’m hyperosmic to certain aldehydes—which makes the faintest sniff of N ͦ 5 a most expensive kind of torture—and my window to wear Nahéma, marvellous candied rose petals soaked in strong aldehydes, is ridiculously narrow, as I have to wait until the weather is hot enough for the aldehydes to wear off very quickly, but before it becomes too hot for me to bear wearing rose perfume, which I never do in the summer. In the spring, however, I drench myself in flowers everyday. People still don’t make quite as startled a face as they do in the water when I switched to Aggro Amber Incense mode. Feminists complaining about ‘manspreading’ in public transport should start wearing perfume. I have a list.

#answers #valiha #perfume #tip of the nose #aromaphilia

11 notes · View notes