i.

Slowly, but surely, Alina glimpsed a different side of the Darkling, the side she'd known during her first months at the Little Palace. She remembered their earliest moments together when he told her she was the first glimmer of hope he'd had in a long time. Of course, all of that had been for show; a facade he slipped on to distract and seduce her. Everytime she thought back to the way her heart had soared and dived at the thought of his kiss by the lake, her cheeks burned with shame.

Alina still believed the Darkling had his masks, but she wondered if not every word of kindness had been illusory. The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.

The anger that drove him to punish and humiliate her for running off had slowly started to fade. He'd always feel a little hurt about it, of course, especially when she'd run into the arms of that otkazat'sya tracker, though he'd never admit it anyone. The Darkling held long grudges. But his penchant for silently mocking her gave way to a genuine willingness to teach the Sankta about the virtues he thought she ought to abide by.

She corrected herself when she nodded, even if she wasn't speaking to him. She took a strange pleasure in doing the small tasks he'd set for her. She stopped lying to herself and admitted that perhaps she did enjoy the thrill that went through her when his eyes strayed from his maps to the collar at her throat.

She vaguely knew, of course, (how could she not?) that power was a fragile balance. It was easy to conquer new lands, but difficult to erect stability. The bordering villages of Shu Han had seen the first of a handful of uprisings and word had spread that the Fjerdans were planning to drive their ships into the ports of West Ravka. However unlikely it seemed, if their enemies breached the walls of Os Alta, they would not hesitate to impale her head on a spike or burn her on a pyre in the Palace Square.

There was much anxiety in contemplating the future, but it was better than the bitter wound that opened up at the thought of the past. So Alina was content on focusing instead on pleasing the Darkling.

Everyone it seemed, indulged in a fantasy. The serfs believed the Sankta would save them and the Sankta believed she was loved tenderly by the devil who'd captured her.

ii.

Alina's lessons with Baghra had not been as fruitless as she'd imagined. The blind woman could still summon darkness like black ribbons and every time one of them brushed up against the light Alina had conjured, Baghra knew of its intensity, of its range, of its weaknesses.

"Focus!" She would say. Focus, focus, focus. It was one lesson Alina couldn't master, not when her thoughts strayed so often to the Darkling.

When her afternoon lessons with Baghra were over, her evening lessons with the Darkling would begin. He didn't strictly call them 'lessons', but Alina got accustomed to thinking of them that way. She would make her way through the gilded halls of the palace, a slight spring her step and her heart clamouring wildly with anticipation. After soaking in a tub of hot water and lavender-scented salts she'd acquired from Genya, Alina would brush her hair into a single braid and wait patiently in her room.

The Darkling didn't always come. In fact, with their enemies plotting some kind of attack before the winter set in, he was usually travelling between the Fold and the borders or talking with his men in the war room. There were many nights when she stayed awake, waiting wistfully for that telltale knock on the door that connected their rooms only to go to bed, disappointed and resentful.

"Braid your hair and wait for me," he'd said. It was the first and last time he had told her in advance that he'd be visiting her rooms.

"Why?"

"Because there's something I want to teach you."

"So I have lessons with you too, now?"

His lips held the suggestion of a smile. "Of a sort."

She didn't know what to expect that first night. His knock was so soft, she almost didn't hear it. When he walked into her rooms, his dark imposing figure looked strange against the cozy decor. Alina wondered if the night would end with her bent over and with bruises running over her backside and a rush of excitement went through her.

He took a moment to survey the room before him and Alina was grateful the servants had come in earlier to tidy it up.

"Baghra tells me you've been having trouble focusing in her lessons."

She tried to hide her disappointment at this turn in conversation but he saw it on her face nonetheless. "I guess I've had a lot on my mind lately."

His cool slate eyes moved over her and she shifted nervously on the spot. She knew when she was being studied.

"What's been distracting you?"

Alina could've sworn she saw the corners of his lips lift a little as if he knew exactly what had been distracting her. She shrugged noncommittally.

"Just the future…" She trailed off vaguely, hoping he wouldn't press.

"Of course," said the Darkling, sounding unconvinced.

"So what did you want to teach me?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Focus."

"Oh," she said, her shoulders dipping a little. So he was continuing Baghra's lessons after all.

"What were you expecting?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

She shook her head quickly. "Nothing. Let's get started."

He regarded her reproachfully. "I'll decide when we start."

There was something authoritative in his tone (or at least, more authoritative than usual) that had her skin tingling. She stood before him, hands clasped together, shoulders straight, and with her braided hair brushing up against her collar and he surveyed her.

"Lean up against the bedpost and put your hands above your head," he said, nodding to the four-poster bed behind her.

She quickly acquiesced and did as she was told. The carved wood was cool under her touch in contrast to the heat she felt humming through her. The look she gave him was full of reckless intensity, as if all her secret desires were painted plainly on her face. His slate eyes revealed nothing and she wondered briefly if he ever truly felt anything human at all.

He took a calculated step forward and her breath quickened every so slightly, her chest rising and falling as if her lungs couldn't quite get enough air. He placed his hands around her wrists, twisting them higher in place. The familiar surge of calm washed over her at the Darkling's touch, like a rushing river. She wanted to lean into him, to touch him long enough to follow that river wherever it led. His eyes seemed to carve into her.

"Focus, Alina," he said, simply. "Whatever I do to you, don't move, don't speak, don't even think."

She had to use all her self-restraint not to quiver at this new command. She suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. He was still dressed in his black kefta, looking regal as ever and his face giving nothing away. Yet, here she was, in yet-another sheer nightdress, struggling to breathe properly.

His slender hands trailed down her bare arms, then down her sides and then rested against the curve of her hips, never breaking eye contact. The space between her legs suddenly felt very empty and she silently begged him to touch her there but his hands resumed their tour of her sides as if he wanted to memorize the shape of her curves.

On his way back up her sides, he slipped his hands under her dress and cupped each of her breasts. She nearly gasped in delight but passed it off as a heavy breath. The material of her bra was thin enough that she could feel every change in pressure. With one deft movement-one he must have had years to master, no doubt-the clasp of her bra came undone and she barely had time to prepare herself before she felt those gentle hands pinching her nipples.

This time, she need gasp. It was a quiet, desperate sound, but in the small space between them, it was loud to her ears.

"I told you not to make a sound."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He pinched her again, but more roughly than before. "What did I just say?"

She swallowed the moan in her throat. She could no longer tell if she was in pain or ecstasy, but she knew better than to answer him again. They stood like that for a tense moment, her nipples still in the mercy of his fingers before he released her and resumed his exploration.

He moved closer, his slender and muscled form pressing up against her. One hand casually massaged the nipple he'd been abusing while the other dipped lower and found the backs of her thighs. His tongue sampled the spot between her neck and shoulder, perilously close to where the collar rested. As he lapped at that spot territorially, she felt his hardness against her thigh.

Just the thought of making him unravel this way sent a jolt of exhilaration through her. She felt her hands slip lower on the bedpost, wanting desperately to touch him, but afraid (and perhaps a little excited?) at what he'd do to her if she moved.

A slow ache started to build and coil inside her, her hips unconsciously starting to rock against him. He bit her neck, right over the spot he'd been claiming with his tongue and she lost all sense of place and time. He'd told her not to move, not to speak, not to think but all she knew in that moment was that she needed to be filled. The ache inside her was growing to intense, she could barely stand it.

She was nearly trembling with need as she held him, one hand roaming in his hair, the other groping blindly for the only thing she knew could fill her.

He stilled for a moment.

Then he pulled away from her abruptly and struck her across the face.

Alina froze in shock and the sting of pain bloomed on her cheek. They were both breathing hard. He watched her silently for a moment before she corrected her position on the bedpost and tried to look as dignified as possible.

"Do you want to stop?" His voice was gentle, but the challenge was still there.

She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head.

He brushed his lips against hers. "I'll reward you if you learn your lesson."

Her eyes fluttered shut. The thought of being rewarded by him was enough to warm her.

"We'll start from the beginning," he said, placing his hands over her wrists once more. He repeated the same movements, the same mapping of her body.

She tried to keep herself still, tried to remind herself that if she could behave then she might get what she wanted so badly in the first place. He massaged her breasts again, lapped at her neck, slowly torturing her with pleasure. How was it possible that something that felt so good could be torture? How was it possible that his painful pinching could feel so good? His touch had scrambled all the wires in her brain.

The Darkling pushed her nightdress up over her shoulders, blinding her. He captured a nipple with his mouth and started the languorous process of licking and biting her. She couldn't see where he was going to touch her next, and with what. She wanted to moan to cry out-in pleasure or pain, she wasn't sure anymore-but she swallowed them all down.

Focus, Alina.

She wanted to buck her hips, to rub herself all over him, to tell him (in no uncertain terms) that she needed him inside her. It was tempting (oh so tempting) to do just that, especially with his warm tongue circling those sensitive spots; especially with his cool fingertips pressing against her inner thighs, so perilously close to where she wanted them the most.

Deliberately, he brushed his fingers against that aching spot between her thighs, but never for more than a second. He swatted her slit a few times, secretly thrilled to discover how wet she was. She could barely stand that-the feeling of pressure that she craved only to have it taken away a moment later.

It was sweet, sweet torment and he knew it. The only thing that stopped her was the thought of her reward and of his command that seemed more and more monumental with each passing second: Focus, Alina.

Just when she thought she was reaching the end of her rope, he finished his torment with a final swat and pulled her nightdress back down.

She was grateful to have her sight back and she took in the sharp angles of his features, the soft curve of his lips. She was panting as if she'd run a marathon but his breath was as steady as his gaze.

"What do you want, Alina?"

"Fuck me," she whispered, the words out of her lips before she could think the better of them. Her own voice sounded so alien to her, so high-pitched and wanton. What had he done to her?

He seemed to consider this for a moment but pressed his lips into a hard line. "I don't think so. You moved too many times."

"Please," she begged. "I'll be good."

This earned her a chuckle. "You're an apt pupil but you still have so much more to learn. You lack discipline."

"I can be disciplined. You only had to hit me once." She had so little to bargain with but she had a desperate need that only he could satiate.

"If you were truly disciplined, I wouldn't have had to hit you at all."

A part of her wanted to scream. He'd gotten her all winded up and now he wasn't going to release her? She swallowed the words in her mouth and stared blankly ahead. He watched her again, as if waiting for something but she remained silent; no begging, no excuses, no bargains, not even a mild tantrum.

Gently, he slipped his hand into her soaked underwear and let his fingers rest against her clit. She let out a little moan at the contact and held his arms for support.

"You want to cum, little saint? Go ahead."

He was going to make her do the moving. It would be more humiliating that way. It would take so little effort for him to rub his fingers against her slick sex, but it was more debasing to watch her rock her hips against him, make her admit how much she wanted this.

She barely even hesitated, her mind consumed by a single need. She gripped herself against him and rode his fingers desperately, resolutely, shamelessly. It couldn't have been more than five strokes before she felt herself explode in ecstasy, waves of pleasure humming through her as she trembled in his arms.

She wanted to say his name, to whisper it like it was a prayer, but she didn't know it. He held her in his arms until the last of her climax left her and she felt into him like a limp doll. They rested against each other for a moment before he pulled away and regarded her.

Alina was so tired she was sure she'd collapse on the floor but she made herself stand tall again.

"And what do we say," he asked, "when someone gives us what we deserve?"

"Thank you."

iii.

Before he left, he let his fingers trail over her collar.

"Next time," he whispered, "I don't want you to be wearing anything."