Author's Note

So everyone that's reading this is probably aware by now that a lot of SaB hate was/is doing the rounds on FFN and Tumblr over content involving the Darkling. I am not going to get into it again on here, especially over those that threw shit at my own fic. I could delete the comments but I'm not, because I'm tired of turning the other cheek. That's what I used to do because unfortunately hate comes with the territory of fandom. I would just delete the worst and publish the ones I found funny. But the joke's over now. And yeah, I had to take a break from the shitstorm, because guess what, I'm only human. So to those spreading hate – you've made your questionable point, so move on. To those who can't grasp that concept, I'll deal with you later in the review section - when I can be bothered - because like I said, I'm not wasting anymore chapter space on you all.

To those that took the time to reach out over PM or left kind comments, anonymous or otherwise, I really appreciate it, so thank you.

When She Fell, She Fell Apart

"This embroidery is unravelling," Varvara said critically, eying the once colourful design emblazoned across the bodice of Lillianna's white lace dress, the faded threads depicting a swirling pattern of bluebells and leaves.

"But this kalocsa pattern is so exquisitely rendered," Genya said persuasively as she paced the ground, giving Lillianna the ghost of a wink as she spoke. "Not even our best seamstresses here could rival such fine work."

"What are you suggesting?"

"As I said, there is perhaps a way to salvage this sartorial situation."

"Are you saying then we should present my daughter to the General in a twice-turned dress?"

"I am saying we have to work with what we have."

"Well, maybe if somebody had bothered to arrange for my daughter's trousseau to be outfitted before our arrival, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

"It was no oversight, Madame," Genya declared with a dramatic toss of her red hair, "General Kirigan thought it best to wait" –

-"What, in case his new venture fell through?" Varvara snapped. "That his gamble wouldn't pay off? It is going to cost him coin regardless."

"As I explained, Lillianna is to attend her first fitting for her trousseau this morning," Genya said, spreading her beautiful hands wide, the movement an elegant sweep of motion, "with the best of Os Alta's dressmakers and milliners arriving as we speak. Along with looking over what can be saved from Lillianna's rather… limited wardrobe, I have also personally overseen the purchase of several ready-made gowns that can be made over to fit Lillianna in the meantime" –

-"She needs more than gowns"-

-"I am aware of that," Genya said coolly, signalling with a snap of the fingers for a swathe of mob-capped servants standing in the doorway to come forwards, "but your foresight is to be admired. Everything is in hand though, Madame, please rest assured nothing has been overlooked..."

As usual, Lillianna stood in silence as Varvara continued to hold court, arguing over her head, still not dressed and still ignoring everything Genya was saying, whilst Genya circled them as she spoke, her dramatic gestures becoming increasingly elaborate, the only sign of her slowly losing her temper. Fidgeting, Lillianna could not help but think of her new shuba, now hanging in the armoire, the memory casting a pall over the prospect of pretty new clothes. Genya had made no mention of Lillianna's earlier outburst, assuming her usual accomplished manner, all uncertainty gone, as if she had not stepped out of her place to warn Lillianna to watch her own step.

Instead Genya had ordered Lillianna back into the luxurious bathroom, where Lillianna had once again been washed and scrubbed to within an inch of her life, the servants ruthlessly rendering her clean. She had then been attired in the best of her old dresses, along with patched but clean undergarments and worn boots. She was pleased to see there were no more crystal bowls of late summer peaches courtesy of General Kirigan, Lillianna having gotten up in the middle of the night to send them back to the kitchens, taking a petty pleasure in spiting him, especially now after he had replaced her shuba with one of his choosing instead. He could buy her but he could not bribe her. Even if her logic wasn't exactly irrefutable, it still served to prop up her pride.

A large ornate black and gold trunk stood unopened nearby, what Genya called her 'kit', but so far, Varvara had delayed Genya from doing what she had come here for, which was mainly remedying Lillianna's tangled hair and the dark circles under her eyes. Varvara, still piqued at Genya not attending them upon their arrival as she had been ordered to, had soon been enlightened on the reason why. Apparently since Lillianna wasn't Grisha, the Queen was graciously granting her the use of Genya's services on occasion, as requested by General Kerigan, but only when Genya was not needed by the Queen, Varvara too angry over Lillianna's lack of trousseau to appreciate the doubtful honour of this attention. What these services would involve, Lillianna didn't know, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know either.

Growing up on an isolated estate, with Grisha blood in her veins, meant that Lillianna lacked the usual apprehension that others usually felt towards the Grisha. She was of course aware of the antipathy and she understood it, but it was without taking any sides on the subject. The serfs had not shared her sentiments, being careful to carry iron on their person, whilst glancing askance at Ivan Katukov whenever they were unobserved. But Lillianna had simply always tended to look upon the situation without emotion becoming involved. However, she could now feel the winds of change stirring within her, and not for the better, making her nervously wonder if the Grisha could cast spells upon somebody after all.

Biting her lip, Lillianna tried in vain to focus her thoughts, only for them to wander back to their old aimless path of why such a powerful man as General Kirigan would want to marry her and in such an irregular manner. Everything he would probably expect from her, he could have acquired elsewhere and at much less expense and effort. Fool as she was, even she understood that, and as an even greater fool, she knew she should be seizing this opportunity to elevate herself with both hands. But she could not bring herself to do so. It wasn't out of the usual maidenly ambition to marry for love; it was just simply that she wanted to go home back to her woods, where she belonged.

But home was a world away, and escape a futile option, not with guards on the doors and the servants watching her every step. Her mother was expecting her to do her duty and do it well. No doubt Varvara was also expecting her cut of the profits. Consequently Lillianna would have to contend not with just her own doubts but also everyone else's. She would need to learn to surrender her body to a stranger, and hope every night she would soon become enceinte so she would no longer have to endure his advances until the next time. And such a man as the General would surely have his mistresses and bedwarmers, who would rival her for his unwanted attentions.

Lost in her own turmoil, she didn't notice the servants' collective gasp of shock, or her mother losing track of her tirade, her carmined lips hanging comically open. It was only when Genya made a florid bow, her nose almost touching her knees, did Lillianna stir herself back into sense, just in time to see Varvara and the servants simultaneously sweep curtseys to somebody behind her. In confusion, she whirled around, only to almost crash into a tall, dark-haired man, who grabbed her elbow on reflex, steadying her. Lillianna stared up at him, the stranger looking down at her in turn, his impossibly dark eyes speculative as they studied her face, common sense catching up to Lillianna too late as she finally realised who he was, the owner of the iron hand that had struck her so. Shocked, and angry, she backed away from him, fingers flying to her throat, disbelieving what was standing right in front of her.

"Lillianna Katukov," the stranger said slowly, her name sounding different when he said it, exotic and opulent, as if she were a rare flower, making her blush hotly despite herself, "finally, we come face to face."

Lost for words, Lillianna found herself hanging her head foolishly, seeking shelter in staring at his shining boot-tops instead. Saints, she was a greater fool than she'd thought, wilting at his pretty words in this mawkish manner. She should have prepared herself in her mind for this moment, but she had naively expected him to arrive in great pomp and circumstance; not like this, alone and in an open-necked white shirt and black trousers, with ebony hair falling forwards across his forehead. Despite his dishabille, he carried himself like a prince, his dark head held high, putting everyone else to shame.

Swallowing hard, Lillianna finally dared to glance up, the silence starting to hang heavy in the air, only to see him watching her, all his attention riveted on her face, making her blush harder, much to her humiliation. Something strange flickered behind his still speculative stare, making Lillianna shrink further into herself, nails digging into her now sweating palms. He was so… young, older than her of course, but still inconceivably young, and not the aged personage she had been expecting. She felt oddly affronted at having her disappointments dashed. But none of that mattered, not now, not when he was right in front of her, right now -

Panicking, Lillianna looked to Genya, not knowing what to do next, but the Grisha girl had apparently abandoned her to her fate, being already half way out of the doors, taking the servants with her. Looking worried, Genya shot one last helpless look at Lillianna over her shoulder, and then they were gone, leaving Lillianna gawping at their retreating backs, still unable to believe this was happening. To her terrible relief, Varvara suddenly assumed control of the situation, drawing herself to her full height, acting as if she were attired in diamonds of the first water instead of her old wrapper.

"Moi soverenyi," she said icily, "you… pre-empt us."

"So I observe," he replied, his gaze still alarmingly fixed upon Lillianna's face as he spoke, brow furrowing slightly as if she was a riddle he had to unravel. "But I must confess my curiosity got the better of me."

"You must excuse our dishabille," Varvara then said, shaking back her auburn curls so they fell in what she thought was fetching disarray around her bare face, cutting a strong contrast against her painted lips, "we were about to break our fast."

"That is the most enticing offer I have heard all morning," General Kirigan said with a surprisingly boyish smile, finally deigning to look at Varvara, who tilted her chin at his less than subtle hint.

To Lillianna's dismay, Varvara then swept out of the room in high dudgeon, taking care to deliberately leave the doors open, the gesture not going unnoticed, the General smiling to himself as if at a secret joke. As he did, Lillianna backed even further away from him, sweat starting to bead on her brow, feeling as if she was coming down a fever. She still didn't know what to do. She had been strictly schooled in female deportment but now all that knowledge had flown from her. Should she curtsey? Make a trite remark about the weather? What if he tried to take a liberty? Did she have to allow it? But that was why he was here, wasn't it? She was like a horse he had to break in. With horses you had to check them over to see you weren't being cheated. If he examined her teeth, she wouldn't be surprised-

"What are you thinking of?" General Kirigan asked quietly, startling her.

"I thought you were old," Lillianna blurted out before she could stop herself, her hands flying to her mouth in horror.

To her shock, he flung his head back with laughter, the sound oddly incongruous. "Older than you think," he then said, almost but not quite teasing, that strange smile tugging at his lips again, as if laughing at something only he understood.

Lillianna lowered her hands to her sides, biting her lip, at a loss again. She stared at him, nerves stretched to breaking point, the harsh reality of the situation now hitting her at full force. He was the last descendant of the Black Heretic. The Darkling. General Kirigan of the Second Army, only second to the King. Her future husband. Yet he was here, in front of her, in his rolled up shirt-sleeves, everything she hadn't expected. This was not what she had imagined; it was worse.

The General raised his brows at her sullen scrutiny, looking annoyed and amused all at once. "Well, you are younger than I anticipated," he then countered, frowning a little at the thought, "and less… sturdy." His dark gaze discreetly travelled over her slim frame, before coming to a rest on her furious face again.

"Well, I apologize for not being the hearty strapping milkmaid you were so obviously expecting," Lillianna choked out, her nerves finally snapping with the strain, his wry appraisal adding further injury, making her all too aware of her shabby appearance, from the tips of her tangled pallid hair down to the darns in her drawers.

The General merely ignored this outburst. "I hope the servants enjoyed the summer peaches you sent back to the kitchens last night," he then said smoothly, startling her, "I do abhor waste, don't you?"

Lillianna drew herself to her full height, unconsciously imitating Varvara "In that instance, I hope your servants are enjoying my furs as well," she said with great difficulty, "since I am most certainly not."

The General tilted his head back, caught offguard. "Ah," he began, eyes becoming almost oddly apologetic, only for Varvara to sweep through the doors, face disapproving.

"We are ready to break our fast, General Kirigan," she said imperiously, giving Lillianna a warning glance, "if you would care to grace us with your presence."

"Only if Lillianna doesn't object," he said coolly, making her a mock bow, infuriating Lillianna even further.

"Shall we find out?" Lillianna snapped before she could stop herself, before stumbling out of the room, feeling his bottomless black gaze following her all the way down the hall.

Waded out into the dark, wild ocean up to her neck

Bathed in her brokenness…