Inside I Felt Alone

Lillianna glared down at her breakfast of rye bread and pickled herring, such simple fare at odds with their opulent surroundings, the food itself served on gleaming blue and white porcelain plates. The meal's only saving grace was the sliced plums brought fresh from the hothouse. As she picked at her food, one of the servants poured her a cup of hot tea from the solid silver samovar, before adding a generous helping of sugar, Lillianna murmuring her muted thanks.

She could feel the full weight of Varvara's angry stare upon her, looking at Lillianna as if she had never seen her before, her docile daughter suddenly replaced by this wilful stranger pouting childishly over her plate. What neither realised was that as soon as the Darkling had walked through the doors, Varvara had lost all control of Lillianna, the Darkling assuming it instead. Lillianna had just unknowingly swapped one leash for another, only aware of something catching against her self-control as she struggled to subdue this strange fury sweeping through her.

"You favour simple dishes, then, General?" Varvara then said lightly, too lightly, unable to hide the disdain colouring her conversational tone. She was still seething at being ordered around by him like some scullery maid. And then there was the issue of her own orders being disobeyed. To break their fast, she had sent to the kitchens for the pastries usually reserved for royalty at the Grand Palace, after having heard so much about them, only for the servants to serve up what was simply peasant food instead.

The General didn't answer right away, instead eating with great relish, obviously enjoying his meal. As Lillianna watched him from under her lashes, she bitterly reasoned she could attribute this to his common origins. Black Heretic or not, he was not highborn for all his princely pretensions, and it more than showed. "I prefer plain, hearty, fare," he then said, dabbing at his lips with a blue cloth napkin, "it suits my sturdy appetite."

Lillianna's head snapped up at this, face flushing hotly and horribly, the General merely sparing her a small, knowing smile. She dropped her gaze down to her plate again, inwardly writhing at his veiled insults. So he was on the war path, Lillianna suspecting she had set him upon it from the moment she had sent the summer peaches back to the kitchen. It had been done on childish impulse, Lillianna now bitterly regretting her small act of rebellion. She should have known she was being watched, her every movement recorded and reported back to him.

As she sat there stewing, she also realised he had deliberately came to her chambers unannounced to catch her offguard, scouting out the enemy territory in order to see what he was up against. Replacing her shuba had just been the beginning of his campaign. In hindsight, it would have been better not to have shown her hand, to be what he had believed he had bought, a beautiful and biddable broodmare. But in one swift move, he had outmanoeuvred her, seeing Lillianna in her true light, its glare rendering her almost unrecognizable to even herself.

Lillianna watched as Genya led the small crowd of dressmakers, seamstresses and milliners out of her apartments before retreating to her bedchamber, about to collapse from exhaustion, only to find her new lady's maid, Aoife, awaiting her. Aoife was just one of the many abrupt changes she had to get used to, her elevation in status another, the one she was most struggling with. Nervously, Lillianna pointlessly smoothed back her perfect hair with trembling fingers, yet another alteration she had to adjust to. Her long pale locks had been smoothed and straightened, Genya adding subtle gold highlights to add depth and texture, before piling it atop Lillianna's head in an artless array of braids, forming a crown that emphasized the dramatic sweep of her dark slanting brows.

Genya had then removed Lillianna's dark circles, before brightening her slightly sallow complexion, removing some freckles at the same time. She had left Lillianna's lips untouched, pronouncing them perfect, as well as surprisingly expressing approval over her unusual colouring, declaring the effect of Lillianna's large brown eyes against the backdrop of her white blonde hair as 'absolutely ravishing.' The current fashion for beauty was of fair hair and light coloured eyes, Lillianna having one, and lacking the other, much to Varvara's annoyance, as if Lillianna had done it deliberately to spite her.

At the fitting itself, there had been an uncomfortable scene when one of the dressmakers, an old woman dressed in black velvet, had seemed to suddenly lose her wits. She had fallen to her knees in front of Lillianna, before crossing herself and kissing the hem of Lillianna's old chemise, tears running down her face as she cried over and over again Sankta Solina! Sankta Solina! Sankta Solina! Genya had been forced to have the old woman escorted out, Lillianna hoping she had been treated kindly, but the memory still had the power to make her shudder, even as it suddenly illuminated what had once been unseen. But Lillianna was not the Sun Saint bringing the light in her wake, only a frightened girl far from home. The only saving grace was that Varvara had not been there to witness such a scene.

Her fitting had then continued as though nothing had happened, but the other women had looked at her just as the serfs had looked at her father whenever they thought nobody was watching, their expressions a disconcerting display of fear and awe. She had then been made to stand on a small raised platform for hours, forcing her face into its habitual serene lines whilst they measured and muttered to each other under their breaths, Genya moving amongst them like a beautiful ghost in her white kefta, overseeing everything, leaving Lillianna no say in anything.

Nobody had explained the old woman's strange behaviour, Lillianna sensing it was a forbidden subject, one she decided to let drop for now, even as she thought she understood. But now she was dreading her future fittings more than ever, especially the one involving her wedding dress, Genya having already decided on an ivory and gold colour scheme, acting as if she were the bride and not Lillianna, even as her enthusiasm seemed a little forced. Despite Lillianna's disrespectful behaviour towards him, the General had made no mention of ending the arrangement, not that she had been expecting him to. He had faced down more formidable foes than a sulky sixteen year old girl. After breakfast, he had merely left the table with one last mocking smile aimed in her direction, and she had not seen him since, Lillianna wishing she could continue this on a permanent basis.

As for Genya, things had suddenly become strained between them, Lillianna unsure of where she stood with her. In her fear and loneliness, she had made the mistake of beginning to trust Genya, taken in by her capable manner and unexpected kindness. What she would not admit to herself was how the gentle way Genya had called her 'small sun' had hurt so, throwing her loneliness into relief. But now she wondered if Genya was just another trap she had fallen into, Genya sent to spy on her as well as serve. Had Genya gone running to the General to tell him about Lillianna's outburst this morning, how she had openly declared herself his enemy, referring to him as the Darkling? Would Genya twist a childish strop into a serious threat? Or was she just waiting for the right moment, luring Lillianna into a false sense of security as she did? All Lillianna knew was that it would not do to forget what Genya was, and what she herself wasn't.

Mouth curling downwards, Lillianna made her way over to the ornate white and gold dressing table where Aoife was now shamelessly admiring herself from all angles in the burnished glass. Aoife was another obstacle in her path, the lady's maid having shown Lillianna the whole of her character in the space of an afternoon, being vain and arrogant, and having little respect for those supposed to be her superiors, even appearing curiously unperturbed towards anyone Grisha. She had yawned and complained throughout the entirety of the fitting, Genya speaking sharply to her on several occasions, Aoife merely tossing her ginger curls back and carrying on regardless. But Aoife was otkazat'sya, and that was what made all the difference, Lillianna willing to overlook Aoife's attitude problem if it meant not being surrounded by yet another Grisha. What had been a childish fear inspired by her new and strange surroundings was swiftly becoming something else.

Sensing Lillianna's scrutiny, Aoife turned around, an overplucked eyebrow raised in silent question. She was a few years older than Lillianna, pretty in a pale, malnourished way, and had spent the past year being trained by the Queen's own lady's maid, as well as under Genya's further instruction. Her unfortunate manner was only tolerated because of what she sarcastically called her 'magic fingers', almost rivalling Genya in some instances, Aoife possessing a particular knack for arranging hair, as well adding small, stylish touches to an ensemble that suddenly made it a la mode, outshining even the most exalted of garments.

"You have beautiful apartments, ma'am," Aoife then said carelessly in her musical Kaelish lilt, her louche familiarity making Lillianna inwardly flinch. "It's a shame you won't get to keep them."

"What are you talking about?" Lillianna frowned, drawing her new white silk wrapper around her, the gesture making Aoife slyly eye its exquisitely embroidered gold roses with envy.

"Where do you think you'll be sleepin' once you're wed?" Aoife half laughed, rolling her eyes. "Here? With Mother dearest nearby, keepin the big, bad wolf away? He can't sire a son on you from over there, can he?" She jerked her chin towards the window, where Lillianna's chambers were overlooked by a tall gold-domed tower that reflected the fading light, making it glow dully like a dying sun.

Lillianna flushed hotly, realising her mistake too late. Of course she wouldn't be staying amongst this white and gold glory. When the wedding was over, this would all be left behind, along with her innocence.

Aoife wandered over to the window with a slow provocative saunter, before leaning against the marble sill, drawing the red velvet drapes back. "I quite envy you, y'know," she drawled as the sound of galloping hooves drew nearer, "havin' such a handsome handful of a man warmin' your bed. Mind you, though," she then said, dropping her voice conspiratorially as Lillianna drew closer despite herself, "he's a queer kettle of fish for all his fine airs."

"What do you mean?" Lillianna asked, looking out of the window, only to see the General down below in the courtyard, reining in the black horse he sat astride on. He was a fine horseman, keeping his seat with a straight back, moving as one with the animal. He was clad in a black silk tunic and breeches, the day too warm for kefta, coat or cloak, his dark hair slicked back from his forehead. As she watched him dismount, he suddenly glanced up, making Lillianna hurriedly draw back. She was starting to understand exactly what he wanted from her, the thought frightening.

"He tends to stick to the one woman," Aoife said, still watching the General, "and for quite a time. You'd think he'd be runnin' through his mistresses like water, but not him."

"Maybe… maybe he has affection for them."

"Oh, there's no love in that one, ma'am," Aoife smirked, fluttering her fingers flirtatiously at her audience below, "no warmth, no nothin'. He's the Darklin', ain't he?"

Lillianna looked away, drawing the wrapper closer around herself instead of answering.

"He might have cold hands, but he sure knows how to use them," Aoife declared, finally turning from the window, "or so Zoya Nazyalensky goes around boastin'."

"Zoya?"

"She's his paramour," Aoife said with a slow smile, "or she was until he announced his engagement. Since then, her bed has been rather…. lonely."

"He – he set her aside?"

"Zoya is a formidable Squaller," Aoife said cryptically, "so I suggest you watch your step lest a stray wind blows you under the wheels of a passin' carriage."

Lillianna just stared at her, alarmed.

But Aoife was nonplussed, parading across the rich carpet as though she were a princess, trailing her long white fingers across the strings of the large elaborate gold-leafed harp Lillianna couldn't play, leaving a discordant melody trailing in her wake. "I'm real glad to leave the Grand Palace," she sighed dramatically, drawing the exhalation out. "At least here I will get some sleep – usually I don't, not with that bitch Genya screamin' and cryin' down the hall every time His Highness happens to drop by."

Lillianna turned around, confused. "I think you must be mistaken," she frowned, not following, remembering Genya's arch remark of serving the King on her knees like a good subject. Fool as she was, she wasn't that ignorant not to understand the inference, that Genya had an intrigue going with the King, no doubt receiving her due of jewels and expensive gifts as she did. "She is the King's favourite, is she not?"

"Oh, she's his favourite, alright," Aoife laughed, throwing her head back, making her ginger curls bounce around her face, "it's just a shame he's not hers. The chances some girls get and don't use." She shook her head in false dismay. "I'd give my eyeteeth for such an opportunity," she sighed again, "but His Highness prefers more of an armful than I can offer. At least I don't need to watch what I eat, eh?"

Lillianna stared at her, suddenly horrified. "Wait, you mean the King is raping Genya?" she choked out, feeling like she was going to be sick.

Aoife stiffened. "Come, now, ma'am," she said, brow furrowing, "rape's rather a strong word, is it not?"

"But that's exactly what it is!"

Aoife advanced on Lillianna, the movement slow and deliberate. "You better not let the King hear you say that," she warned, making Lillianna back away despite herself, "or he'll have your tongue cut out, Darklin' or not."

"The General is only second to the King."

"Your General is just a pawn on the King's chessboard," Aoife said coldly, "along with the rest of us, includin' you."

Lillianna stared at the golden sunburst atop the mirror, the sight of it almost mocking, showing everything she should be. There had been stories her father had told her when she was a little girl, of a saint who would bring the miracle of light and defeat the darkness. Sometimes he would look sad afterwards, as if he had lost something immeasurably precious. Afterwards, when she was alone, she would play at being Sankta Solina whilst running through the woods, hands held aloft, with her long pale hair streaming behind her, the legacy of the last Sun-Summoner. But now that naivety was no more. Ever since she had arrived at the Little Palace, her conscience had unexpectedly become conflicted towards the Grisha, and now her turmoil was hardening into hate, Lillianna tracing its path right back to the General.

She then glanced down at those hands, mouth thinning at the sight of her soft white palms and the polished half-moons of her nails, yet another illusion courtesy of Genya. Genya. Fighting the tears, she turned away from the mirror, fists clenching. There was nothing to see there anyways, only a fool. The old woman was another, calling her Sankta Solina! and kissing her chemise as if it were a holy relic. But the saints weren't listening. They'd averted their faces from the sight of Ravka being ripped apart by war and darkness. And what did the General really want from her, a son or a sun? It was as if all the pieces of the puzzle had suddenly fallen into place in front of her, showing her the answer she long sought. He was Grisha, she wasn't, but somehow the answer he was seeking existed somewhere in the distance between them.

How they must have laughed behind their hands at her. Everyone had known, except her. Even a humble dressmaker had known more than her, but no more. She knew now. She knew. Heart twisting, she closed her eyes. In vain she listened for her father, but no answering voice came out of the void, only silence. He had forsaken her in her darkest hour, leaving her alone in her gilded cage. But had he ever been there to begin with? Or was he just another story spun to give comfort and hope, father like daughter, the beginning and end, once upon a time….

"You wish to speak to me?"

With fear turning her throat dry, Lillianna slowly turned around at the sound of General Kerigan's strained voice, the strap of her lace-trimmed crimson and gold negligée slipping down her shoulder, her bright hair swept over the other. Genya had delivered the negligée earlier, along with other undergarments, having had them made over as quickly as possible. She had examined the negligée with a critical eye, not sure if it was suitable for somebody like Lillianna, considering her too naïve to carry it off. Genya. The thought made Lillianna swallow hard, but she stood her ground, even though she was inwardly trembling, feeling the full gravity of his serious dark gaze. She had penned the note requesting his presence with shaking hands, and it had taken a good ten minutes for her to work up the courage to summon a servant and ask them to deliver it to his chambers.

The General stood in the doorway of her dressing room, with one hand resting on the doorframe. His face was inscrutable, half hidden by shadow. If Varvara knew what she was doing, entertaining the General alone and at such an hour, she would have had a conniption. But he was to be her husband, and soon, so Lillianna had cast aside all sense of propriety. She wasn't frightened of the idea of marriage and what came after, having been raised to do her duty, whilst being surrounded by ruthless nature where sentimentality had no space to fester. He was the root of her fear, nothing else. She just wanted to go home back to her woods but that wasn't going to happen, so the most she could hope for from the General was some kindness behind closed doors.

The General's dark gaze followed the fall of the strap, dropping down to her exposed décolletage for a long moment, only to abruptly look away. To Lillianna's surprise, he looked angry, furious even. But what confused her was such emotion wasn't aimed at her, but himself. "Is there a problem?" he then asked, finally facing her, tilting his chin.

Lillianna hesitated. In the dim light, he looked older, tired even. He wore some sort of silk dressing gown, the wide black sleeves almost Shuh in style. It felt strange to stand with him like this, the domesticity only serving to discomfit her further. "I - I want Genya with me," she stuttered, hurriedly righting her strap, "I mean, here, in my apartments."

The General raised an eyebrow. "Here?" he reiterated, brow furrowing.

"Yes, at night, I mean."

"What, are you afraid of the dark?"

Of me.

Lillianna shook her head, lying. "I mean, she would still serve the Queen," she then said in a wild rush, trying to get her story straight, "but otherwise, she would attend to me and sleep here at the Little Palace instead."

"But you have attendants."

"I want Genya."

"Well, she is not mine to give."

"Once she was."

The Darkling's jaw tightened. "Why do you need her so?" he snapped, life suddenly sparking in his empty eyes. "It can't be vanity. You have the beauty she is forced to bestow on others. So why? Why should I do your bidding without good reason?"

Lillianna shrank into herself, unable to meet his angry gaze, still not understanding why she was risking her neck so. Genya was Grisha. Her loyalty was to their leader. But nobody deserved what was being done to Genya. If Lillianna had even the slimmest chance of stopping it, she just had to run such risk. "Genya has tried to be kind to me," she choked out, fighting the tears threatening to fall, "the only one to do so, even upon such short acquaintance. Everyone else is either looking down on me or looking to see what they can get from me."

Like you.

The General exhaled sharply. "I am going away tomorrow to the south," he then said, running his hand across his dark beard, "there has been a fresh spate of attacks by the Shu Han on some settlements there. When I return, I will see what I can do to grant your childish whim."

Lillianna flinched at his tone, his words striking her like a whip. "It's the least you can do," she suddenly snapped, forgetting herself, "especially after taking me from my home, from everything I knew. But it's all about what you want, isn't it? Nobody thinks to ask what I want. You just take what you want – you want me as your wife so"-

-"No, I need you as my wife," he cut across her, silencing Lillianna, "there is a world of difference between the two."

Lillianna recoiled from the coldness in his eyes. There is no love in that one, no warmth, no nothin'. She was nothing to him, not that it mattered. But it still strangely stung to be seen as just a gamble, a venture. "Or is it more you need a son or a sun?" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "Are you hoping to breed a Sun-Summoner from me? If so, I don't fancy your chances."

The General suddenly rounded on Lillianna, his fury finally aimed at her. "How do you know this?" he hissed, looming over her, his handsome face feral, a world away from the rumpled young man who had mocked her from across the breakfast table only that morning. "Who told you?"

Terrified, Lillianna leaned away from him, shocked by his reaction, having expected it to be common knowledge. "It was not hard to work out," she lied again, struggling to keep her voice steady, "I am the last of the Sun-Summoner bloodline. Ravka is being ravished by darkness and war, enemies surrounding it on all sides. As the serving General of the Second Army, I suspect you were at your wit's end, desperate even, enough anyways to take a gamble on a girl you had never laid eyes upon. Why else would you drag me here from halfway across Ravka? Or did you happen to behold me in a dream, love at first sight?"

The General offered no answer. He just stared down at her, his dark gaze scorching her very soul, before suddenly turning and leaving, Lillianna staring after him until the last of the shadows had been devoured by darkness.

Yet still inside I felt alone

For reasons unknown to me…