Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books. Any recognisable dialogue is from the books or TV show – some lines may be included verbatim, others in an amended form.

Interlude: The Darkling

Alina looked at him differently now.

Aleksander was ancient, he knew what desire looked like. And she was so young, so entirely unable to hide what she felt from him, even when she thought she was being subtle.

He was no stranger to receiving such glances, from most of the Grisha (female and male alike) who spent time at the Little Palace, from the insipid Queen of Ravka and her equally tedious ladies, from foreign dignitaries and guests. People might be scared of him, but a handsome face compensated well enough for a foreboding personality.

They could look all they liked. He took a few up on their offers, whenever he wished to have someone in his bed, but for the most part he refused to respond. He used his looks and other people's admiration to his advantage, just as he used their fear, but he didn't allow feelings to become involved.

(when he was younger – less hardened, more open – he had married a number of times, but all of them died soon enough, as everyone but himself and his mother did, and he had learned a hard lesson).

Alina was different, though. She was his Sun Summoner, his balance.

And she would be eternal like him.

For the very first time, Aleksander had found a partner he would be able to keep.

For the first time in centuries, he saw and truly wanted.

He could be patient, though, for a little while longer.

She was skittish, unsure, confused about her feelings.

So, he spent more time at the Little Palace, glad that their demonstration in the Shadow Fold meant both the north and south fronts were quiet. He shifted their interactions slowly, more personal to go along with all the summoning lessons and lessons in statecraft. He collected little facts – her favourite flower, the desserts she preferred, the books she liked to read.

It was important, he thought, to know Alina just as well as he knew the Sun Summoner.

In any event, he wanted to bind her even closer to him now. Plans were in place to make sure that Shu Han, in a month or so, encroached just far enough that he could easily justify to the King the necessity of increasing the Fold's reach further over the mountains to help maintain Ravka's safety. From there it would be fairly simple to negotiate a trade deal that would be favourable to Ravka in exchange for Alina creating a small path or two through the shadow-covered mountains.

Unfortunately, his Sun Summoner stubbornly continued to care far too much about what constituted acceptable civilian casualties, even in places like Shu Han and Fjerda, and her tendency towards compassion would have to be carefully managed.

Sometimes he wondered if it would not have been easier to kill Morozova's Stag himself and thus assert control over Alina's power. He supposed it could still be done if he wished, when they went after the sea whip Rusalye.

No, though, it was too heavy-handed a move, really, a last resort he'd likely never need to use. Alina trusted him, after all, and he had sound enough arguments for his actions that she usually agreed with him eventually.

If it came down to it, and he needed to find a way to control her power himself, then he would have eternity to persuade her to forgive him. But why invite trouble when there was no need?

Aleksander hadn't been a sentimental man in centuries. However, there was something so enticing about the idea of someone who would stay by his side for the long years of eternity simply because they wanted to. No coercion, no cage, only a true partnership.

And now he could have it. All his plans coming together, the Sun Summoner by his side.

He finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

The sketch turned up on his desk one afternoon.

He didn't bother to interrogate his oprichniki. He recognised Alina's work immediately and knew she must have left the sheet when he was over at the Grand Palace listening to the King complain like a child about the delay in a shipment of his favourite vodka.

He wondered why she hadn't handed it to him in person, since she'd certainly had opportunity enough, but he decided she must not have wanted to make any sort of fuss.

Briefly, he considered thanking her for it, simply to see her blush and stammer. In the end, though, he simply ordered an oprichnik to find a frame and hung it up right next to her other sketch.

Alina saw a lot, he mused as he examined the drawing, far more than most. It was usually whatever he wanted her to see, a carefully cultivated persona that hid the more ruthless facets of his personality, but in the last year or so he had begun to let her catch a glimpse of those parts as well. One way or another, he thought, she would have to accept even the darkest aspects of him if they were going to be true partners.

Light and dark. Their powers weren't nearly as simply explained as that, but the otkazat'sya liked the easy distinction, the almost fairytale-esque visual.

It was frustrating in some ways. Aleksander had worked for centuries towards the betterment of Grisha and the triumph of Ravka. He had received very little thanks for his troubles – the Little Palace had been achieved through great sacrifice and, even now, Grisha in Ravka were generally perceived only as curiosities and useful weapons.

The Darkling was a reminder of the Shadow Fold. He didn't regret what he had done to protect his people, even if the results were not exactly what he had wanted, but so many couldn't ever see past the Fold, no matter how many wars a Darkling won for them.

They called his Sun Summoner Sankta Alina, prayed to her in churches and sold icons with her face (or the face of some dull, blonde figment of their imagination that never captured anything of Alina's personality). Sometimes, he felt a spark of something like jealousy that the people so easily took her into their hearts while they only barely tolerated him.

It was better that way, though. Sainthood was a burden more than a blessing, something clever Alina had grasped almost immediately. Besides, at least it distracted people enough that they didn't pay so much attention to his actions.

Alina could be their Sankta, the one who fought to improve the conditions in orphanages, who fed the starving people, who created paths of light through the Fold, who saved Grisha from pyres and dissection tables and indentures. And Aleksander would be the dark shadow who bloodied his own hands when necessary so their Sun Saint stayed blameless.

And perhaps in time they would learn. Sometimes the shadows could be a blessing, while the light could burn mercilessly.

Alina was far kinder than he was, but it was clear that her kindness was not limitless and her patience not endless, especially when her friends were hurt.

The people would learn that, or his little Sun Summoner would likely give them a lesson they wouldn't forget.

"What happened in here?" Alina asked curiously, eyeing the chaos around her.

She had come to dine with him in his receiving room, and seemed shocked to have found papers scattered everywhere, an upturned ink pot and three smashed glasses. His oprichniki hadn't had chance to clear up before she had arrived.

"We'll eat in the War Room tonight," he told her shortly, not answering her question.

"Is everything alright?"

Her soft, genuinely concerned tone was the reason he didn't snap at her, though the room remained shadowed thanks to his frustration.

He sighed, "simply a difficult meeting with the King."

He didn't lose control often. He knew better than that, and he had seen and heard too much to ever be really surprised.

Until a few hours previously, when the King, at the end of an unproductive three-hour meeting, had asked Aleksander to stay behind and then demanded that a betrothal be arranged between his eldest son and the Sun Summoner.

It had taken a great deal of self-control not to strike the man down then and there.

As if Aleksander would ever let Prince Vasily touch Alina, as if that weak, spineless, useless boy was anywhere close to worthy.

The King had been adamant, having finally realised that, as his family's popularity wavered, Alina's grew each day. The common people adored her and the merchants and nobles enjoyed having a safe route through the Fold and easier access to imports.

Aleksander had persuaded the King to drop the matter for the moment. Thankfully, he always brought a Heartrender with him to his meetings, as a precaution, hidden by his shadows and unnoticed by anyone else in the room. Fedyor had a clear line of sight to the King and, when Aleksander had given him instructions through the subtle hand gestures all his aides were familiar with, he had skillfully manipulated the King's heart to make him more susceptible to Aleksander's words. It was lucky, really, that it had been Fedyor present rather than his husband. Ivan, while formidable, tended to be a bit like a sledgehammer when he used his Heartrending. Fedyor could be far more subtle and delicate in his work, which was exactly what Aleksander had needed in that moment.

His receiving room had taken the brunt of his anger after he was safely away from the Grand Palace, Fedyor having wisely absented himself as soon as possible.

He wouldn't tell Alina about what the King had said. It would never come to pass, after all, and there was no sense in having both of them angry. Alina didn't have his centuries of control, after all, and might decide to make good on the semi-serious threats to boil the King alive with the force of her light that he knew she regularly muttered around Genya and Fedyor

The Lantsovs would get what was coming to them in good time. Not quite yet, though, not until he had all the pieces properly in their place.

Now, though, he led Alina through to the War Room for dinner, watching as her eyes found the newly framed sketch and her mouth quirked up into a shy but pleased smile.

He'd sat for countless portraits over the centuries, some good and some rather awful, but he had always been careful to have them destroyed every time he faked his death, determined to leave little evidence around to be found, even if it was laughably easy to fool most people. Alina's artistic efforts were the only ones he cared to keep, the only ones ever done by someone who actually saw him for who he was.

Of course, he was strategic about the placement of the framed sketch, knowing she would notice it and that it would be one of many little things that would draw them closer together.

He might care more than he ever wanted to admit, but he would also use every advantage he could.

Alina gave him an update on her training as they ate. He was pleased to hear of her progress and the ever-increasing control she had over the light – it would serve her well when she had a second amplifier and another power boost, hopefully ensuring there weren't quite so many fires to put out as there had been after she had received the antler pieces from Morozova's Stag.

She mentioned nothing of her little project. He knew she thought it a secret, but there was almost nothing that went on in the Little Palace that he was not aware of. Still, he wouldn't discourage her – she always had guards with her and he had no intention of letting any of their enemies get near her, but it was useful for her to be able to defend herself in the unlikely event that she was captured and her hand movements restricted.

There was nothing wrong with a little initiative, at least as long as he could keep an eye on it.

"These just arrived from Klara Nilsson, moi soverennyi."

"Thank you, Ivan," Aleksander nodded to the Heartrender, unsealing the packet and allowing a satisfied smile to spread over his face.

"Are they the papers that we were waiting for?" Ivan asked.

He nodded as he flicked through the documents that proved Nikolai Lantsov's true paternity, "among other things, letters from the Queen and Magnus Opjer with their personal seals. They could try to claim forgery, but it will be enough for the people, I think, especially with all the rumours already in existence."

Nikolai Lantsov was the true threat of the four Lantsovs, which was rather ironic considering his illegitimacy. Still, he was handsome and charming and clever, which meant Aleksander had to ensure he had no supportive base to assist him in any claim to the Ravkan throne that he might try and make.

Some might say the younger Lantsov Prince would be a king who supported Grisha. After all, his alter ego Sturmhond (a fairly well-kept secret, but Aleksander had plenty of experience discovering secrets) employed several Grisha on his ships (he made a mental note to see if those rogues could be brought back into the fold of the Second Army) and he wasn't nearly as foolish as the other Lantsovs. But Aleksander was tired of kings who never kept their promises and he had long decided that Ravka needed a firm hand, one he didn't believe Nikolai Lantsov could truly provide.

"Anything else?" he asked Ivan.

"Genya has reported that the next stage of her work with the King is going as planned. He'll be bedridden until just before the Winter Fete. If we're lucky he may even have to use a cane to get around, but he'll avoid that if he can so as not to appear weak."

Aleksander nodded. Genya was doing her work well. Alina was unaware of the details, but she was happy enough that the King had not had the strength to make his usual visits to the Tailor's room at the Grand Palace, and Aleksander doubted she would be at all concerned about the King's decline.

Everything was coming to fruition, he thought as Ivan continued on with his report.

All the pieces should be in place by the Winter Fete. Following the King's pointless display of obscene wealth, Aleksander, Alina and a group of trackers would embark on an expedition to find the sea whip. And when Alina had her second amplifier …

Well, then a new age would begin.

Aleksander looked out of the window and down at the garden, where his Sun Summoner was making the light dance around, delighting the group of young Grisha children who all watched her with awe.

In turn, they showed off their owns skills to her, and she praised them effusively. That, he thought, would probably win her their adoration forever – Baghra was very good at helping the students learn to use and control their gifts, but her methods could be harsh and she was certainly not the most encouraging or cheerful teacher.

What struck Aleksander the most was the ecstatic joy on Alina's face when she used her power.

When was the last time, he wondered, that he had felt such pure happiness, or had used his power for innocent amusement?

Before the Fold, for sure. Perhaps even further back than that, when he had been a boy who answered to Eryk. He had lost a part of himself then, when a young Tidemaker and Squaller whose names he had long forgotten had tried to kill him and wear his bones.

He didn't want to be that young, trusting boy again, not at all.

Still, something in Alina Starkov's expression made him wonder what it would be like to feel as she did, even if just for a moment.

He idly contemplated how long his Sun Summoner's rich depth of emotional feeling would last.

Time bred apathy, he had found. Not about everything, of course, but over the years you started to hold onto the few things that really mattered and then you let the rest go.

People yearned for eternity, for everlasting life. They never thought about how exhausting it would be.

Centuries with only his mother, who grew ever more bitter as time wore on.

Aleksander had stopped having friends and started having allies somewhere around the second century mark. It was self-preservation, really – grief could easily overtake everything else, if one wallowed in it, and it was far easier to mourn a good and loyal soldier than a best friend.

Alina, he feared, would learn that lesson the hard way.

It was necessary, of course, something she had to accept.

Still, a small part of him wished it didn't have to be that way.

The list of trackers came in a week and a half before the Winter Fete.

He recognised most of them as having been part of the first tracking party who had found Morozova's Stag. There were a few new names, though, and one in particular that stood out to him.

Malyen Oretsev.

A name he thought he could forget years ago.

The one boy that Alina had insisted on writing to when she arrived at the Little Palace years ago.

He'd had the orphanage at Keramzin investigated, of course, once the Sun Summoner had been found there.

There wasn't much information to discover about the little girl who called the sun. The caretaker knew nothing about Alina's parents except what the girl herself had told her – her mother was from Shu Han, while her father was Ravkan, and both had been killed in a border skirmish when Alina was young.

Malyen Oretsev was the only one of the other children that she was close to, but even that link had fractured on her departure.

It seemed that the boy considered Grisha unnatural, the usual otkazat'sya fear or something they couldn't understand, quite possibly masking some underlying jealousy at not being gifted himself.

His Sun Summoner deserved far better.

Still, it was better that Alina had a clean break from her childhood companion. There was no place for the boy in the Little Palace and he would have only held her back, distracted her from her new life.

Who was the boy, anyway, in the grand scheme of things?

There were no others like Aleksander and Alina, and there never would be.

Baghra might summon shadows too, but she didn't embrace them like he did, she was not the same. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her summon and he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that one day she would simply let herself die.

(probably at an inconvenient moment and just to spite him, knowing his mother).

Aleksander really had nothing to fear from Malyen Oretsev.

The trackers would be arriving the day of the Winter Fete. He could simply have them confined to their rooms, using the excuse of security, but perhaps it would be better to let them enjoy the Fete, engender a little goodwill by allowing them access to delicacies and entertainment they never usually got to enjoy.

And that would be where Malyen Oretsev would first see his old friend – in her kefta and among her Grisha friends, powerful and important and far from the waifish child he had once known.

Yes, that would work nicely.

Kinder, really, to immediately remove any of the boy's delusions that Alina was the girl he once knew.

It wasn't that he felt threatened by the otkazat'sya boy.

Alina had been at the Little Palace for longer than she had spent at the orphanage. For nine years she had been moving away from her old life, slowly forgetting Keramzin and all those she had known there. Malyen Oretsev was likely just a vague, pleasant memory that she thought of occasionally and soon forgot again.

Still, Aleksander was not one to leave things to chance. There was no harm in ensuring the deck was even more stacked in his favour than it already was.

The Winter Fete, he decided, would offer the perfect opportunity to properly seduce his Sun Summoner.

Alina Starkov belonged with Aleksander, after all, and he wouldn't allow anything or anyone to jeopardise that.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

The next chapter should hopefully be out next Monday.