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.
Regency AU with vampire Aleksander
Miss Alina Starkova is eighteen years old and ready to declare herself to be incandescently happy.
After all, she is newly engaged to (and entirely smitten by) the Honourable Malyen Oretsev, her childhood friend turned first love, and quite sure that she will be the most contented of women.
And then she attends Viscountess Kostyk's annual masquerade ball, dances with a charming and mysterious stranger, and everything changes.
Blasted masquerade balls. Mal despises them.
He always loses his friends in the crowd, inevitably offends someone by not realizing who they are and feels ridiculous in his mask.
Right now, he looks out at the guests crowded inside the Kostyk townhouse and cannot for the life of him spot his new fiancée.
Of course, Alina had mentioned what kind of mask and dress she would be wearing, but he surely can't be expected to actually listen to descriptions of fabrics and styles and colours, especially not while surreptitiously trying to read the discarded newspaper nearby to find out the latest racing results.
He is fond of Alina's adoring worship, but he has no interest in discussing fripperies. It's true that Alina is not so vacuous and self-absorbed as many young ladies, but her favourite topics – art, cartography and history – really are so dull.
Admittedly, she had tried to take an interest in the races he followed closely, but it isn't any use trying to get a lady's opinion on such things – yes, she had made sound bets and won far more than he did during the one set of races she had accompanied him to, but clearly that had been simple beginner's luck.
It really is a shame that he is to be married in four months, for he knows it will curtail the time he is able to spend on pursuits he enjoys.
He sees no reason why he cannot continue attending the races and fights, visiting his club and his mistress, enjoying his youth. His married friends, though, say his time will no longer be his own, that he will be asked to attend countless balls, that his wife will complain if he stays out every night, that some ladies even object to a man's mistress (even when he is discrete about it all) – it all sounds quite intolerable and frustrating.
Unfortunately, his father believes that five and twenty is the ideal age for a man to settle down and provide heirs for his family line. He is, after all, his parents' only child, and no one wants the Viscountcy to end up with Mal's dreadful cousin.
Alina seems the most sensible choice. They have known each other for years, she is pretty enough and with a decent dowry, and she loves him devotedly (which, his friends tell him, will make her all the more accommodating and likely to turn a blind eye to any faults he might have).
Still, it is irritating to have to spend so many evenings at dreary balls so that he and Alina may dance once (if he's lucky) or twice (on a bad night) together and the ton may congratulate them both.
At least Viscount Kostyk and his wife are generous with their refreshments. No tiny glasses or pitiful spreads for them.
It's so hot, though, as it always is on a summer evening with too many people crowded in (no one refuses one of Viscountess Kostyk's invitations unless they absolutely have to).
He looks again for Alina, but he still cannot spot her. It is possible that she is late, but Viscountess Kostyk is a friend of hers and she is usually annoyingly punctual. It is really quite annoying, for she has been insistent that he attend and now he cannot even see her. Surely if she were here then she would have found him – he is sure he told her what he would be wearing and if he didn't, well, she should be able to recognise her own fiancé.
He snatches up two of the little glasses from a tray one of the servants is passing by with and downs them both quickly.
Well, if he cannot find her then he cannot be expected to dance, so there is something of a silver lining, even if he has wasted an evening at this event.
He checks his pocket watch and sees it is only nine. He could certainly still go to his club (although it will be quiet, with so many attending the masquerade ball), or visit his mistress at the rooms he lets for her.
Yes, he'll slip away quietly. If his parents question him tomorrow then he will simply tell them he wandered around all evening looking for Alina and they will struggle to disprove his story considering there are at least a dozen men wandering around with masks that are near-identical to his own.
As he walks towards the door, he spots a striking couple in the centre of the room.
The gentleman's skin looks as pale as new-fallen snow, and he is dressed entirely in black, with the mask covering his face painted to look like plumes of smoke – black and grey and silver.
The lady in his arms wears a magnificent gold dress and an exquisitely ornate mask in the shape of a blazing sun.
They are a perfectly matched pair – dark and light – and Mal can see how the other dancers give them a wide berth, too in awe of the picture they make to move closer.
Show-offs, he thinks irritably as he moves through the crowd in search of the exit. He has never enjoyed dancing, only ever taking part in the bare minimum number of dances so as to not appear entirely rude. Alina loves to dance, but at the last few balls she has quite rightly (if a little sullenly) sat out the dancing when he does not wish to join in with the lengthy, tiresome sets.
He scoffs as he sees the gentleman hold the lady in his arms, a shade closer than he should.
Masquerade balls do tend to make the guests bold, skirting the lines of propriety more than they should. He's sure Alina – entirely innocent, a little too much, if he's honest, considering she will not even kiss him until they are wed – would be appalled if she could see such a display.
Well, there may be ladies with their reputations in tatters tomorrow, but that does not concern Mal. He has better things to do, and Ruby to visit.
He imagines his evening will be far more satisfactory than that of the guests here.
He goes to visit Alina the morning after the masquerade ball.
"I'm afraid Miss Starkova is not at home to guests," the butler tells him.
"Surely she will make an exception for me."
Mal is no ordinary visitor, after all.
The butler shakes his head, graver than usual, "Miss Starkova is indisposed today, Mr Oretsev."
He leaves his card, asks the butler to pass on his best wishes and says he will call tomorrow.
She probably has a headache after the ball. Best that he leaves her in peace.
-x-x-x-
He gets the same reply the next two days when he visits.
On the third morning, Viscount Starkov asks Mal to join him in his study.
"Poor Alina is quite unwell, I am afraid," he shakes his head, "the doctors cannot say what is wrong, but she is feverish and confused."
Mal frowns. Alina has never struck him as particularly sickly, but he certainly does not want a delicate or invalid wife.
Viscount Starkov hastens to assure him that the doctors have hope that this is simply an odd little episode, that Alina – young and healthy as she is – will soon recover.
"I will send a note when she is able to receive visitors," the man promises, "and I am confident that nothing will interrupt the wedding plans – I know Alina, her mother and your mother have been enjoying planning the event."
Mal leaves them to it, for he has never had the patience to deal with a house thrown into disorder by illness.
He will enjoy this brief reprieve from questions about flowers and ribbons and the wedding breakfast, and take himself to the races for a nice distraction.
Surely, Alina will be up and well soon enough.
There is a new gentleman at the club.
Tall, skin almost chalk-white, with dark hair and eyes and a close-cropped beard. He is a foreign duke, people whisper, richer even than the king.
Men are falling over themselves to be introduced to him, seeking an acquaintance so that they might recommend their unmarried daughters to him.
He seems entirely uninterested, though, in any sort of conversation. He speaks only to the two men at his table – private secretaries, Mal thinks – and eyes anyone who tries to approach him with complete indifference and dismissal.
Mal scoffs privately. Seems stupid to him for a newcomer to society to spurn offers of friendship.
Maybe, he thinks, the man can't even speak English. He doesn't look foreign, but the whispers suggest he's from some tiny little backwater called Wallachia.
He shrugs and turns back to his drink. The man's not going to last long in London without friends, and there's no point being interested in someone who will probably flee back across the sea within the week.
For a few seconds, he feels a prickling on the back of his neck, as if someone is watching him carefully. He turns, though, and can't see anything odd.
He must have just imagined it.
A week later, Mal receives a note from Viscount Starkov, telling him that Alina is much improved and eager to see him.
He rather doubts the veracity of the man's note when he sees Alina after arriving at the Starkov townhouse with a bouquet of flowers.
His fiancée scarcely looks up when he enters the room, her attention focused on the sketchbook in her hands. He doesn't get a chance to look at the drawing before her mother takes the sketchbook away and snaps it closed with a flustered look.
"I was pleased to hear you were feeling better, Alina."
"I am quite well, Mr Oretsev," she watches him with an almost-bored expression, no sign of her usual warm affection and enthusiasm.
She is paler than he has ever seen her, and has made the strange choice of a black, high-necked gown, one that might be worn if she were in mourning.
"I brought you these," he tries to hand her the flowers, expecting profuse thanks and a pretty smile, but she makes no move to take them.
In the end, her mother bustles over, over-the-top with her cheerful words as she calls for a servant to put the flowers in a vase.
Mal spends a painful half hour in the drawing room, trying to get Alina to speak to him.
It is near impossible to maintain a conversation, though. Alina just is not cooperating.
"I apologise," her father murmurs as he follows Mal out, "she's still not quite recovered. A few more days and I'm sure she will be more talkative."
Mal nods, trying not to show his irritation. He does not like having wasted his time, but the Starkov family is worth being connected to and he has no desire to have to spend time courting some other young lady.
"I will come again in a few days," he promises, "and I am sure Alina will be back to her usual sweet self."
"Did you hear?" Dubrov asks.
"Hear what?"
"The most gruesome murders," his friend tells him, "quite sensational."
Mikhael, who has just appeared, puts down a newspaper and points to an article, "here, this is it."
They are not exaggerating when they say it is gruesome.
The paper tries not to use too much disturbing language, but it is easy enough to read between the lines.
Twelve different people – men and women, members of every class in society – have been found murdered in London within the last week.
Bodies entirely drained of blood, necks marred by hideous bites, bodies practically shredded.
The word on everyone's lips is the same – vampire.
Mal almost laughs. Vampires are, after all, simply stories meant to frighten the weak-hearted.
"The police should focus on finding the murder rather than chasing imaginary monsters," is all he says.
"Just keep an eye out," Dubrov says, uncharacteristically serious, "whoever it is, they're clearly crazy."
As agreed, Mal arrives at the Starkov townhouse three days after his last visit.
While he sits in the drawing room, awaiting his fiancée's arrival, he hears the whispering of two servants just outside the door.
"I was passing by Miss Starkova's room last night, about midnight, when I heard sounds. I went in, worried she might have taken a turn for the worse, and then I saw … I saw …"
"Tell me, Marie."
"There was a figure on the bed above her. It looked almost like a man, but there was something about it that I … I am sure t'was a demon. And poor Miss Starkova was writhing underneath it, moaning and crying, clearly in distress."
"Why did you not fetch someone, Marie! We will all be dismissed for negligence."
"I thought it just a mirage brought on by exhaustion – I blinked and the figure was gone. It was just Miss Starkova alone. She seemed calm enough."
"If it was not real then why are you bringing this to my attention, Marie?"
"When I was helping Miss Starkova dress this morning, I noticed marks on her body, like the imprint of teeth. I fear the devil is in this house, Mr Volkov."
"Speak of this to no one, Marie. I will inform the Viscount and suggest he contact a discrete doctor."
He hears footsteps as the two walk away, and then Mal exhales.
Most of the maid's talk he can dismiss as supernatural nonsense. There must be some basis in her observations, though, and the only thing Mal can think of is that Alina has been entertaining a nocturnal visitor, one who must be far below her station if he has never been able to court her properly and openly.
There has never been a hint of impropriety in Alina's behaviour before this, but perhaps her illness has addled her wits or allowed someone the opportunity to take advantage of her. Whatever the case, he must get to the bottom of it, for he obviously cannot marry her if she has debased herself or lost her virtue.
Before he can go in search of Viscount Starkov in order to demand that the man get his household in order and investigate, he hears a scream of alarm.
Heedless of societal rules, Mal hurries out of the room and follows the sound all the way to the family quarters and a bedroom that must be Alina's.
The room is a mess, spots of blood on the bedsheets and the carpet. Alina's sketchbook is open, depicting countless pencil drawings of the same pair of dark eyes. The window is wide open. And his fiancée is nowhere to be found.
The Viscountess is weeping, shaking her head, clutching at the stained sheets.
Viscount Starkov is muttering under his breath, confused and shocked, "she's gone," he says, repeating the words over and over, "she's gone."
-x-x-x-
No one seems to know if Alina fled of her own accord or if she was taken from her room.
Her parents, naturally, are positive she has been abducted.
Mal isn't sure what to believe.
The police are called, an investigation begun, the household in chaos.
Mal slips away. He needs time to think.
He finds himself outside Ruby's rooms, looking for familiar comfort after the mad morning he's just had.
It is a little odd to find the door unlocked, but he pushes it open anyway and then covers his mouth to muffle his shocked shout.
The room is painted with blood, furniture all askew, and in the centre of it all is Ruby's mangled body on the floor.
He stumbles backwards, not sure whether to flee the scene (out of fear he will be blamed) or run for the police.
The door slams shut, though, and suddenly he is not alone in the room.
There is the man he saw before at the club, the foreign duke. He is smirking, dark eyes dancing with amusement, "I wondered how long it would take you to come here."
"Did you do this?" Mal gestures to the body, "duke or not, you'll hang for it."
The man laughs derisively, "I am not one to be held by petty mortal forces. As it is, though, I did not kill your whore. That honour belonged to someone else."
Mal swerves around to look where the duke is indicating.
"Alina," he gasps, "what's happened to you?"
It is his fiancée, but she looks … wrong.
She is wearing a black and gold dress, rubies hanging from her ears and obsidian around her neck. Her lips are stained red, and when she opens her mouth, he sees a flash of what can only be fangs.
"Did you even consider that you might be faithful to me when we married?" she asks him quietly.
He does not speak, knowing she won't like his answer, even though there is nothing unusual about a man keeping a mistress after he is wed.
She shrugs elegantly, "I suppose it does not matter. Your whore is dead now, as you will be soon enough."
"One dance," the duke murmurs, "just one dance and five minutes with a man who actually listens when she talks, and Alina was mine. You must be quite pathetic, Mr Oretsev, to lose such a jewel so easily."
Mal's hand goes for the knife he has hidden in his pocket, but suddenly Alina is by his side, wrenching it from his grasp and tossing it to the ground.
"Now," the duke says, "while I would love be the one to kill you, I rather think Alina deserves the honour considering she has had to put up with you for so long."
"Alina would never kill me," his scoffs, sure he has found the flaw in the man's plan, "she loves me."
When he looks at Alina, however, he does not recognise the darkness in her eyes – feral and murderous.
"I loved you once," she admits coolly, "but no more."
He does not even have time to scream before she is upon him, razor-sharp fangs tearing into his neck, tackling him to the ground with preternatural strength.
"No need to worry, Mr Oretsev," the duke says as Mal fees his life ebb away, "I assure you, I'll take exceptionally good care of Alina."
And then, his neck on fire and his mind hazy, Mal knows no more.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.
