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.


It is the beginning of the fourth week of Malyen Oretsev's stay at Count Morozov's castle and he is prepared for yet another uncomfortably silent dinner with his host sipping from a glass of wine and watching Mal eat.

If it were up to him, he wouldn't be in this desolate, dark part of the country, but Count Morozov is the bank's wealthiest client and had asked (demanded) that one of the investment managers attend on him personally to go through his accounts. Mal is the unlucky man high enough up in the hierarchy to satisfy the Count, but low enough in the pecking order to be stuck with the long journey and dull task.

It isn't particularly difficult work, but it is certainly a dreary atmosphere and there is no other life for miles around, leaving Mal with no way to entertain himself during his free time unless he wishes to peruse the Count's impressive library (Mal has never been too fond of reading) or walk through the gardens (the ground is frozen with winter frost and there seems to be no wildlife anywhere nearby, not even a few birds). He might consider making conversation with the Count, but the man, while clearly intelligent, is cold and aloof, never spending more time with Mal than is absolutely necessary and generally only speaking to give instructions or offer a condescending correction to Mal's work.

Tonight, however, Mal enters the dining room to find two people waiting for him, rather than just the usual one.

There is the Count, dressed entirely in black as always, hair combed back and beard neatly trimmed. Mal shifts a little in the clothes that are just a little too big for him, uncomfortably aware that their quality is distinctly inferior to the Count's, and that he nicked himself shaving that morning.

All such thoughts vanish from his mind, however, when he lays eyes on the second person.

A young woman who looks to be only eighteen or so. She is exquisite, with golden skin and glossy dark hair that glimmers in the candlelight. She is wearing a beautiful black silk dress embroidered with gold thread and, though her neck is bare of jewellery, her hair is half pulled back so he can see the glint of ruby earrings, their colour reminding him of blood.

"Ah, Malyen," the Count turns towards him, "this is my ward Alina Starkova, who has just returned from a visit to a friend."

"Mr Oretsev," she offers him her hand and he kisses it softly, lingering a little longer than he really should.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Starkova," he nods and she smiles in return.

Dinner that night is much livelier than it has been. Miss Starkova is a sweet and enthusiastic conversationalist and her presence seems to make the Count a little friendlier in his manner.

"Have you had a tour yet?" she asks Mal as dessert is served.

Oddly, she hasn't eaten a thing, has just been drinking from a glass of wine like her guardian, but he supposes she might have dined when she returned earlier and it seems rude to question her.

He shakes his head, "I have not had the chance to see much more than my bedroom, the library and the study."

Alina chides her guardian, who takes her gentle censure with an affectionate indulgence that Mal has never witnessed between a guardian and his ward before.

"You may show Mr Oretsev around, Alina," the Count says with a wave of his hand, "if that is your wish. Remember, though, not to get too overexcited."

The Count watches them go with what Mal thinks is a rather strange grin, but, with Alina's small hand in his, he doesn't really wish to let his thoughts linger on his foreboding host, not when he is facing a stretch of time alone with such a charming companion.

Alina knows a great deal about the history of the castle, telling him of battles and royal visits and banquets and artefacts and even something of the gruesome tales associated with Count Morozov's ancestor, who had been nicknamed the Black Heretic for his dark and grisly deeds.

In the castle's dungeons, which Mal is sure have been long out of use, Alina shows him a large room, the door swinging open easily without a key.

He shivers as he steps inside, an eerie feeling of foreboding in his heart. The room seems cold, despite the thick walls and lack of windows.

Looking around the bare room, he notices the stone floor and walls are faintly stained with a faded rust colour.

"Is that … blood?" he asks, a little queasy.

Alina nods, face bright with an excitement that seems a little inappropriate considering the subject matter, "this is where the Black Heretic was born," she tells him in a conspiratorial whisper.

Mal frowns, "what do you mean?"

"Well, he was Aleksandr once," she explains, "the lord of this castle. And then something terrible happened, although a lot of the records from that period were destroyed in a fire so we don't exactly what that terrible occurrence actually was. In any event, Aleksandr captured all his enemies and held them in the dungeons. And then, he had them brought to this room, one by one, and he executed them horribly. The legends say half the prisoners went mad listening to the screams of the ones who were killed before them. And so much blood was spilled that no one could ever get the stones in this room properly clean again."

She lets out a happy sigh, "isn't that such a wonderful tale!"

Mal thinks it's an incredibly disturbing story, one that probably shouldn't have been told to a gently-bred young woman like Alina Starkova, but he doesn't want to offend and so he just gives a vague nod, glad when she leads him out of the dungeons and towards one of the towers.

Twenty minutes later, he is admiring the view from the window in one of the alcoves when Alina appears by his side.

"But you were just over there," he points to a spot at the end of the long corridor, where he could have sworn that he'd seen her just two seconds ago, looking up at one of the tapestries.

She shakes her head, "of course I wasn't, Mr Oretsev. I can't move that fast, can I?"

Mal shrugs ruefully, "apologies, Miss Starkova, I must be imagining things."

She smiles at him and then runs her hand up and down his arm, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously.

"You know, we don't get many visitors here," she tells him, "and Sasha doesn't like me to go away too often, so I don't usually get to meet new people."

She moves closer and he breathes in the scent of her perfume, which he thinks smells of irises. How lovely she is, how perfectly he thinks she would fit into his arms.

"You are … stunning, Miss Starkova," he tries not to stammer but fails, "I … I should very much like to get to know you better."

She stills for a moment, as if unsure, and then leans up and presses her lips to his. Mal lets his hands settle on her waist and enjoys her almost-timid kiss, half-afraid it is some daydream rather than reality.

"Sasha won't let me around men much," she whispers when they break apart, threading her hands into his hair, her eyes dark and almost hypnotising, "he tells me I'm too fond of playing with my food and he doesn't like boys touching what is his. It's my birthday today, though, and he said I could have you as a present."

Mal shakes off his stupor long enough to be confused about her statement, but too late to stop what happens next.

Alina surges forward, sharp teeth slicing into his neck.

Mal cries out in pain, but her delicate little hands suddenly have him in an iron hold and he is unable to escape her strong grip, feeling the life quite literally draining out of him as she latches on and gulps down mouthfuls of his blood, moaning in satisfaction all the while.

He's barely conscious when she retracts her teeth and lets him slump down onto the cold stone floor, but when he manages to move his head and look up, he can see Count Morozov has appeared next to her.

"Such a messy little thing, Alinochka," the Count murmurs, swiping his thumb across her stained lips and then licking the blood from his hand.

"I was hungry," she says, and Mal can hear the pout in her voice, "you told me I wasn't allowed to eat the driver."

The Count shakes his head and pets her hair gently, "you know we never drink from those close to home, not unless the need is dire. Now, how was Mr Oretsev?"

"No challenge at all, really," she sighs in disappointment, "men rarely are."

"Alinochka," there is a fond warning in his voice.

Mal sees her shift closer to her guardian, leaning into his touch, "you are the exception, Sasha. And, besides, you are no mere man. As for Mr Oretsev, his lust added a great deal to the flavour of his blood, as did the rich diet you have fed him over the past few weeks. I had hoped for a bit more fight in him, though."

"Ah, milaya, I could have told you to expect little in that regard. Mr Oretsev has been quite the dullard these past weeks. He seems to have a little strength in him, however, for I can still hear his heartbeat, weak as it is. Will you finish him?"

She shakes her head and, in spite of this insanity, Mal finds himself feeling a little hurt by her uncaring dismissal, "you can have him, Sasha."

Mal lets out a faint cry when the Count moves suddenly, crouched down so they are face to face.

How, Mal wonders, could he ever have considered the creature in front of him to be human? His face is unnaturally pale, his dark eyes seem animalistic and his mouth is open to reveal sharp fangs in place of teeth.

"Malyen," the Count's grin is monstrous, "you have been distinctly underwhelming but have served your purpose nicely. Now, it is time for me to bid you farewell. This, I'm afraid, is going to hurt immensely."

With a hungry expression, he lunges.

Mal squeezes his eyes shut and screams as the devil disguised as a man rips into his throat.


Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

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