Fourteen
I didn't sleep well. And, by the look of Aleksander the following morning at breakfast, neither did he. Even after two full cups of Kerch coffee, he still looked distinctly bleary-eyed. Nevertheless, I wasn't about to let him forget his promise to follow up on our leads at the Grand Palace—especially after the attempt on my life the day before (which I'm sure was no coincidence).
Identifying the spy lurking in the Little Palace was now paramount: I was tired of being hunted.
"So," I smiled, broaching the quiet that had settled between us over our finished meal, "where are we starting today?"
Aleksander looked at me over the rim of his porcelain cup as he drained the contents. I waited, however impatiently, as he then set it down, the fine bone china tinking delicately. "We will be heading directly to the servants' quarters," he answered, his voice a little tight as if he still wasn't keen on the idea of me weaving into his business. "Our horses are waiting whenever you're ready."
Not wanting to give him the opportunity to recant on our deal, I placed my napkin over my plate and rose from the table. "Then let's get moving," I said confidently as I grabbed my travelling cloak from the back of the sofa and put it on with a flourish.
Aleksander sighed through his nose, eyes trained shrewdly on me, before he did the same. "As you wish," he conceded, motioning for me to proceed.
Forging ahead (with or without company), I pushed through the doors of the sitting room and walked down the corridor beyond. When I reached the war room doors and made to turn down the passage to the Hall of the Golden Dome, Aleksander—his presence at my back silently demanding my attention—stopped me short, the brief grip of his hand gentle but firm on my upper arm.
"Continue straight down the hall," he instructed, the warm light from the sconces on the wall limning his features with gold when I turned to cast him a confused look. "One of the attached passages leads out to the stables."
"So you can make a quick getaway if everything falls around your ears?" I asked teasingly, hoping to distract him from the fact that I was admiring how handsome he looked in the lamplight.
"Yes," he answered honestly, the glinting hardness in his quartz eyes screaming of long-past and horrific experiences best forgotten, "if it came down to it. But mostly, I like to move about my own palace unmolested."
In truth, I knew what he meant. Ever since being forced to vacate the Vezda Suite, I had been using the network of hidden throughways spidering out from Aleksander's chambers more and more, only braving the open halls when necessary. It was a blessing to avoid the stares and whispers of the other Grisha, who were no more accustomed to my presence or the colour of my kefta than they had been when I'd first arrived at the Little Palace. Which, admittedly, was partially my fault: finding an in with them had been difficult. Between the whirlwind of my initial training, the relentless threats and attempts on my life, and the social rifts between the different Orders, I just didn't have it in me to try and make too many friends that I might not be able (or allowed) to keep.
I nodded in understanding before turning my attention down the hallway. The walls were lined with identical doors, only some of which I knew where they led. "Which door, then?" I offered casually, trying to lighten the tension that had sprung up between Aleksander and me.
"Sixth door on the left," he replied with the air of a man who had the entire map of secret walkways within the massive expanse of the Little Palace completely memorised.
And, for once, I followed his direction without hesitation.
o-o-o-o
"Oh, no," I groaned when Aleksander and I emerged a short while later into the stables, slipping in through what, to anyone else, looked like a solid wall. The horses whinnied and snorted—some in greeting, some in surprise—as we passed them.
"What's the matter?" he asked as we strolled quickly, side by side, toward the far end of the long building where my mare and Aleksander's stallion were waiting in tie stalls.
"Look at my mare: she's lame," I cursed, hurrying ahead to assess Maeve up close. Even from afar, I could tell that she was injured by the way she was standing—like a sawhorse, with her hind legs camped to take the weight off her front end. Saving Nikolai's and my skin yesterday had been harder on her than I thought.
Maeve nickered softly as I approached and gave her a few tender strokes on her velvety-soft muzzle.
"Hi, friend," I said sadly before bending down to run my hands cautiously down each of her front legs. Maeve stood patiently and allowed my examination but flinched as I gingerly felt her knees and fetlocks. Her left leg was distinctly warm and swollen under my palm.
Shaking my head, I rose and turned to Aleksander, who had stopped just behind me, watching. "She's sore on both legs, but her left side is especially bad. She needs to be on stall rest."
"You really are quite the equestrian," he mused, the small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth making his gem-like eyes dance.
"I told you: you have to know horses to be able to steal one," I replied slyly, but I couldn't keep a measure of distress from creeping into my voice. It bothered me that I hadn't noticed sooner that Maeve was hurt.
Aleksander reassured me gently, catching the change in my tone, "A lame horse is a small price to pay for your safekeeping. The stable hands will see that she recovers."
"I know," I agreed with a sigh before turning back to pet her forelock soothingly. She leaned into my affections as if to say 'thank you'. "My real worry, though," I continued, trying to ease the building intimacy that hung in the air, "is how we're going to get to the Grand Palace: you don't strike me as the walking type."
A low chuckle. "On principle, I prefer to make an entrance whenever possible—"
"How did I know?" I teased over my shoulder.
"—So, you'll ride with me."
The words hit the back of my head like stones. "What?" I asked, my voice rising an octave or two as I spun around to face Aleksander. He was watching me with a knowing, cat-like sort of enjoyment that simultaneously pricked at my ego and burned in my core.
"You will ride with me," he repeated with enunciation, practically purring at the sight of how flustered I was.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. "We can take the coach," I tried desperately. A last resort: I still hated that coffin on wheels.
"It will take too long to have the horses readied," Aleksander dismissed easily, the lopsided smile that had settled on his lips verging on predatory.
Think of something, Esfir. THINK. "I don't want to overload your stallion," I scrambled, backing a little closer to Maeve so that I could feel the heat of her breath. "After what happened—"
"—The distance to the Grand Palace is nominal, and we aren't outrunning a hail of bullets," he countered, visibly pleased with himself for nullifying my excuses. "Cian will be fine."
"But," I started, only to realise what Aleksander had said. "You've decided to name him?" I asked, a touch wonderstruck.
Aleksander shrugged. "It suited him."
We both turned to look at the massive, mirror-black horse when it snorted and pawed at the ground in agitation. 'Stop your bantering and let's get going,' he seemed to say. Maeve even put in her two cents by bumping me forcefully with her nose, forcing me a stumbling stride closer to Aleksander.
When I looked over my shoulder to glare at her, she whinnied and tossed her head, clearly laughing at me.
"Shall we?" Aleksander said triumphantly.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies exploded in my stomach, my chest, as I met the insistence of his stare. "I can walk; you ride," I said in a last-ditch effort to prevent the inevitable.
"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed lightly as he breezed past me to unhitch and lead Cian from his tie-stall.
Why me? I lamented inwardly, casting my eyes to the ceiling as if I could see the Saints overhead, giggling in delight. "I'll be as ridiculous as I like," I snipped childishly, finally out of clever comebacks.
Undeterred, Aleksander called from outside, "Surely you didn't make this much fuss when riding alongside Prince Nikolai." It was impossible to miss the tension nipping at the fringes of his voice.
A question and, I realised, a worry. Aleksander was jealous.
Balling up whatever scraps of courage I had left, I followed Aleksander into the courtyard. He had just finished checking the girth and was going about lowering the stirrups of his ebony saddle when I emerged outside. "That was different," I argued. "Believe me: if I could have saved his Royal Highness' regal hide differently, I would have."
"You'll ride in front," he said offhandedly, seemingly satisfied with my explanation. I didn't have time to protest before nimbly hoisting himself atop the towering Shire.
And as Aleksander sat, magnificent and observing me from on high, I couldn't help but think he looked not like a king, nor a Saint, but like a god. A seductive, all-powerful force that could destroy me utterly if I wasn't careful.
But, the thing was, I suddenly wasn't sure if I even wanted to be careful around him anymore.
Saints preserve me, I prayed as I closed in on the mounting block. The three steps felt mountainous as my body was leaden with nerves, but I ascended them without incident. It was only as I stood there, looking at the sliver of space Aleksander had made for me between himself and the rounded pommel of his saddle, that I nearly lost my footing.
I would have to sit impossibly close to him, my back—my body—pressed tight to his, to fit.
My mouth ran dry.
"Need some assistance?" Aleksander asked teasingly, laughter dancing in his eyes when I cut him a glare. He was enjoying watching me squirm.
"No, thank you," I answered stiffly before taking the plunge and swinging myself gracefully onto Cian's back (given the circumstances).
In an instant, the focus of my entire world narrowed solely on Aleksander.
His body was warm and hard against mine, my back and shoulders nestled perfectly against his chest. His arms were like iron as they curled surely around me, holding me in place as I desperately clutched the saddle's grab strap like a lifeline. His thighs were muscular and firm behind my own, and his hips were pressed so tightly against the curve of my ass that I could feel every slight shift of his weight behind me.
"Comfortable?" He hummed in my ear, his breath a kiss against the shell of my ear.
I shivered and nearly lost myself in his clean, crisp scent as it washed over me. "Comfortable enough," I replied despite the blush that burned in my cheeks.
"Good," he whispered, face still hovering dangerously close to mine, just as one of the stable hands—a tall, spindly young man named Letov—dashed out into the courtyard. At the sight of him approaching, Aleksander straightened behind me in the saddle.
"S-Sir," Letov fumbled, jogging over to stand by Cian's head, "are you not taking your mare today?"
"No. Miss Kosilov's mare," Aleksander corrected, "is unfit to ride."
"Apologies, sir—miss," the groom cringed, bowing his head to each of us in turn. "She seemed fine when Teodor tacked her up."
"Regardless, send for the stable master. Immediately."
"Of course, sir. Straight away."
"Good. Expect us back this afternoon."
"Yes, sir."
With that, Aleksander spurred Cian onward, following the glittering gravel road away from the Little Palace.
Even though the sun was up, it was another brisk morning. A delicate lattice of frost still lingered on the grass, and our breath hung visibly in the air. Not that I really had much space (physically or mentally) to consider such things: I was far too preoccupied with the fact that Aleksander was pressed up behind me, the heat of his body a ward against the cold.
"Remember: this isn't a formal visit to the Grand Palace, so we won't be subjected to grovelling before the King and Queen," Aleksander said conversationally as we headed up the hill toward the woods that bordered the open, rolling grounds. I could feel the rumble of his voice as he spoke.
"That's a relief," I sighed, trying to focus on the path ahead instead of the pressure of Aleksander's hips against my own. Or how our bodies moved in time with one another, swaying with Cian's silken gate.
… Fuck.
"Really?" He asked somewhat impishly. "Then why are you still trembling?"
… Double fuck.
"Just excited, I guess," I managed to reply without sounding too embarrassed.
"For?" The purr that returned to his voice was like fire in my blood.
It was an effort to form a coherent thought. "To make some headway with identifying the spy."
A huff of a laugh stirred the cascade of my hair over my right ear. "Is that all?"
"Believe it or not, I am getting tired of the constant attempts on my life."
"And here I thought you enjoyed the Apparat's attention."
"That greasy rat?" I scoffed incredulously. "Hardly. He needs a new hobby."
"Agreed, though I can understand his obsession," Aleksander shrugged.
"What?" I asked coolly, cutting him a glare over my shoulder. It was a mistake: that tiny shift of my body revealed just how close our faces were. I couldn't fight the blush that heated my cheeks as our eyes met, barely a heart's length apart.
The softness that gentled the teasing glint in his eyes was breathtaking. Literally. My breath hitched in my chest at the sight of him looking so unexpectedly sincere. "If you haven't noticed, Esfir, you're an absolutely enthralling paradox—both alluring and terrifying at the same time."
"I'm flattered, but I'm neither of those things," I refuted, forcing my gaze back ahead as we entered the canopied tunnel through the forest bordering the grounds. The shadowed air was cooler under the entwined branches overhead, their foliage beginning to show the signs of the changing seasons.
I felt Aleksander shift behind me and adjust his hands on the reins as he positioned himself to gaze, curious, at my face. After a moment, he settled back into a more relaxed posture behind me and said, "You don't see how people look at you, do you?"
"The stares are hard to miss," I cringed.
"Perhaps, but you ignore how they look at you."
Not deigning to reply, I sat in a miffed sort of silence, waiting for him to explain.
"It's the same way they look at me."
I knew those stares—how Grisha and otkazat'sya alike watched him from afar, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear, reverence and distrust. They watched him like a rabbit watches a wolf: aware that it could kill on a whim but too stunned by its presence to move.
To think anyone treated me with such caution and respect was laughable.
A derisive huff escaped my nose. "That's more to do with the colour of my kefta than anything else."
"Believe what you will, my sunless star," Aleksander said after a thoughtful pause, his voice light yet somehow sadly indulgent, "but the rest of the world knows better."