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.
For Darklina Week 2023 Day 5 Free Day
This is set in a modern AU where the tsars have a bit more power than, say, the current English monarch, but are mostly constitutional monarchs. There is a parliament which, in this fic, is currently right-leaning.
For hxnandcheese on Twitter, who made me want to write radical Aleksander and monarchist Alina
Morozov
Alina shifts uncomfortably, clinging to Genya's hand as the red-head leads her through busy corridors to a crowded hall buzzing with excitement.
When her new friend suggested they go out for the night, Alina had assumed she meant to the opera or the ballet. But Genya had taken one look at Alina's demure pink silk dress, laughed and told her it wasn't that kind of night out.
So now, dressed down and rather out of her depth, Alina tries not to grimace at the sticky floors and heavy smell of smoke in the air.
"Gen, what exactly are we doing here?"
There's no band that she can see, and no one is dancing. There doesn't even appear to be a bar, although plenty of people have cans in their hand. Alina is used to being handed a single glass of wine or champagne and finishing less than half of it, so the can of cider a stranger offers her as they pass by holds no appeal whatsoever, although she pastes on a fake smile to cover her grimace when she refuses the offer.
This isn't her scene, not at all. And she wouldn't have thought it would be Genya's either, but the other girl seems to know everyone here, smiling and waving and greeting many of them by name.
It occurs to Alina, suddenly, that she's only known Genya for a month and a half, the two of them living in rooms next to each other in their university accommodation block. The red-head is friendly and bubbly and always well put-together, but Alina doesn't have any idea what she's really like and whether this place is even safe.
"My cousin Sasha is speaking tonight," Genya grins excitedly, "I wasn't sure he'd be allowed – he says the university made such a fuss last time he came because of some graffiti a few people did, but this isn't a uni-owned building, so they can't really do anything about it."
Alina tries very hard not to panic.
"Graffiti?"
"Oh, just a few slogans. Things like Eat the Rich, you know."
"Not literally, Alina," Genya laughs as Alina fails to hide her panicked expression, "it just means, like, redistribute the wealth. Haven't you ever thought about how stupid it is to have billionaires – who needs that much money?"
"But you … you wear designer clothes, Gen."
Another laugh, although at least it's not unkind, "I can't afford designer clothes on a student budget, Alina. I make most of my clothes – you can get some lovely material pretty cheap and my parents bought me a sewing machine for my birthday."
Alina's brows furrow in confusion, "but don't your parents help you?"
She knows Genya has a part-time job at the beauty counter at a shop off-campus, but she's always thought that's simply because the other girl likes to give people makeovers.
Genya shakes her head, "they send me a bit of money to help with supplies, but they've got to look after my three younger brothers. Thank the saints for student loans, that's all I can say."
"Oh, right," Alina mumbles.
Her fees are dealt with without her ever needing to see a bill – she's not entirely sure who pays them, but the Apparat assures her it is sorted – and money is deposited into her account each month for anything she might need. She hadn't considered that Genya's situation might be any different.
"What is this, exactly?" she asks Genya as they take a seat on the chairs set out.
"Sasha is giving a talk. He does a lot of good work, and he sometimes travels around the country to try and get people interested in important issues."
Alina nods. It must be similar to when the Apparat asks her to make an appeal to the public, or champion a certain cause of his after she's performed at events.
This isn't exactly the sort of place she normally performs, but not everyone can be lucky enough to regularly visit the Grand Palace and other such prestigious locations.
She resolves, therefore, to listen politely. Perhaps Genya's cousin will speak on some of the issues the Apparat feels so strongly about.
The first speech (one of the warm ups, Genya says, to get the crowd into the right kind of mood) makes Alina nervous.
The woman – Zoya, her name is – speaks with a sharpness that Alina doesn't like, about the government's supposedly lacklustre response to global warming and their failure to meet their climate change goals. Alina thinks her overly-harsh, because surely it isn't quite that dramatic a problem – the Apparat is always complaining about the nuisance climate change activists cause and says that the government is doing its best, sankta, and it doesn't help when The Opposition demand that they make unreasonable promises and then chide them when they fail to meet those impossible climate goals.
"Isn't she wonderful," Genya grins when Zoya steps away from the microphone, "Zoya's so knowledgeable and we really need people like her to make everyone understand how much of a problem global warming truly is."
Alina just hums non-committedly. She doesn't want to upset Genya, but she's starting to wonder if she knows her friend at all.
Two others follow – stoic Ivan and gregarious Fedyor – but both of them confuse and alarm her as much as Zoya did with talk of how undemocratic and elitist the monarchy is, and that the government should be doing more to tackle the worsening cost of living crisis.
Genya is thankfully so engrossed in the speeches that she doesn't notice Alina's growing horror. She seriously considers just getting up and leaving, but it would be so obvious and quite a few of the audience are hollering their agreement to the speakers' words in such a boisterous way that Alina isn't sure they wouldn't try and stop her from departing.
And then Genya's cousin Sasha – Aleksander Morozov, he introduces himself as – gets up to speak.
Her first thought, which she'll keep entirely to herself, is that he's the most attractive man she's ever met.
And then he starts talking.
He touches on all the points the previous speakers have raised and more.
He is absolutely brutal in his criticism of the royal family, the current government and, in his own words, "the corrupt people and organisations that have allowed this country to experience a devastating economic and living crisis."
It's shocking, the way he verbally eviscerates so many people that Alina knows or has met at the many events she's performed at. He shows no sympathy, just distrust and distaste and disgust.
It's nearly unbearable, having to listen to such a thing, knowing that to leave would cause a scene that she desperately wants to avoid.
When it's over, she slumps gratefully down into her seat.
Her happiness is short-lived, though, as Genya wants to go and congratulate her cousin.
Alina follows the red-head reluctantly, mostly because she's a little nervous of being left alone.
Morozov grins when he sees his cousin, and Alina has to admit that he has a warm smile, even if his ideas are ridiculous.
"You were wonderful, Sasha," Genya says, "and we really should catch up – it's been months since I saw you in person – but I wanted to introduce you to my friend Alina from uni."
Morozov takes one look at her and lets out an almost-incredulous bark of laughter, "Gen, I doubt your friend wants to be anywhere near me."
The red-head frowns, "what do you mean?"
"Well, I suppose you don't listen to her kind of music, and you'd never bother with the sort of articles she's featured in."
"Sasha, I swear to all the saints, tell me what the fuck you are talking about."
"Your little friend," his dark eyes fall almost mockingly onto Alina, and she cringes away, "is the Apparat's favourite mouthpiece."
Genya shakes her head, "you must be confused, Sasha. Alina's a student, like me."
"Well, why don't you ask her, Gen."
"I'm not a mouthpiece," Alina hisses irritably, because something about Morozov makes her hackles rise, "I'm not."
"Sure, little sankta," Morozov laughs, "whatever you want to believe."
"I'm a singer," she explains to Genya, "my foster parents encouraged me to join our church choir, and the Apparat came to one of the services when I was ten and he told me I could make a career out of it."
"What she means," Morozov says, "is that she's the Apparat's pretty little songbird sankta, all wholesome and pure, who he's taught to parrot his beliefs to a wider audience than he'd ever get on his own. Church darling, duke's ward, the royal family's favourite singer."
"It's not like that," Alina protests, "the Duke of Keramsov has been so kind to me, and he cares –"
"If he cares so much, Miss Starkova," Morozov murmurs, "then why did he never seek to adopt you. It was all informal, wasn't it? Arranged by the Apparat so you could spread his message all throughout the aristocracy, but never giving you real security or a family who cares for you as a person."
"No, that's not –"
"Sasha," Genya interjects gently, "maybe we should … oh."
She trails off, her gaze now fixed on someone across the room.
Alina looks and realises what has caught Genya's attention. David Kostyk, studying some kind of science (Alina forgets exactly what) and the man Genya has had a crush on since their awkward first meeting during orientation.
"Go," she sighs at her friend, "I'll get an Uber back."
"I won't be long," Genya promises, "and it'll be safer if we go back together."
"I'll look after her, Gen," Morozov says, and then his onyx eyes turn towards Alina, dancing with amusement, "I won't bite."
Alina really doesn't want to get an Uber alone, especially from this part of the city, so she nods reluctantly and watches as Genya hurries over to David.
"I take it, Miss Starkova," Morozov watches her with curiosity, "that you weren't a fan of my speech."
"I thought it rather rude," she tells him stiffly, "and I'm sure what you said about the royal family is untrue."
"You sang at Pyotr's galas and fetes for years, Miss Starkova. Did you never question the waste that occurred, the ridiculous extravagance during a time of recession, the pollution caused by a dozen or more private jets ferrying guests and the royal family's favourite delicacies every time they threw a party?"
"Well, of course, he went a little over the top," Alina admits, "but people expect a show."
"I doubt most people in the country saw more than a handful of photos of those events. And despite the talk of supporting charities, the parties never did raise much for any good cause."
He shrugs, "I am all in favour of keeping significant buildings in good condition, Miss Starkova, and in sharing their historic value with tourists and enthusiasts, but what use was Pyotr's 2019 Winter Fete, for example, where melting ice sculptures caused thousands in damages to the palace, no charity received a penny despite the palace press team suggesting large donations had been made, there were rumours of sexual harassment of the servers and caterers, a private plane was used for the sole purpose of importing Tatiana's favourite Fjerdan Black Caviar, and the guests got through a frankly disgusting amount of extortionately expensive alcohol."
Alina flushes pink. She'd only been fourteen during that particular Winter Fete, and the Apparat had hustled her away fairly quickly after she had finished her performance, muttering about the need to "preserve the purity of your mind, sankta" (and while she didn't care about leaving, she did hate his nickname for her and all the impossible-to-live-up-to expectations it entailed), but it had been clear, even to her, that the evening was likely to descend into debauchery soon enough.
"Well, it's good publicity for the royal family to use Ravkan companies for such a big event," she counters, "there's research that suggests it can be a great boost to industry."
He looks down at her with a condescending half-smile, "Miss Starkova, I doubt much of that fete, or any of Pyotr or Tatiana's events, involved support for Ravkan companies. They always insisted on importing a great deal of their food and drink from abroad, the ice sculptures in 2019 were the work of a Fjerdan company, and even their outfits came from a foreign tailor and dressmaker."
"Oh, well –"
"Your dress was Ravkan," he adds, a little softer now, "that year and every other year. Whatever else the Apparat may be, he at least did that, even if the style of dress sometimes seemed to be trying to make you out to be a nun."
"I wouldn't have thought you'd be interested in the society pages," she mutters stiffly.
He smiles, "it's good to know what the enemy are saying."
"They're not the enemy!" she nearly shouts, quite scandalised.
"Oh, I rather think they are," he responds almost cheerfully, "between them and the current government, it's no surprise that poverty is so high."
"Look, I know Former Tsar Pyotr was not what he should have been –"
"That is putting it lightly, Miss Starkova."
"– but he's abdicated now, and Vasily too, and they paid compensation."
"Most of which came from public funds rather than their own personal fortunes. And they escaped jail time."
"They have diplomatic immunity."
"That shouldn't count for what the two of them did. Surely you don't think it's right that their happening to have 'royal blood' should prevent them from being appropriately punished for their crimes?"
"Well, Nikolai is in charge now, and I know he'd never do anything like that."
Alina is sure of this. She knows how disgusted he'd been at the news of his father and brother's actions, how appalled at his mother's silent complicity, and how determined to be a better tsar.
But Morozov only snorts rudely, "he's not that sort, it's true, and he did a pretty song and dance denouncing Pyotr and Vasily's actions that the press lapped up, but nothing's really changed, has it?"
"Surely, you can't deny that he's an improvement."
"I would not deny it, but better doesn't necessarily mean good, Miss Starkova. The parties aren't as ostentatious but they're still too lavish. Our new tsar may not care as much about expensive foreign delicacies but he still enjoys an extensive and costly wardrobe, often sourced from abroad. And, after that round of apology speeches and soundbites his press team spread all over social media, he just swept everything under the carpet like the victims of his father and brother are minor inconveniences to be placated and then ignored. He's tricked half the population into thinking he's progressive, when he's actually just maintaining the status quo and refusing to even consider real changes - there are so many small things he could do to help Ravka, and yet he's happy to do nothing."
"Nikolai isn't like that," Alina insists, because he's always been kind to her and she can't stand the idea of Morozov speaking as if he's a bad person, "he wants to make changes, he really does, but he says these things take time and we have to be cautious."
"I suppose you know him well, Miss Starkova, after all your years of performing?"
She nods, "he's been rather like an older brother to me."
"Oh, Miss Starkova," Morozov chuckles, you really are such a naïve little thing. Nikolai Lantsov's intentions for you are far from brotherly. Don't you read the news?"
"No. The Apparat says it's full of idle gossip and I should focus on more serious, spiritual pursuits."
Morozov rolls his eyes, "of course he'd say that. Well, I imagine he and our new tsar are somewhat in league. You, Miss Starkova, are a rather popular young lady, and Nikolai is certainly the sort to capitalise on that. There are Twitter accounts dedicated to the two of you, so I'm told – I believe they refer to you as Nikolina."
Alina frowns and shakes her head, "Nikolai is just my friend, kind of like my family."
"Nikolai," Morozov's mouth curls around the tsar's name with a sneer, "wants to hold onto his throne, which means he must appease the powerful people who keep him there – hence, the reason he will never make any of those changes that would benefit the general population. He also wishes to be be popular and well-liked – marriage to the country's darling songbird would manage that quite nicely."
Alina only shakes her head again. She can't find the words to tell him how wrong he is. After all, Nikolai doesn't want that, she's sure. Besides, she knows girls like her never get to become tsarina.
"They'd fabricate a story, of course," Morozov tells her, "some pretty little fairytale about a lost aristocratic relative or some link to the royal family in Shu Han, anything to make you more palatable to those racist, classist narcissists who make up the royal court."
"They wouldn't –"
"They certainly would, Miss Starkova, and I think we both know that."
"I … I've got to go," Alina mutters.
This evening has gone from bad to worse, after all. Speeches that made her uncomfortable, followed by a conversation with a man who is making her wonder if she should question everything about her life.
For a moment, his eyes crinkle with something approaching concern, the condescension and amusement melting away, "you'll have to forgive me for my … enthusiasm and passion for my subject matter, Miss Starkova. You are still young, and your opinions are understandable given the influences around you. I want you to think about a few things, though, even if you curse my name for the rest of your life – one, what gives Nikolai Lantsov, the right to rule, sparing me the spiel about divine right, especially considering his illegitimacy is an open secret among the court; two, when you sing at events, you will often be paid, but where does all that money go, because I can assure you that it's a lot more than your modest living expenses; and three, ignoring whatever the Apparat and his acolytes have taught you, what do you believe, Miss Starkova?"
Alina stares at him.
No one has ever asked her questions like that. Usually, they just want to know her favourite song or what designer she's wearing or if Tsar Nikolai really is "that dreamy up close."
It scares her, how confused and discomforted this conversation has made her.
And so Alina turns and flees, not even stopping to find Genya.
She needs to be alone.
She has some thinking to do.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.