Walking through the endless corridors, I almost felt like I was back in Os Alta, as if the past two days hadn't happened. Almost. The presence of the stern-faced oprichniki just a few feet behind me was a constant reminder of my new reality. The Darkling insisted I have at least three guards whenever I left his quarters. Their heavy boots echoed against the stone floors, their constant rhythm making their presence impossible to ignore.
They certainly didn't help with the attention I was already getting. Fedyor had assured me most Grisha had bigger concerns than gossip, but the lingering stares told a different story. I could still feel their eyes on me as I passed. The quiet hum of conversation seemed to dip whenever I walked by, only to pick up again after I was out of earshot.
A loud rumbling in my stomach snapped me out of my thoughts. I was almost late for lunch. The dining hall was grand and imposing, mirroring the one back in Os Alta almost perfectly. Its gleaming chandeliers cast a warm golden light over long, polished tables that stretched across the room. I spotted Eskil and Alisa immediately, already eating, though one looked more cheery than the other. Eskil waved me over with a grin so wide it practically lit up the room, while Alisa seemed preoccupied, glaring at her plate like it had personally offended her.
"Of course it's a fish," Alisa muttered, wrinkling her nose. Eskil, meanwhile, was devouring his meal like a starving horse. I couldn't help but laugh as I slid into the seat across from them.
"I think you've officially claimed the title of least picky eater in all of Ravka," I teased, reaching for my own plate.
Eskil grinned, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's. "Don't knock it until you try it," he said, though his words came out garbled. He was right. The buttery cod melted in my mouth, reminding me of the food my mother used to make.
At first, I thought I might regret not sharing all the details about the luxury I now lived in—the personal banya, the library, the wine room—but as I watched my friends eat, I knew it was for the best. Alisa's inevitable squeals would've drawn even more attention than the ever-watchful oprichniki hovering nearby. Instead, I kept my explanation brief, mentioning only that I was staying in a more secure area with some restrictions on my freedom and, of course, the guards.
Eskil swallowed another mouthful of food, already angling for his next question. "What about our rides? I can't imagine my week without them anymore."
"Well, they definitely won't happen if it's just the two of us," I replied, glancing over my shoulder at the oprichniki standing like statues against the wall.
"But if we stay within the base grounds and accept the company…" I added with a wry smile, "it shouldn't be an issue."
Eskil chuckled. "Great. I'll try not to be jealous when they have more fun than we do."
Alisa, who had been poking at her fish, looked up. "What about your lessons?" she asked. "Do you have a schedule yet?"
I sighed. "We don't. We trained this morning, but there's no plan. It's almost like he enjoys catching me off guard. Either that, or he's just that busy."
Alisa arched an eyebrow. "Probably both."
"Probably," I admitted with a shrug.
Eskil leaned forward, his expression curious. "How was your first night? My mom used to say the first dream you have in a new place will come true."
"My dad used to say the same thing," I said, laughing softly. "But I dreamed of something that already happened, so I'm not holding out much hope. Unless, of course, I somehow transform back into a little girl."
"I dreamed of Nadia being here with us," Alisa chimed in, her voice suddenly bright. "Her training is almost done, so that's bound to happen soon!"
"Do you miss her?" I asked.
"So much," Alisa said with a wistful sigh. "She's like a sister to me."
Eskil and I exchanged a quick, knowing glance that nearly made me burst out laughing.
"Of course she is," he said with a teasing lilt.
Alisa blinked, clearly not catching the implication. "She is!"
I decided to help. "Alisa… we can see the way you look at her. Eskil isn't questioning the fact that you love her. He's just suggesting that the type of love you feel might be… a little different from the love between sisters."
The crimson that spread across Alisa's cheeks and down her neck made me smile. "We're just friends," she stammered. "She wouldn't want me like that anyway."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Eskil said, winking.
"We can see the way she looks at you too," I added gently, keeping my tone light to avoid overwhelming her. "Do you usually stay in touch when you're apart?"
"Always!" Alisa said, her excitement breaking through her embarrassment. "I think I can expect her first letter tomorrow—she usually writes the first one almost immediately after we leave. But… Do you really think she might like me that way?"
"I'm certain," I said, smiling warmly.
The conversation drifted, lighter now, and I felt a wave of relief. For once, we weren't speculating about me or the Darkling. However much Alisa might drive me mad at times, she was a true friend, and I wanted nothing more than to see her happy.
As the meal stretched on, she turned to me again. "What are you doing this afternoon?"
"I'm supposed to read a book."
Eskil quirked an eyebrow. "Which book?"
"Alvors' forsvinning,'" I replied. "It's in Fjerdan."
Alisa tilted her head and looked confused. "What does that mean?"
"The Disappearance of Alvor," Eskil supplied, his expression shifting to one of faint amusement. "I don't know the book, but every Fjerdan knows the name and the story," he chuckled.
"I… I don't know the story," I admitted, setting down my fork. "Who is Alvor?"
Eskil looked genuinely puzzled. "It's the story for naughty kids! You must have heard of Alvor! The frozen man, coming to steal you away!"
"I didn't."
He shook his head in disbelief. "It's just… one of those old stories parents tell their kids to scare them into behaving. 'Don't sneak out at night, or the Ice Prince will take you.' Stuff like that."
"The Ice Prince?" I repeated, confused.
Eskil leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to the low, dramatic tone he probably used to entertain children. "Yeah. They say he was a Fjerdan prince, but he turned out to be unnatural—a drüsje."
"A what?" Alisa asked, her brow furrowed.
"It means a witch," I explained absently, engrossed in Eskil's storytelling. "It's what people in Fjerda call Grisha." I gestured for him to continue.
"According to the tales, he was cursed by Djel himself for betraying his family and his people. They say his Grisha powers turned him into something... unnatural. Ice made flesh. A monster that prowls the forests near the border, waiting to snatch up naughty children who stray too far from home. I thought all children in Fjerda knew about him. Did your parents never tell you the story?"
"They didn't… They only told me horror stories about the Darkling," I said, my voice quieter.
"I wonder why he wants you to read a scary Fjerdan folk tale," Alisa mused. "It's hardly part of a standard Grisha education."
I shrugged, though a theory lingered in the back of my mind. I guess I'll find out.
"Maybe he's just trying to make her smarter," Eskil chuckled.
"Watch it," I said, grinning as I threw a piece of bread crust at him.
…
After lunch, I picked up the heavy book from the Darkling's library, its weight pressing into my hands as I carried it to the sitting room. The soft afternoon light streamed through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the polished floor. The faint scent of leather and wood polish lingered in the air, blending with the faint smokiness of the fireplace.
I chose a high-backed chair by the window, its cushions firm and covered in a rich, deep green fabric. From this vantage point, I could see the gardens stretching out below, the vibrant colors muted by the overcast sky.
Settling into the chair, I pulled a woven throw over my legs and set the book on my lap. The leather cover felt cool under my fingertips as I traced its embossed title, Alvors' Forsvinning. I flipped it open, and the first page greeted me with a dedication written in a small, slanted script: To those who have fled.
A shiver ran down my spine as I turned to the first chapter.
"This tale begins in the icy halls of Djerholm," it read.
The words pulled me in immediately, each sentence painting vivid images in my mind. The story began with a Fjerdan prince, a boy born into wealth and power, his life predetermined by duty and tradition. But he was marked by something no one could see—until it was too late.
When he was eighteen, his powers manifested—he was a Tidemaker. His parents, horrified, handed him over to the Drüskelle, who dragged him to the Ice Court. As I read, I could almost hear the jeers echoing through the pristine white halls, see the tight, cruel faces of the crowd and feel the cold stares of the Drüskelle. They called him a traitor, an abomination, a stain on the royal family's honor.
His sentence was death.
But Alvor had other plans.
The book described how the prince summoned his power one last time during the trial. It didn't specify what he did—only that no one present had ever seen anything so powerful. He escaped the Ice Court, leaving terror and chaos in his wake. He vanished into the wilderness, taking his name and the shame of his family with him.
I paused to catch my breath as I turned the page, my fingers lingering on its edge. How had I never heard of this? A Fjerdan prince—a royal—who was Grisha? The idea seemed impossible, yet the pages before me detailed his story with an almost clinical precision.
From there, the text described Drüskelle's relentless search for him. Years of reports, whispered sightings, and cold trails. Some claimed he froze to death, his powers spent. Others believed he lived among Ravkans in secret, blending into the shadows of an unfamiliar land. Over time, his name endured in Fjerdan folklore, reshaped into the terrifying figure Eskil had described—the Ice Prince, a bogeyman for children.
The book rested open on my lap, its pages trembling slightly as I absentmindedly ran my fingers along the edges. So, it had been true all along. He was real—and they had turned him into a monster. A cautionary tale. But why had my parents never told me about him?
The soft sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, my heart skipping a beat as the Darkling stepped into the room. He moved with his usual grace, though he looked as though he had spent the better part of the day buried in maps and strategies. Shadows lingered beneath his eyes, and a single strand of dark hair had escaped the precise arrangement, brushing against his forehead like a quiet rebellion. His kefta was draped over his arm, leaving him in just a black shirt and breeches that seemed almost too casual for him. His eyes flickered to me, widening faintly as he registered my presence.
"Forgive me," he said smoothly, closing the door behind him. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I assumed you would be asleep by now."
I blinked, then glanced toward the window. The sky outside was dark, a faint reflection of the firelight glinting on the glass. When had daylight disappeared? I noticed for the first time the warm glow of the lanterns and the steady crackle of the fire. Grigor must have lit them while I was too absorbed in the book to notice.
"I didn't realize how late it was," I replied, the book in my lap feeling heavier under his gaze.
He stepped further inside, his movements unhurried but deliberate. "Engrossed, were you?" he asked, nodding toward the book, still open to the final chapter. "You read fast."
"Did this really happen?" I asked abruptly, the words escaping before I could stop them.
"It did," he replied, casually tossing his kefta onto the sofa. "And?"
"It's… unsettling," I admitted, holding his gaze.
His lips curved slightly, though his eyes remained dark. "Why is that?" He stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back. The soft amber light of the fireplace highlighted the sharp angles of his face, lending him almost an otherworldly beauty.
Breathe.
"A-apparently, he was turned into a monster," I stammered, forcing my voice to steady. "A scary story for naughty children in Fjerda."
"Apparently?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly, his voice carrying a faint trace of amusement. With effortless grace, he hooked a foot around the nearest chair and dragged it closer. In one fluid motion, he spun it around and straddled it, his arms draping loosely over the backrest. His posture was relaxed, but the sharp focus in his eyes made me feel as though I were the only thing in the room.
Breathe.
"Eskil told me," I continued, grasping for a semblance of composure. "I… I've never heard of him before."
I searched his face for a reaction, but it was completely unreadable. If he was surprised, he didn't let it show.
"Perhaps you were not naughty enough," he mused after a pause, his tone light but laced with an edge that made my pulse quicken. "Although I find that very hard to believe."
Heat rose to my cheeks, unbidden, and I looked down, feigning interest in the book in my lap. My fingers traced its leather edges as if the motion might ground me.
"Do you think he survived?" I asked, seizing on the first question that came to mind, desperate to redirect the conversation.
"Survival means different things to different people," he said at last, his tone quieter now. "He was not caught, and he did have a life, if that's what you're asking. He had a wife and a child."
I sat up straighter. "How do you know that?"
For a moment, he didn't speak, his eyes drifting toward the book in my lap, as though sorting through memories he had long buried.
"Because I met him," he said, sighing deeply. "This happened decades ago, two or three generations back—I don't remember the exact timing. He fled to the borderlands, where the name of the Fjerdan royal family means very little. The people there…" His gaze flicked back to meet mine. "They always had far too much to worry about to care about bloodlines or titles, you know that better than anyone."
I nodded silently, my breathing shallow.
"Almost nobody there knew about his trial, and if they did, they wouldn't know what he looked like, nor would they care. Ravkan spies found him and brought him to me. His power was extraordinary," he gazed into the distance. "But There was something…off," he went on, his tone hardening slightly. "He was in a terrible state and his power felt somehow…broken. Corrupted. Unhealthy," he shook his head. "I wanted to help him. I offered what he could never find in Fjerda. Training. Safety. A chance to understand his power. A home, even. But he refused."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because he was consumed by hate," the Darkling said, his tone cold. "Hate for himself. For being Grisha. For his powers and for what they meant."
His voice was calm and measured, but I could see the tension in his fingers. He looked at me, his gaze steady, unyielding.
"He believed I would use him against his own people, and perhaps he wasn't wrong to think so. But more than that, he could not see himself as anything other than a failure. To him, being Grisha was a curse, not a gift. And I was the embodiment of that curse to him."
I glanced down at the book in my lap, the story within it suddenly feeling much heavier. "What happened to him?" I asked softly.
"He fled again," the Darkling said bitterly, the edge in his tone cutting through the air. "He went back to some insignificant village by the border, where he could bury everything that made him extraordinary. He spent the rest of his life there, hiding. Denying who he was."
I swallowed against the knot forming in my throat. "That's… sad," I said after a moment.
"It's pathetic," he countered sharply. "He could have been great. Greater than any Fjerdan king. Instead, he chose mediocrity. He became exactly what the Fjerdans want Grisha to be—powerless." He exhaled, the sound heavy with disdain. "They turned him into the monster their children feared, and he simply accepted it."
I studied his face, watching as his jaw tightened. He seemed to carry this story like a personal failure, a shadow that lingered despite the years. His gaze flicked to mine suddenly, and I realized I'd been caught staring. My cheeks flushed as I looked away, feigning interest in the flickering firelight.
He chuckled very softly before he spoke again. "We have a similar story of a disgraced royal son, you might have heard of this one. A Ravkan prince. And while he was not Grisha, he wanted to marry one. Naturally, Ravka couldn't stomach the thought of a Grisha queen."
"I know that story," I said. "He gave up the throne and married her anyway. I like that one."
"One of the legends says that Alvor found refuge with them," he said after a moment. "At that time, their daughter would have been close to his age. According to the tales, she taught him about his powers, and they lived happily ever after." His laugh was dry, almost hollow. "I prefer that version to the truth."
"At least he didn't freeze to death and become an ice monster," I said lightly, hoping to lift the weight in the room.
The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been amusement, but his gaze remained distant. "No," he said. "He didn't."