We arrived too late to organize dinner, so everyone ate in their rooms. I was slightly disappointed that I couldn't sit with my friends and share all the details of the luxury I was now to call home. Not that I could tell them, anyway.

"No one can know where you are, Klara," the Darkling said, his voice quiet but unyielding. He sat across from me at the small dining table in his—our?—chambers, his dark eyes flicking up from his plate to meet mine. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a trio of low-burning lanterns. Shadows pooled in the corners and danced faintly on the walls.

It was hard to focus, sitting so close to him. The dim light cast sharp lines across his face, highlighting his features in a way that made him even more breathtaking. I forced myself to focus on anything else: the gentle crackle of the fireplace, the softness of the thick rug under my feet, and the faint scent of cedar mingled with something darker—charred herbs, maybe—lingering in the air.

He set his spoon down with deliberate precision, the scrape of silver against porcelain loud in the silence. "I mean it," he continued, his dark eyes piercing as they locked onto mine. "They will notice eventually, of course, but for now, secrecy is crucial. At least until you can pass through the shadow barrier. Only then can we secure the rest of the rooms."

It was strange to share this space with him—strange and unsettling. This wasn't traveling or our regular training session; this was dinner, intimate and quiet, and yet so mundane, so oddly domestic. I shifted in my seat, fingers tightening around my bowl of borscht, but the unease didn't stop the small swell of pride I felt at having his full attention.

And then, just as quickly, shame followed.

You don't have him. Not in any way. Stop thinking like that, you idiot. I clamped down on the thought, forcing myself to focus on the food in front of me instead of the way his presence seemed to fill the room. You really have to start controlling yourself if you're to live together.

"Klara?" His voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

"What?" I blinked at him, startled. "Oh. Yes. Of course, I understand. I won't tell anyone."

He leaned back slightly, the faintest crease forming between his brows. For a moment, I thought he might press me further, but instead, he reached for his glass of water. His movements were slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the knot of tension in my chest.

"I know this situation is far from ideal," he said after a pause, his tone softening just slightly. "But I'll do what I can to make you feel at home."

A quiet laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "Far from ideal?" I gestured vaguely at the room around us, my lips quirking into a faint smile. "This is perfection compared to what I'm used to."

"Are you sure?" His tone was casual, but his eyes were probing for something deeper. "Aren't you at all uncomfortable living so close to me?"

The question caught me off guard. A soft flush crept up my neck, and I quickly dropped my gaze to my nearly empty bowl. "It's very kind of you," I said abruptly, "giving everyone a free morning after what happened today."

His head tilted slightly, one dark brow arching, but he didn't push. Instead, he reached for his napkin and folded it neatly beside his plate. "Hardly a kindness," he said. "Tired guards are the last thing I need."

I glanced up at him again, catching something interesting in his eyes. It was my turn to study him. "Does it offend you?" I asked slowly. "Being called kind?"

"I simply prefer accuracy," he said, rising smoothly to his feet. "Tomorrow, we begin your training. You may spend the morning however you wish, but if you leave the chambers, you'll be accompanied by guards." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room briefly before returning to me. "I trust you have everything you need?"

I nodded quickly. "Yes. Thank you."

"Good. Do not hesitate to ask Grigor if something is missing. I'll be in the war room. Good night, Klara." His head dipped in a slight bow before he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

"Good night," I murmured, watching as the door shut quietly behind him.

…

I was a little girl again, standing in the familiar forest near my home in Fjerda. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, the kind of smell that clung to your clothes for hours. It was early spring, and frost glistened on the mossy ground. Every step I took made the frozen dew crackle beneath my boots.

I pulled my thin coat tighter around me as a sudden chill snaked down my spine. The wind stilled, and the cheerful rustle of the forest fell silent. I froze, my breath forming small clouds in the icy air.

"Vronche!"

I turned at the sound of my mother's voice, sharp and frantic. Her figure appeared between the trees, running toward me, her skirts gathered in her fists. Her face was pale, her breath coming in harsh clouds of white, and her eyes wide with fear.

The trees around us seemed to darken, their twisted branches writhing as though alive. I could hear my own heartbeat thudding loudly in my ears as I bolted toward her, tripping over roots and stumbling into her waiting arms. I buried my face in her skirt, clutching the rough wool tightly as though it could shield me from whatever was coming.

"Don't look at it. Don't look at it, Klara," she gasped, gripping my shoulders with trembling hands.

But I couldn't help myself. I turned, peeking over her arm just as a black horse-drawn coach emerged from the mist. It was sleek and menacing, its lacquered surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. The curtains on the windows fluttered, and I thought I saw the faintest flicker of movement behind them.

"Don't!" My mother's hand shot out, yanking my head down. I flinched at the strength of her grip.

The coach passed by, silent as a shadow.

"What did I tell you about that coach?" she scolded, her voice trembling despite its sharpness.

"That a bad man is inside," I whispered, guilt knotting my stomach.

Her face softened, but her eyes remained hard with fear. "A bad man," she repeated, her voice lowering to a whisper. "A very, very bad man." She bent down and lifted me into her arms, holding me so tightly it almost hurt.

"Let me tell you a story," she murmured, her tone growing heavy, serious. "Once upon a time, there was a very evil man. He hated the whole world and everything good in it. He despised the natural order of things and wanted to bend it to his will. He was a drüsje," she whispered, and I gasped.

"He wanted everyone to be just like him—evil, ruined, and drüsje. He could summon darkness so deep and horrible that it destroyed everything it touched. He traveled the world, sowing seeds of hatred and destruction in the hearts of everyone he met. But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted to turn the entire world into darkness. And one day, he tried. He summoned all his power and tore a rift through the country of Ravka."

"The Shadow Fold," I breathed, horrified.

"The Shadow Fold. It's a place where everything is dark and evil, just like this man."

"Who was he?" I whispered, wide-eyed with fear.

"At that time, they called him the Black Heretic, but he had many names and will have many more. Some say he is immortal and will not stop until the whole world is like the Shadow Fold."

"No!" I cried, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Yes. And it's true, he is still out there, in Ravka. He pretends to be someone new, but there has always been only one man who can control the darkness."

"The Vronche," I understood, my heart pounding at the memory of being so close to such malevolence.

"The same Vronche who created the Shadow Fold and the same Vronche whose coach we saw today. You must never try to meet him, and you must never try to get his attention! No more peeking into the coach, no more running to the road to see it!" She was almost yelling, her face close to mine. "Do you understand?" I nodded, tears streaming down my face.

"Good." She set me down, brushing the frost from my coat. "Now go home."

…

I woke up with a start, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The image of the dark coach lingered in my mind, as vivid as if I had just seen it. Shaking my head, I pushed myself out of bed and splashed cold water on my face, snapping myself back to reality.

By the time I walked into the sitting room, the smell of fresh bread and eggs was enough to make my stomach growl. Grigor was already there, setting the table with the kind of care that felt almost ceremonial.

"The General has already eaten," he said, glancing up as I approached. "Two hours ago. He never rests." There was a hint of disapproval in his tone, though he quickly masked it with a polite bow. "Please, miss. Sit."

I hesitated, hungrily eyeing the small feast laid out before me. Having Grigor just standing there, waiting to see if I needed anything, felt weird to say the least. I wasn't used to having company when eating, but a silent servant was somehow even worse. If I'm to stay here for some time, I might as well make another friend.

"Grigor," I said, sitting down slowly. "Would you… would you join me for breakfast?""

He blinked at me like I'd just suggested we rob a bank together. "Me, miss? Oh, no. That wouldn't be proper."

I shrugged, picking up a slice of bread. "Maybe not. But it would make me feel a lot better. At least have a cup of tea with me?"

Grigor shifted awkwardly, his hands brushing against the edge of the chair he clearly wasn't planning to sit in. "It's not the way we do things, miss," he said, glancing at the door like someone might come storming in to scold us both for even having this conversation.

I smiled, trying to keep my tone light. "Please? Just this once."

His mouth twitched like he was about to argue, but then he sighed, resigned. "Just this once," he muttered, pouring himself a cup of tea and sitting down. The way he perched on the edge of the chair, stiff as a board, made me stifle a laugh.

"Thank you."

We sat in silence until I decided to finally break it. "Do you have children, Grigor?"

His hand froze mid-reach for his tea. For a moment, his face softened, the usual tension easing. "A son. Erik. And a grandson, Axel."

"Erik and Axel?" I repeated, frowning slightly. "Those are…"

"Fjerdan names, yes," he said, his voice lighter now. "You're not the only one with a past, miss."

There was a small, fleeting smile, but it didn't last. His face clouded, and he stared into his tea like it might offer answers.

"I used to be called Greger," he said quietly. "But after my wife died, I left that name behind along with the country and anything remotely Fjerdan."

The shift in his tone made me pause. "I'm sorry," I said softly, setting down my spoon.

He shook his head. "It was a long time ago. Drüskelle were chasing an etheralki child, and she got caught in the middle… trying to protect the poor girl."

The words sat heavy in the air. I didn't know what to say.

"Did Erik and Axel leave Fjerda with you?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"No," he said, his voice stiff. "Erik and his wife stayed. Thought they'd be safe. But when Axel's powers started showing…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

"What happened?"

He took a slow breath, like the memory was something he didn't want to drag out. "They wanted to leave, but the Drüskelle were faster. Someone must have tipped them off. They brought a human amplifier and tested everyone in the village. Erik's wife hid Axel, but when they tested her…" He paused, his voice dropping lower. "She didn't know she was Grisha until that moment."

My stomach turned.

"They were supposed to take her to the Ice Court," Grigor said, his tone clipped, as if saying it faster might dull the edge. "But they didn't. They executed her. Right there."

I felt a shiver run through me as he continued.

"Axel was hidden in a wardrobe, just a few feet away. He saw everything. Heard everything." Grigor's voice cracked, and he set down his cup, staring at his hands. "He was never the same after that."

"I cannot imagine anyone would be," came the Darkling's voice, smooth and unexpected, from behind us.

Grigor shot up like someone had lit a fire under him. "Sir, I didn't mean—"

The Darkling raised a hand, his face unreadable. "Sit, Grigor. No need to explain." His gaze shifted briefly to me. "I am sure she insisted."

Grigor hesitated, then sat back down, though he looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

"Please, finish your tea," the Darkling said. "And tell me—How is Axel?"

"Not great, sir. He still has his… attacks."

"Attacks?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.

Grigor nodded, his brow furrowing. "Yes, miss. Ever since it happened, he has had these… terrors. He gets overwhelmed and can't breathe. He shakes and cries, like he's drowning in it all over again. It happens every time he tries to use his powers."

I bit my lip, hesitating before speaking. "You know… my niece used to get those whenever they needed to travel," I said, my voice a little quieter. "My aunt came up with a trick to calm her down. She'd ask her to name five things she could see around her, four things she could touch, three things she could hear, two things she could smell, and one thing she could taste. It's meant to ground you in the moment. Focus on your senses instead of what's overwhelming you. It helped her a lot. It actually helped me a lot of times too. Maybe you could try it with him?"

Grigor looked at me, his brow furrowed like he wasn't sure if he should be hopeful or skeptical. "I'll… mention it to Erik. Thank you, miss."

"Please," I said, offering a smile. "Call me Klara."

He shook his head, his lips pulling into a faint, wry smile. "That's very kind, miss, but I must refuse."

I arched an eyebrow. "You know, I was married once. Am I still a 'miss' then?"

"Oh, my apologies, madam."

I groaned, throwing up my hands. "Just use my name!"

Grigor's mouth twitched as though he were holding back a grimace. His expression was answer enough.

"I don't think that is going to happen," the Darkling said, his voice edged with amusement.

"I apologize, madam," Grigor said, standing. "But that would really not be appropriate. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've delayed my duties for too long."

"I understand. Thank you for your kind company, sir ." I retorted. Grigor froze for a second, staring at me like he was in pain. The Darkling didn't even bother to hide his quiet laugh as Grigor walked stiffly to the door. When the door clicked shut, the Darkling turned back to me, one eyebrow raised. "You're not making it easy for him."

I sighed, brushing my hand over the table. "It feels weird to be served."

"You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to. I don't mind not having to cook my own food, but I could do without the bows and formalities."

A faint chuckle escaped him. "We will see. And in the meantime, I am curious to see which one of you drives the other mad first. I will leave you to your free time, but I expect you to be back here at ten."

"Why don't you take a free morning too?" I called after him. "You traveled yesterday too."

He didn't stop. "Enjoy your free time," he said, disappearing through the door.