nikolai has never been a poet—aside from that one, brief, foray into the art when the volkvolny was out of commission across the true sea and the jurda fields in novyi zem 𝐝𝐢𝐝 look awfully similar to clouds—
but he thought touching zoya might be worthy of the feat.
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Replying to @stormsankta
( & ) zoya was his loyal general; her hands were roughened and unbecoming of a queen.
she did not let worry darken her features, she would not be made weak by fear.
⠀⠀ “do tell that monster of yours to wait its turn, it’s most impolite to interrupt.”
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it was a want he needed to imprison. squash between his fingers, until it was nothing but dust.
presently, however, all nikolai could think of was the warmth of her skin; how soft it was. wildflowers, always.
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unbidden, the image of late king rose in his mind.
⠀⠀⠀⠀he would not stand for such informality (—although, the man hardly stood up to begin with—) from his peers, nor the subtle bloom of insubordination. he was always ornery, often drunk.
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Replying to @stormsankta
( & ) “i’m sure you will be able to conjure up something as lovely as that for your future wife.”
the heel of her boots tapped against the floor, a hollow noise that had sent men scurrying away.
⠀⠀ she held out his drink, blue gaze looking down upon him.
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nikolai could at least attest he wouldn't bet all his cards on a man parading around calling himself 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈.
right on cue, his shoulder started to sting.
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⠀⠀⠀it would be childish of him to snort—which was just about the sole reason why nikolai does not.
darling. what about his life could be described as such?
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Replying to @stormsankta
( & ) this time, picking up two glasses.
⠀⠀ “if the darling prince of ravka wishes for a drink, he should ask nicely, or call for his man.”
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zoya's next words served to distract him from his dire inner monologue, and he tilted his head, considering her.
⠀⠀⠀bathed in the flickering orange glow in the fireplace, she looked unaffected as ever. lovely. slightly terrifying. just how he liked her best.
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