𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 // 𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐢 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐯

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Aftermath

Estelle might not have been able to see, but she could feel the wide berth of space everyone gave her.

After they got out of the Fold, everyone holed up in a barn in Tomikyana. They got Nikolai cleaned up, cut his hair, found him a First Army uniform. They found stale bread and sugary tea to fill him with, to make him seem like the king he was.

Estelle sat in the corner, within whispering range of Alina and an unconscious Mal. However, she didn't feel like talking.

She'd gotten her face cleaned of blood and changed into roughspun clothes they'd stolen off some of the dead. As she sat down, she couldn't help but run her fingers up and down the rough scars, still raw. Three long, jagged claw marks, two right through her eyes. It hurt, but it was a reminder of what she'd been through. What she'd overcome.

The sound of crunching hay next to her made Estelle snap her head up. "It's me," came Nikolai's voice. Comfortingly, he slid his hand into her own.

She let out a relieved breath. "What's going on?" She hated how meek she sounded, how weak she had to be to not know what was going on.

"I'm going to Kribirsk, to meet the people, with the twins, Nadia, and Zoya. You know, show them that I'm not dead." Normally, it would have been taken as a joke. However, he sounded like he didn't believe himself that he was alive at all.

Her thumb rubbing back and forth against the back of his hand, Estelle rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm coming."

His shoulders rose as he chuckled. "I assumed as well. Would you like some tea?"

She shook her head. "Not hungry."

"You should get some kind of sustenance in you," he said.

"What, so I can show off my battle scars to the people, as the infamous and very real Star Summoner?"

"I wasn't—"

Estelle sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I...didn't mean it like that."

"It's alright," Nikolai said. "And you most certainly don't have to if you don't want to." He turned to face her, taking her face in his hands. "These are beautiful, just as you are. You could fall into a fire pit and crawl out alive and I'd still love you, no matter what you looked like afterwards."

She took in a sharp breath at his confession. He didn't move. She knew where his face should've been but...it just wasn't there. Blackness. Just the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his rough hands on her cheeks, the warmth his body was giving off from being so close to her. She wished she could see him.

Did she love him? Was she ready for that?

She remembered how she'd felt when she thought he was dead, turned into a mindless drone for the Darkling's cause. A puppet in his death show. Her stomach dropped and she felt empty. Empty at the thought of living on without him.