Natasha Van Doren is a shadow summoner. She bides her time and resides in darkness, feared and esteemed by Ketterdam's civilians, a ghost . She cons Kaz Brekker into joining a heist he can't refuse and with thirty million kruge on the line, the crow...
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"NATASHA,"
Nikolai Lantsov hadn't aged a day.
He was the embodiment of pale paint and golden stars. His smile was buttered sunsets and warm cakes, yellow flowers and aching hearts. Nikolai's pursed smile pained her, the way his lips twitched, uncomfortably as he spoke his name.
"Nikolai."
Natasha turned on her heel, arms steadying herself against the wall. Her hair had fallen out of its plait, ebony curls streaming down to her waist. She slid the silver lockpicks up her sleeve, keeping her arms hidden behind her back.
"What are you doing in Frejda?" Natasha clicked her tongue, balancing her weight. They were both alone in the corridor - nothing but the gentle lull of silence between them. The very air stilled as they watched each other through frosted glares.
"I could ask the same, doll," The pet name shifted on his tongue. His eyes carrying no sense of delight. He looked Natasha's bedraggled frame up and down, almost casting her a disapproving grimace. "What are you doing here,"
"Nothing," She snapped. Her only way out was to cross the corridor past Nikolai. Natasha exhaled an exasperated sigh, "Field trip, that's all,"
"You're drenched in blood, doll," Nikolai pointed out. Natasha looked down at her front, the sleeves of her shirt pulled up to her elbows. Her fingertips laced with blood, digging beneath her fingernails. Natasha shrugged it off with an annoyed look.
"It's nothing," Nikolai sighed with disappointment. In some awful way, Natasha felt she had failed him.
"There's a party going on upstairs," Lost in the babble of conversation. The distant chatter heard two floors above them. "I was invited by the Frejdan ambassadors,"
"We discussed that in the war room," Natasha bit the inside of her cheek. "With the fold gone, it seemed to be the best options your country had of prospering," Natasha noticed the slight raise of Nikolai's brow as she said yours.
"I've come to discuss trade," Nikolai wore rich silks, warm navy blue working warmly with his golden skin. "My ambassadors are waiting for me upstairs,"
"Why leave them waiting," Natasha hissed. She had no watch to read the time, but she knew she was late. "Isn't that a bit rude,"
Nikolai barked out a laugh. "I'm the king," His voice was almost a sneer. "It's late when I say it is, doll," He rolled his eyes, holding a champagne glass in one hand. An awkward silence roosted between the two. Natasha twisted uncomfortably beneath his gaze.
Her trousers snagged in several places, the hem tearing up to her knee. Her shirt hugged tightly against her chest. The collar turned high to her chin. In front of Nikolai, she looked like a pauper. Nikolai still managed to regard her as the moon.
