Meant to Be My Balance

Chapter 5

I'd never seen the Grand Palace so full of guests. I knew they'd all gone through some sort of security screening, and we were surrounded by the most powerful soldiers in the world, but there was a sense of chaos that reminded me distinctly of the First Army, despite the fancy dresses and courtly talk.

Genya's arm was interlocked with mine as she led us down the busy halls. Eyes turned to me, and some pressed their hands to their chests, whispering, "Sankta." I tried not to look at them, a memory of the Soldat Sol dying for me flashing straight into my mind.

"This way," Genya said, her voice soft as she guided me to a door near the throne room. Inside was the Darkling.

He wore an elaborate black kefta, tight around his chest, loose around his legs. I looked away before I stared for too long.

"Leave us."

Genya didn't want me alone, and she held onto my arm tightly.

"It's okay," I said, even though I knew it wasn't. Genya didn't trust the Darkling, and she had no reason to. Neither of us did.

But we had lost the war. We were little more than the Darkling's prisoners. And when he levelled his gaze on Genya, she reluctantly let go of my arm and left the room.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," I said.

A wry smile inched up his lips, and he took a step forward, reaching out to brush his long, slender fingers against my neck. "What would you wish I do?"

It was hard to breathe, my chest heavy with the weight of the power the Darkling brought to me.

"Do you wish for your firebird, Alina?" His hand trailed down my arm, circling my wrist.

I couldn't pull my hand away. I wished I could regain some control over myself—maybe I could—but I didn't want to. I wanted to bask in the feeling of the Darkling around me.

"Did the otkazats'ya prince teach you anything about diplomacy?"

A welcome reminder. I pulled my hand out of his, running it through my white hair instead. "We... we visited some nobles a few times."

"Good," he said, surprisingly, "You are queen of Ravka and Fjerda is here to discuss the terms of a truce. Of course, they don't realize it will be less of a truce and more of a surrender."

My eyes darted to his.

"Let me finish, Alina. A truce would mean the druskelle thrive, the Grisha are burned and hidden from our protection. We have a truce, and our borders may be protected, but our people will not."

"And what would a surrender mean?" I challenged.

The Darkling smiled, quartz eyes glinting. "A surrender would mean that they bow to us."

The Darkling offered me his elbow, and I grudgingly took it as we walked out to the ballroom. "Follow my lead, demand of them what you wish and treat them as you'd like." His dark hair fell across his forehead, "Moya soverennyi."

The title was foreign to my ears. I'd gotten used to the saintly names the people had given me, but the name of someone I had grown up to revere as the highest authority in all of Ravka?

"The Fjerdan queen will question your power and legitimacy. I expect you'll be able to handle yourself?"

"I will," I said confidently.

The Darkling nodded, and his gaze turned soft. "Don't let them make you weak."

The double doors were thrown open and the Darkling and I entered, side-by-side. Everything seemed to stop in that moment, frozen like a dream of gold and black—the new colors of Ravka—and servants bowing. It was the feeling of power, just like when the Darkling clutched my hand and amplified the making at the heart of the world.