𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐒𝐨𝐂

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄.

iii: devoured by lace and gold

Natasha Van Doren scrubbed at a dark stain on the sleeves of her white dress.

Four days had passed in a pantomime of honey wine, bridal fittings and a crown of gold designed to make its bearer beautiful than the stars themselves.

She didn't care for any of it - the champagne toasts or the empty kisses on her blushed lips and cheeks.

Their marriage was a political alliance - an assurance of the Ravkan throne.

Natasha detested how desperately she had wanted this only two years ago. To lay on a bed of silver feathers and have fear dote her every step.

Now she sat in a bridal parlour, a dirty rag in her palm - furiously scratching through delicately layered lace. There was blood splattered across her cheeks, a dribble of blood down her thigh where she had resheathed her knife.

Nikolai Lantsov had entered the parlour wide-eyed - careless of the omen of seeing your bride before the ceremonies. However, at the sight of one of his guards on the floor, he honestly didn't care much.

The king pulled Natasha to her feet, pressed her cheek into his chest - allowing the shadows to seep out of her palms.

It was not often that parem manipulated itself to such dizzying heights. But when it did, Natasha Van Doren found comfort in the arms of her wicked king.

"You're okay," Nikolai whispered over and over, cradling her back and forth in his arms.

He'd arrange for Zoya to take care of this - he'd relish seeing her sweaty and bent over a corpse, cursing him under her breath. "I'm here,"

She whimpered a response into his nape, holding onto him tightly. She detested her reliance on him - for parem and comfort.

The way he'd whisper into her ears and come undone for him. Natasha Van Doren was a marionette held taut between the king's fingers.

What she hated the most was that she didn't mind.

She slowly peeled herself away from his body, peering up at his stoic face with wet round eyes.

He was wearing a starched dress shirt and straight cut trousers. Nikolai looked every bit handsome with tousled hair and light blue eyes.

He caught her by the wrists, uncurling her fist. Nikolai didn't speak as he reached into his trouser pocket and spilt a spin of parem into his palm.

"Consider it an early wedding gift," His smile did not meet his eyes as he looked over his shoulder to Omar, who lay still on the floor.

Nikolai was considerably surprised she had murdered him with a dagger rather than shadow.

However, he did little to question as Natasha relaxed against the wall - parem filtering through her system.

He watched the grotesque change of her skin paling - waxy beneath the saturated light. "Zoya thinks parem is corrupting your power,"

Nikolai said, sticking his head into the corridor and sending a runner for his squallor. "She says you need to build tolerance, or it'll consume you,"

A servant rushed in, placing a chair beside Natasha's before racing out. She took sight of the blood on the floor - eyes shining.

Rumours would circulate the palaces taskforce. However, he didn't worry - Genya would take care of that.

Natasha held the wet rag between her fingers, wiping at the blood on her legs and sleeve.

She didn't care for modesty as she hitched her gown to her waist, running it from her hip to the base of her calf.

"Let me," Nikolai said, wringing it between his hands and cupping her cheek in his palm.

He made her hold still as he dabbed at the sprayed blood on her eyelids and cheeks, wiping beneath her lip and dragging it down slightly.

Her breath hitched as he dragged the cold cloth down to her neckline, running it over the exposed skin there.

"You've got blood between your breasts," Nikolai laughed. Natasha managed a sickly smile.

"I want you to know," Nikolai hummed, working the rag down her body. "That I am here to take care of you. That this dark cloud can hold both misfortune and prosperity," Natasha's mind, too fogged to care for the threat in his words. "You are to become Ravka's queen,"

He took her chin in his hand and met her gaze. Her eyes were too shiny, doll-like. "Start acting like it." Nikolai dropped the rag on the vanity, taking her leave.

He didn't bother goodbyes or backward glances, storming out the room in a procession of black silks.

Natasha looked down at the body by her feet, Omar's blood staining the point of her high heels. She bent down to his level, gently lifting his lid.

His eyes had rolled to the back of his head. The sight of the white of his eyes made her feel sick.

She stumbled backwards, hands clasped over the edge of her vanity. Desperately, she wants to cry out for Nikolai - to have his arms around her again.

But she does no such thing, squaring her shoulders and swapping her bridal fitting for a simple brown tunic.

"May the saints have received you," Natasha whispered, rolling him onto his front. His chest was blood-soaked, mouth wide in a scream.

She draped the black silk from around her head onto his face, cupping his limp palms around the dagger. It was Noyvi Zem tradition to honour a body with its weapon.

With her limbs still shaking, Natasha backed into the furthest corner, head buried between her knees.

Parem brought no relief to her aching heart, sinful hands and eclipsed mind. The words would blur on her tongue - the border between imagination and reality drifting into one another.

On her first night in Ravka, Nikolai Lantsov had slapped her hard on the cheek to get herself together before coddling her against his chest and allowing Natasha to weep herself to sleep in his arms.

Tonight there was no comfort, and in her dreams, Natasha Van Doren, was devoured by lace and gold.

A/N

- I feel like my writing is terrible - I am in such a writing slump. Update might be late tomorrow because i'm going out with friends! If you enjoyed please vote and comment, I promise this story will get better as soon as I introduce the crows back into the game

- rosa <3