[ it’s only natural for a new king to begin collecting assassination attempts. it’s nothing exciting and certainly nothing new. people have been trying to kill nikolai for years — as prince, as sturmhond, as a damnably handsome but generally unwanted nuisance. and that’s how he feels now, confined in his chambers like a scolded schoolboy while zoya, tolya, and tamar prowl the little palace for weaknesses. unwanted.
it’s silly. it’s not that no one wants him around. he’s the king, after all. he’s just physically incapable of moving more than a few steps without debilitating pain, even after treatment by the palace’s best healers. grisha healing is not magic is what he’d been repeatedly told after his complaints, and he needs to give his body a night to recover from its losses. but sitting still is quite possibly the thing he excels least at, and it’s no less than a half hour later that he’s inching his way to the door, his coat thrown over his rumpled bedclothes. the taste of brandy is still strong on his tongue, dulling the pain and making all of his decisions seem perfectly advisable.
he slips into the hall, no real destination in mind. perhaps he could make it to his laboratory, but that’s an extremely far trek, and he’s likely to be caught by zoya’s harpy gaze. alina, frankly, is the person he wishes to see most, but just because they’re engaged does not mean they’re actually in love, and he has never pushed the antiquated duties of royal husband and wife onto their relationship. nothing of the attempt on his life was public, and with no audience there is no reason for alina to come rushing to his side to make a show of concern. he hasn’t asked. she hasn’t come. carefully, he sets the thought aside. he has always been alone in the palace, and that needn’t change just because he’s king.
pain sweeps through him, sharp as a rogue blade. perhaps the orders to stay abed were not exaggerated after all, but he’s already here and might as well keep going. he inches along down the empty hallway, braced against the wall for support, looking every bit the drunken king who’s lost the way to his bedchambers. he doesn’t even realize where he’s standing until a door swings open and nearly hits him in the face. then a familiar, very solid body does walk straight into him, and the resulting wash of agony almost takes him to his knees.
almost. one scarred hand grips mal oretsev’s shoulder for dear life as nikolai sags with a low groan. ]
All Saints. You are the clumsiest man I’ve ever met.
[ a life at sea had been freeing, yes, but it has also put a lot into perspective for mal oretsev. the fact that he could no longer feel a magical call home did not mean that his heart did not yearn for land, for the person waiting for him on the shores that he'd let slip through his fingers like the sand of ravka's beaches.
so eventually the hummingbird left the waters, sailed through sea and air only to return toward the palace. the rest of the crew would return to sea but malyen oretsev would not, instead taking his place where his heart felt whole. with alina, with a sense of renewed purpose that was not defined by what he could do to help her in one goal. now he knows he can keep her safe, to be the man at her side even if he has to stand aside and watch an engagement play out before him.
and that-- well, all of that is complicated. mal's learned plenty about himself during his time at sea, where his gaze can turn and linger. returning has made things complicated for where his heart lies in alina's hands, his eyes do linger unbidden on the sharp lines of nikolai's jaw. those lines and angles are the same places alina's gaze lingers and it's not long before she notices, though she says nothing. at least until there's an attempt on nikolai's life and while mal sticks closer at her side, she insists it is the king that needs protection.
she's right.
mal does not find nikolai in his chambers when he goes to check on him, instead he's sure the king has made a run for it. where to, mal's not quite sure. but it sends him on a journey through the winding halls of the palace, determination in his step until he rounds a corner and into the very man he is searching for.
mal's hands shoot out as nikolai groans, bracing to hold the man up and awkwardly landing on his flank. ] And you are the worst patient in Ravka's history.
You're meant to be in your room. In bed. [ but even for the annoyance in his voice, mal's appraisal shows that there's no real new damage and the crease in his brow smoothes. he keeps his hold steady, trying to take some of nikolai's weight as he breathes through the pain of it all. and if he tries to step away, mal refuses to allow it. the poison, from what mal understands, means he is in constant pain. ] Where are you trying to squirrel away to?
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malkolai shenanigans begin
it’s silly. it’s not that no one wants him around. he’s the king, after all. he’s just physically incapable of moving more than a few steps without debilitating pain, even after treatment by the palace’s best healers. grisha healing is not magic is what he’d been repeatedly told after his complaints, and he needs to give his body a night to recover from its losses. but sitting still is quite possibly the thing he excels least at, and it’s no less than a half hour later that he’s inching his way to the door, his coat thrown over his rumpled bedclothes. the taste of brandy is still strong on his tongue, dulling the pain and making all of his decisions seem perfectly advisable.
he slips into the hall, no real destination in mind. perhaps he could make it to his laboratory, but that’s an extremely far trek, and he’s likely to be caught by zoya’s harpy gaze. alina, frankly, is the person he wishes to see most, but just because they’re engaged does not mean they’re actually in love, and he has never pushed the antiquated duties of royal husband and wife onto their relationship. nothing of the attempt on his life was public, and with no audience there is no reason for alina to come rushing to his side to make a show of concern. he hasn’t asked. she hasn’t come. carefully, he sets the thought aside. he has always been alone in the palace, and that needn’t change just because he’s king.
pain sweeps through him, sharp as a rogue blade. perhaps the orders to stay abed were not exaggerated after all, but he’s already here and might as well keep going. he inches along down the empty hallway, braced against the wall for support, looking every bit the drunken king who’s lost the way to his bedchambers. he doesn’t even realize where he’s standing until a door swings open and nearly hits him in the face. then a familiar, very solid body does walk straight into him, and the resulting wash of agony almost takes him to his knees.
almost. one scarred hand grips mal oretsev’s shoulder for dear life as nikolai sags with a low groan. ]
All Saints. You are the clumsiest man I’ve ever met.
no subject
so eventually the hummingbird left the waters, sailed through sea and air only to return toward the palace. the rest of the crew would return to sea but malyen oretsev would not, instead taking his place where his heart felt whole. with alina, with a sense of renewed purpose that was not defined by what he could do to help her in one goal. now he knows he can keep her safe, to be the man at her side even if he has to stand aside and watch an engagement play out before him.
and that-- well, all of that is complicated. mal's learned plenty about himself during his time at sea, where his gaze can turn and linger. returning has made things complicated for where his heart lies in alina's hands, his eyes do linger unbidden on the sharp lines of nikolai's jaw. those lines and angles are the same places alina's gaze lingers and it's not long before she notices, though she says nothing. at least until there's an attempt on nikolai's life and while mal sticks closer at her side, she insists it is the king that needs protection.
she's right.
mal does not find nikolai in his chambers when he goes to check on him, instead he's sure the king has made a run for it. where to, mal's not quite sure. but it sends him on a journey through the winding halls of the palace, determination in his step until he rounds a corner and into the very man he is searching for.
mal's hands shoot out as nikolai groans, bracing to hold the man up and awkwardly landing on his flank. ] And you are the worst patient in Ravka's history.
You're meant to be in your room. In bed. [ but even for the annoyance in his voice, mal's appraisal shows that there's no real new damage and the crease in his brow smoothes. he keeps his hold steady, trying to take some of nikolai's weight as he breathes through the pain of it all. and if he tries to step away, mal refuses to allow it. the poison, from what mal understands, means he is in constant pain. ] Where are you trying to squirrel away to?