THE HALLS OF the Mayor's manor were empty by the time Nikolai finally got away. He had wanted to be asleep by now, but the Mayor of Ulensk had pulled him into tediously long conversations. Despite how shaken he was by the whole ordeal with the General's son earlier that evening, he had forced himself to pay attention and take part.

Now, he was finally allowed to retire. He had drunk just enough wine to make every step slightly difficult. He was coherent enough. Nikolai prided himself on not being like his father and older brother. The sight of them so drunk that they couldn't even walk on their own had always been disturbing, and at a young age, Nikolai vowed to never end up like them.

Tonight, however, he couldn't help himself. It was the way that the General's son jerked away from him. As if Nikolai might hurt him. As if Nikolai had already hurt him. He did not understand, but he was starting to. Or, maybe, he was just imagining things. He was drunk, after all.

He would apologize tomorrow when his mind cleared and the General's son had calmed down. He did not want to make the boy look any more like a cornered and wounded animal than he already did. Nikolai knew fear. Understood it in the very marrow of his bones. Had inhaled it for so long that he no longer knew what real air felt like. He'd never thought he would be the cause of such terror, though.

You're more like your family than you realize, the thought surfaced faster than he could force it away. The first time Nikolai had felt real fear was when he was seven and Vasily and his friends had ganged up on him in the stables and left him bruised. Nikolai had just wanted to spend time with his brother, but Vasily had never really wanted him around. It was the first time the word bastard was thrown at him, followed quickly by sobachka. Puppy. As if Nikolai was not Vasily's brother, but another thing for him to torment.

At that age, Nikolai had rebelled against the nickname. He was too young to understand that the insults were rooted deeply in truth, that he actually was a bastard. The nickname sobachka was Vasily's way of reminding him of his lower standing. I am above you, it screamed, in every way that matters in this world.

It had taken years, but Nikolai learned to revel in his nickname. He took it for what it was and transformed it into his weapon. Yes, he was a puppy, closer to a commoner than a prince. And if Vasily was the blueprint for what a Prince of Ravka was supposed to be, then Nikolai would be the opposite. And so he'd befriended Dominik, had excelled in everything that Vasily didn't – from his studies to diplomacy and military tactics –, and joined the army as a foot soldier. He worked exceedingly hard to get to the position he had today. Vasily had spent his mandatory service in an honourable position, sitting in a heated room with wine and sugared fruits, far away from the front.

Nikolai felt his brother's annoyance every time he one-upped him. Every time he proved him wrong in front of an ambassador or proposed a better plan to their father's councillors. When they were children, Vasily would've found ways to punish him. But now, Nikolai was bigger, faster and far more clever than him. The only thing left was the snide remarks. The insults that Nikolai had tempered his armour against. They did not hold the same weight for him, even if they still hurt.

He'd worked so hard to be the opposite of his brother. Which is why it hurt so bad when someone showed the same fear, discomfort, and disgust towards him as his brother so often did. It mattered little now, he supposed. What was done was done and he wouldn't be able to fix it even if he wanted to. He honestly wasn't even sure what triggered such a reaction. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, but it was nothing more than a hazy blur.

He just had to get to his room, and then he could wallow in his misery in private. Maybe if he stared up at the ceiling long enough, he would be able to piece it all together.

Four feet separated him from his room's door, but he came to a sudden screeching halt as he walked past an open arch leading out to a balcony. It overlooked the manor's gardens and stood by the railing, was the girl he'd not been able to take his mind off of since the winter fete two and a half years ago.

Saints, he would never get over how beautiful she looked. Even now when all he could see was her back, it stole his breath away. She was not wearing her kefta, leaving her in a long-sleeved cream-coloured shirt. Nikolai got the sudden urge to play hero and offer her his coat because surely she had to be at least a little cold, but he stamped it away. He shouldn't act like a fool in front of her.

He knew he should've turned away and gone to his room. He really did, but how could he possibly help himself when it felt like a glittering golden thread was unspooling between their hearts, pulling him to her? He ached to be around her. There had never been anyone that had made him feel like that. It was a marvel that these kinds of feelings existed at all.

Nothing was separating them except the glass door that led to the balcony. Nikolai pushed it open without a second thought.

Freya looked over her shoulder at him as soon as he stepped towards her. She hesitated for a moment but gave him a small smile. It was stiff and unsure and nothing like the radiant tilt of her lips that he'd come to crave. Nikolai approached her carefully, taking note of every stiff part of her body, of the vice-like grip she had on the granite bannister of the balcony. She looked back out into the garden.

A sense of deja vu hit Nikolai as he took his place beside her at the bannister, staring out into the same direction as her. That night at the winter fete, they'd met just like this. Except she was no longer the young innocent girl that hadn't seen a single moment in battle and he was no longer just the prince.

"Is he alright?" The question fell out of him before he had any chance to stop it. Freya's grip on the bannister tightened. Even she is uncomfortable beside you. The thought stung, but he didn't let it show.

"He's calmed down," she said with a tilt of her head. She was looking at him now, her perfect northern-sea eyes glittering. He could get lost in them. Swim in that unfathomably infinite sea of her soul. "He's asleep now."

Nikolai nodded, letting out a sigh. "That's good." Freya hummed her agreement. An uncomfortably long silence stretched between them. Maybe it was only awkward for him because Freya seemed to be enjoying the silence in his presence. But he wanted to squirm, which was so unlike him, but the need was there all the same.

He despised how much a single thought of his brother and father could throw him off his axis. How they could send him spinning away from what he knew was true and right, all because they existed somewhere in a dark corner of his mind. There was no reality in which he'd ever be able to get rid of them. Not when Vasily's voice rang through his head whenever he made a mistake.

Sobachka.

Bastard.

Nikolai Nothing.

And how would he ever be able to prove himself as anything but those insults? One of them was forever going to be true. He could not change his parentage. Another, he had taken as his own. The Puppy Prince, lesser than his true-born daughter. The last would forever be a blade between his ribs, available for Vasily to twist whenever he deemed it fit.

"It's not your fault you know." Freya's hand on his forearm jerked him back to reality. She was looking at him again, a small tinge of worry painted between the lines of her face. It took a while for him to understand her words. When he did, he shivered despite himself. Relief flooded through him. He nodded his head, not able to find the words for a real answer.

Freya's grip on his arm tightened, offering as much comfort as that small contact allowed. His mind sent off alarm bells when she stepped closer to him.

Nikolai could not help but admire her, now that he was this close. The light of the moon caught in her pale blonde hair, giving it an ethereal sheen that made her seem like a moonlit maiden right out of a fairytale. Her skin was also pale, clean and unmarred by anything except the burn mark on her jaw. Even that, he found beautiful.

Her lips stretched up into a smile. A real smile this time, and it sent Nikolai's mind reeling again.

"You need to tell me more stories of your time in the military," she said, the worry on her face wiped away. Either she was actually interested or she was trying to divert his attention to something else. Nikolai thought it might be a mix of both. He tried to reciprocate her smile.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to step even closer to her. He felt her breath on his neck. It sent his mind spinning back to that night in the medical tent when he had come so close to giving in to his urges. He'd been so angry at himself after that. Freya had just gone through something horrible, something he had experienced mere weeks before that. They both weren't in a good place then. Maybe they weren't now either. Maybe they never would be.

Freya shrugged. "Anything," she said, "I like listening to your voice." There was a quick flash of panic in her ethereal eyes, telling Nikolai that she hadn't meant to let that slip. His chest tightened delightfully.

All of a sudden, he was taking her in again. She tilted her head at a perfect angle, so the moonlight created a white halo-like glow around her hair. And the way she was looking up at him... Saints save him. How was he ever meant to look away from her? How was he ever meant to think of anything or anyone other than Freya Helvar?

She occupied his mind all the time. There hadn't been a day since the winter fete where she hadn't crossed his mind at some point. Whether it was a fleeting memory or hours of daydreaming about her presence close to him, it was there. And he'd never been able to get rid of it. Even when he'd laid down in the muddy trenches at Halmhend, she had been what he thought about. He didn't think he ever wanted her to disappear.

At some points during the past two years, he wasn't sure if he'd ever see her again. When he took his first bullet, when Dominik died, when his regiment was sent into the biggest fray of the fight. But now she was standing in front of him. Her body inches away from his.

And all Nikolai could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened. How the barrier between right and wrong broke down around him. How the tight knot of his restrain unfurled rapidly and sent him rapidly plunging down the pit of his desire.

Nikolai cupped Freya's cheek, running his thumb over the slight red blush. And then he leaned in, already breathless. When his lips touched hers, he felt like he could finally breathe.

The world exploded into a cacophony of colours and feelings, sending an inferno through his veins. He barely registered anything except for her. The perfectly soft lips, the small hitch of her breath when he kissed her, the way she surged forward to reciprocate it.

Freya's fingers dug into his ribs, while the other hand buried itself into his hair, tugging at it in a way that made even more desire explode inside of him. His body was pressed against hers tightly, chest to chest, hip to hip.

What started as a firm press of his mouth turned into a series of hungry kisses. Neither of them could get enough. Freya's body bent as her lower back hit the banister but Nikolai kept pushing forward, a hand firmly set between her shoulder blades.

He wanted more.

More.

More

More.

Eventually, they broke apart, Nikolai still chasing the sweet taste of Freya's lips. They stood there for a while, entangled in each other's arms. Their breaths mixed as they let out ragged gasps and Nikolai let his forehead fall forward to rest on hers. Freya bent her chin upward, stealing one more short kiss from him. It made him feel giddy and hot and it made him want her that much more.

"That was... unexpected," Freya gasped out breathlessly. A short disbelieving but undeniable happy laugh forward. Nikolai wanted to melt into her, bury his face into her shoulder and just inhale her scent. He halfway couldn't believe he'd actually done it.

And then the realization that he'd actually done it seeped in and he was left guessing. Maybe it was just a fleeting moment of vulnerability and she didn't want anything to do with him. Or just wanted him as a friend. He was Nikolai Nothing, after all. What did he bring to the table?

Freya was a Grisha, who would no doubt outlive him. She was a Sound Bender, the first and only of her kind. She was clever and beautiful and perfect in everything that mattered. And what was he? A Prince, but what would that give her? He'd never be able to marry her, no matter how much he might wish it. If she began a relationship with him, she'd only be seen as his mistress. The only thing she'd receive was him and any comfort he'd be allowed to provide to her from his own funds.

Would she want that? He doubted it.

Nikolai drew away, biting the inside of his cheek harshly. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." Freya instantly shook her head, hand coming up to cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch despite himself.

"Don't be sorry," she whispered with a small smile. Saints, she was perfect. Without a second wasted, she leaned towards him again and allowed their lips to meet in a gentler and slower kiss than before.

Nikolai savoured every moment of it.

Author's Note

I wrote this chapter on the bus during my school trip, so it's a bit shorter and there might be a few mistakes that I missed. But I hope you enjoyed it!

Nikolai in everyone else pov: I'm the best thing at this party!

Nikolai in his own pov: and I wouldn't marry me either

Yes I'm currently obsessed with Taylor Swift's new song