IT WAS ONLY a week later that Freya saw Prince Nikolai again. The King was hosting a royal hunt in his youngest son's honour, meant to commemorate his soon leaving to join the army. Freya did not see much honour in the vast amount of money that was spent on the hunt and she thought that Nikolai wouldn't either.

To her surprise, she had received an invitation. The King's seal was pressed into the dark blue wax that had been poured over the letter. Djel, even the paper was bezelled in gold. Freya ran her finger over the edge of the letter, wondering why she had been invited to such an event.

Her answer came later that day when she went to ask the General. She was not the only Grisha invited – Freya would never admit to the small disappointment she felt at that discovery – and the General was going to use the event to try and charm the King's cabinet into providing more funds to the Second Army.

We have half as many soldiers and half as many funds as the First Army, but we are expected the do twice as much. Freya would never forget the words Fedyor had told her once when he had returned from the Fjerdan front. It was cruel and unjust, but so was the way Grisha were handled everywhere else. The distrust towards their kind would never lessen, it seemed.

The task at hand was simple; charm the members of the King's cabinet and make it easier for the General to receive the funds the Second Army needs. That was how Freya found herself being dragged out of bed by Genya and other servants at the break of dawn, dumped into a tub of hot water and scrubbed clean until her skin reddened.

Her hair was washed and then dried. When she was pulled towards the vanity and forced to sit down in front of it, the servants came and tugged on the strands of her pale blonde hair until her scalp burned. In the end, her hair was simply pulled into a half-up-do with a bun at the back of her skull and the rest of her hair was left to fall down her back at its will.

Genya worked on her face, making sure the dark circles beneath her eyes were wiped away and only her pale skin – flawless with a few freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose – was left. She added a soft blush to her cheeks, making it look entirely natural. Finally, she lined her eyes were a coal liner. The dark line was subtle and thin, accentuating the shape of her eyes.

The only thing left now was for her to be dressed in the dark blue kefta embroidered with violet. Genya shooed the other servants away, claiming that she could finish up by herself. When the door closed behind the other servants, Genya heaved a heavy sigh and slowly turned around. There was a look of dread on her face that caused Freya's breath to hitch. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her.

"Freya," Genya began but paused as if what she wanted to say was too difficult to get past her lips. "I want... I want you to be careful out there." Freya would have smiled and uttered a joke about how she was always careful had she not sensed there was something far more sinister and worrying that Genya was referring to. It was not a simple 'be careful, don't be trampled by an elk'.

"What do you mean?" Freya carefully asked, standing up from the stool in front of the vanity. Her robe suddenly felt incredibly thin. Too thin to chase away the cold and the shiver that ran over her spine.

"You are the only Grisha who hasn't finished her training to be invited. You are also the only woman." Freya blinked. She had not been told that detail. She had assumed all kinds of Grisha had been invited. "The King requested you personally."

"The King?" Freya was baffled. "Not the Prince?" A pang of disappointment shot through the pit of her stomach. She had hoped it was Nikolai that had invited her, though she supposed the King's seal should have told her that was not true. She had enjoyed the conversations she had had with the youngest Prince. She would go as far as to say she started considering him a friend, even. When Genya nodded in confirmation, Freya pressed her lips tightly together. "Why should I be careful?'

Genya did not answer verbally, but the way she suddenly shrank in on herself was answer enough. Freya hoped that the thought that came to her mind was not true. But Genya's sudden fiddling with the hem of her white servant's kefta, the visible gulp, the aversion of her eyes from Freya's own and the look of shame told her it was.

Freya was well aware of the things men were capable of. Her mother had always kept her close during festivities when the night grew darker and the ale poured. Freya had witnessed many times how a drunken man pulled a serving girl onto his lap despite her protests, how he fondled her. They always laughed and joked. The girls, however, always looked close to tears.

"Genya..." Freya breathed, unsure of how she should approach this. "Did he...?" Genya exhaled shakily, then gave a single and hard nod. Freya felt her throat close up and she quickly stepped forward, pulling Genya into her arms. Genya pushed her face into her shoulder and her body shivered. "Does the General know?"

"Yes." Freya's brows furrowed.

"And he has done nothing?" she asked in disbelief. Genya pulled back from the hug and smoothed out her slightly rumpled kefta. She looked over Freya's shoulder for a moment, not entirely being able to meet her gaze.

"He offered to send me away," she said, and some small weight was lifted off of Freya's shoulders. She was angry with the General for a number of reasons, but knowing that he would allow one of his own students to be violated in such a way would have been a different sort of anger. She was happy that was not the case. But despite the General's offer, Genya was still in the Grand Palace, which meant he was taking a long time to get her out, or-

"You refused him?" Freya cried in disbelief. She could not imagine staying in the vicinity of the King if he ever did to her what he did to Genya. She doubted she would be able to even look at him anymore after this conversation. Freya looked over Genya's body. She was so slim, so small. And the King... he was fat, sweaty, drunk and reeked constantly of his favourite wine. It made bile rise in her throat, imagining him on top of her.

"I want to serve the Second Army in any way I can," Genya said, shaking her head. "I am a spy, Freya, it was what I was trained to do." She and Freya had rarely spoken in their lives. It was a big thing to admit to, spying on the King. But emotions were running high and Freya would never do anything to put Genya in danger.

"Genya... you can serve the Second Army in other ways!" Genya shook her head, blinking rapidly to chase away tears.

"Not anymore. Most of the Grisha hate me for having 'privileges' and sleeping in the Grand Palace," she said, "I am not viewed as one of you. Just because you do not despise me doesn't mean others don't." Freya distantly recalled a brown-haired Inferni girl called Marie laughing at Genya's white kefta, calling her arrogant and forgetful of her place. She was a girl that Freya had hardly spoken to, well aware of the things she said about her as well. The names she called her ranged from something relatively harmless such as foreigner to much more hurtful things like freak.

It seemed that the very words that otkazats'ya used when speaking of Grisha, some of Freya's own peers used against her. And apparently, Marie disliked everyone who was not like her. Or better than her, Freya thought as she remembered the look of disdain she had seen Zoya when she had beaten her in a sparring match.

"I'm sorry." It was the only thing that Freya could say, really. Genya shrugged, then wiped her nose awkwardly.

"Just promise me that you will be careful." Freya nodded.

"I promise."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The forest around Os Alta was owned by the King so that only he could hunt in it. The area was filled to the brim with wildlife, animals that could feed the starving peasants who lived nearby if they were allowed to hunt as the King was. The lush green trees were tall, their trunks thick and wide. Their leaves whispered on the wind every time a gust of it came.

The hunt was not what Freya had expected. She had thought they would be tracking the game with rifles in hand, instead, they stood in a large tent that was set up to keep the nobles from the blistering sun. Wine in hand, the King lounged in a great armchair that had been brought out just for him. He was not the one hunting, no, he had people for that. They would track the prey for him and then capture it. He would only skewer it with the gilded spear he had received the year prior for his birthday.

It was sickening, Freya thought. But at least it was a great place for the General to charm his way into the nobles' good graces.

Genya had been right, she was the only Grisha her age there and the only Grisha woman. There were noblewomen that had come along, but they were dressed in their wide skirts and tight bodices and adorned in jewels. They would not be hunting. And Freya doubted they would wish to speak to her once they got the pleasantries out of the way.

Words were exchanged quickly and luckily without a fuss. The ladies fawned over her pale blonde hair and her kefta, some even asking her to show off her powers again. Freya did so after casting a quick look at the General. He wasn't looking at her, instead speaking to King Pyotr's brother and nephew. The older Duke pulled strange faces at times while his son tried to school his face to look like he understood whatever the General was saying. Charm the nobles, and receive the funds.

"You have not been sent to the front yet have you? You look far too young!" one of the ladies cried, a hand placed above her heart as if she was truly afraid for Freya's life. Freya shook her and made a show of her smile faltering.

"Not yet, my lady, but I will be soon," she said, trying to make her voice sound sombre. Sad, but with acceptance. She could not escape such a fate after all. "I will be sent to the worst of the battles, most likely. The Second Army does not have enough funds to keep me and my peers off the battlefield for much longer."

Some of the ladies wiped their eyes as if they were close to tears. Freya did everything she could not showing the snarl that fought its way onto her face. In the end, her lips simply turned down for a moment, and that seemed to endear her to them even more. A lady placed a hand on her shoulder.

"But surely the General must do so!"

"He can only do so much, my lady. Many Grisha are perishing on the front lines and most of the medical supplies go to the First Army encampments." The mention of the First Army was a mistake, seeing how some of the ladies suddenly seemed disheartened. They thought she was blaming the otkazats'ya soldiers for the Second Army's troubles. Freya was quick to amend that. "It is a good thing, of course. The infantry is very important to our country's defence and they do not have Grisha Healers at hand most of the time. It is simply a shame that due to the lack of funds, the Second Army cannot provide enough for itself, and therefore cannot serve the country to the best of its abilities."

That seemed to smooth over most of the frowns, and some of the ladies were even nodding along. Freya pushed down the smile that tried to force its way up. Talking to the wives of the nobles could be just as useful as talking to the nobles themselves. Surely some of the women had their husband's ear. Some maybe even have their heart.

"My husband claims that the First Army does most of the work on the frontlines! It is only right they receive the money!" One of the ladies exclaimed, hiding her stuck-up chin behind a gilded fan. Freya's eyes snapped to her as anger bubbled beneath her skin.

We have half as many soldiers and half as many funds as the First Army, but we are expected to do twice as much. Freya's lips curled in disgust.

"My lady, almost all of the Grisha soldiers are sent to the front lines. Do you know why that is?" The lady's nostrils flared at Freya's suddenly much harsher tone. "It is because we have capabilities of ordinary First Army soldiers. It is us that can set entire fields on fire, us that can stop the hearts of the enemy's men. We are used as cannon fodder when the worst of the battles are fought. If we get captured, there is no hope of rescue because Fjerda burns us and the Shu Han cuts into us to experiment."

One Grisha soldier is worth ten otkazats'ya on the battlefield, Ivan had ones said when Freya had once asked him and Fedyor about the front. He had taken a bullet and the scar was still pink and fresh. Freya only knew about its existence because of Fedyor, but as Ivan said those words he rubbed the very spot on his collarbone where the bullet had supposedly pierced his skin.

The noblewomen looked at Freya with stunned gazes, unsure of what to say. Some seemed genuinely affected by her words, others seemed to turn their noses up as if she had offended them in the worst way possible. Unfortunately, the latter seemed to be the most frequent when Freya scanned their faces.

She bit her tongue sharply, tasting the soft metallic taste of blood. With a deep inhale, she swallowed up all her pride.

"You must forgive me, ladies," she began, rubbing hands together and looking at the ground to appear meek and as young as she was. "I have lost a lot of friends lately. The war is no good for any of Ravka's people." She hadn't lost any friends, in reality, but the long list of casualties was read off at the end of the week during dinner time to pay homage to the Grisha who had passed. Freya was well aware of the number of Second Army soldiers that met their end daily. She did not have to know them personally or up close. She just had to know that she had heard their names before, seeing their faces as they passed her in the halls. Or even just know that they had once lived in the Little Palace before she had and had met their end at the pointed end of a sabre, the sharpened blade of an axe, or the deadly force of a bullet.

"I am sure the ladies completely understand," Nikola's voice came suddenly from behind her. Freya turned around just as hastily as the other ladies. They curtsied and she bowed, not wearing the same long and puffy gowns that they did. She muttered the usual appropriate greeting when seeing the prince. "Forgive me, but I must steal Miss Helvar away from you, my ladies." 

The noblewomen nodded their agreement with charming – but admittedly fake – smiles and waved Freya off. She took Nikolai's offered arm gladly and let him lead her away. A huff of relief pushed its way passed her lips.

"I'm sorry you had to hear my outburst, moi tsarevitch," she apologised, not entirely sure if Nikolai would take offence to the things she said. She knew that the King and his brother most certainly would. She did not miss the way Prince Vasily sneered any time he was around Grisha. 

"Nikolai," he corrected. "And do not be sorry at all. I happen to agree with you in most of what you said." Surprise coursed through her body, but she hid the suddenness of it well. Still, she raised her brows at him to show her shock, wanting him to elaborate. "My father does not acknowledge all that the Second Army does for Ravka. The Saints know that our country would have long since fallen to Shu Han or to Fjerda had it not been for our Grisha."

Freya nodded solemnly. "And what do you disagree with?" Nikolai paused to think for a moment as if assembling his words before he spoke. 

"It is difficult to supply both armies with the limit resources that Ravka can work with," he said. "I know the Second Army feels that it has been scorned as of late, but Ravka does not have unlimited funds and the First Army does not have Grisha Healers or Durast-made bulletproof kefta at its disposal."

"No, they do not, but they are ordinary soldiers." The words were harsh, especially when Nikolai himself would be leaving very soon to join the infantry. He too would be an ordinary soldier then. One Grisha soldier is worth ten otkazat'sya on the battlefield. Freya did not think she should say those words aloud. "That does mean that they aren't important, but most otkazats'ya soldiers will die before they even fire a single bullet from their rifles. Grisha are rarer, capable of far more damage and in the context of winning wars far more valuable. It is why we are targeted on the battlefield above all else. That is why we wear bulletproof kefta, not because we think our lives are worth more in everyday life." 

"You are not wrong in that," Nikolai agreed, then stirred her a bit further from camp. Genya's warning flashed through Freya's mind for a second, but then she quelled it. Nikolai had shown no signs of being like his father. He was kind, understanding, and open to new information. Smart, cunning, hard-working, those were things that were said about him, traits that Freya had not been witness to as much just yet. It would come, she knew. Nikolai managed to surprise her with every meeting. "Is there anything you know the Second Army needs the most? I could try to convince my father."

Freya sighed and shook her head. "I am not privy to the meetings that happen in the General's war room. I just know that the Second Army lacks in funds"

"Funds that the royal family cannot give easily."

"You live in a palace with gilded windows, silverware made out of pure silver with rubies embedded into it, plates made of porcelain made only in Shu Han. Your mother wears dresses that cost more than a peasant makes their entire life, a single piece of her humblest jewellery could feed a family of twelve for an entire year." Freya felt anger rising in her again. "Do not tell me you do not have the money, my prince." She thought for a moment to pull herself away from him but decided that would not look good to any onlookers.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to offend." Nikolai looked away for a moment, clearly ashamed of his own family. At least he was aware. At least he knew that it was a problem. Freya shook her head in dismissal, a silent acceptance of his apology. After a moment of silence, Nikolai said, "Would you like to join the hunting party? It is not as fun as everyone makes it out to be, but certainly more entertaining than sitting in a tent with my father and his ever-drunk cabinet."

Freya breathed a laugh. "Yes, that sounds much better."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Joining the hunting party was indeed more exciting than staying at the encampment, but it wasn't as thrilling as Freya had hoped it would be. The General had waved her off when she asked permission, taking one look at the Prince waiting for her and agreeing almost happily. Almost, the man rarely showed any signs of emotion.

The trackers the King had hired to find his prey for him did not speak with her. It seemed they took their job seriously, though Freya was unsure how serious they could be about it when they stomped against the dirt floor of the forest and trampled everything in sight. Their loud and barking hounds did not help either. Occasionally, they would run off in a direction, only to return with grumbled complaints.

A hunting rifle had been shoved into her hands, and Freya had to wonder if this was how the drafted sixteen-year-olds felt when they completed their basic training. Probably not, she decided. They probably felt a lot more dread and fear than she did.

"Do you know how to handle this, girl?" the man who had given it to her had asked, his grey scruffy beard practically hiding his lips from sight. The only sign that he had been the one to speak was how it bent and shifted as his jaw moved.

"Yes," Freya had answered, taking the rifle carefully from his hands. It was a half-truth, she had only held a rifle a few times in her life and she wasn't the best shot by any means. She still took it though, just because she enjoyed the small glint of approval that shined in the man's eyes as he nodded and walked away from her.

Nikolai grinned as he approached her with his own rifle, and after that, they had gone off into the woods and walked until the King's tent was out of sight. A good thing, Freya supposed. She did not enjoy the presence of the noblemen nor the noblewomen there in the slightest.

After two hours of endless walking and taking in the scenery of the woods around her, Freya had fallen back slightly. Even Nikolai had left her behind now, taken up in the wave of excitement when one of the trackers shouted that a herd of deer was close. 

Freya did not much care. Djel did not preach useless killing. Death must always serve a purpose, her father had said. Looking back, his words seemed empty and false. What use was there in his death, in the end? What use was there in the lives he took when he served as a drüskelle? Did the people he put to the sword truly deserve such a cruel end?

Not for the first time, Freya felt self-hatred simmer beneath her skin. What would her father think of her now? A Grisha, one of the Darkling's favourites, having a chit-chat with the Ravkan prince. He would curl his lips up just as the noblewomen did, except he would do it out of pure hatred. Disgust. Animosity. The reality that he had fathered a drusje would have him repulsed no doubt.

And the rest of her family... she did not know what to think. Her mother had never held such contempt towards Grisha as her father did, but she was a pious woman and the priests of Djel preached that Grisha was a sin, unnatural, made by the devil. She would not be happy about her state either. Skadi had been young when she was taken, Freya doubted she would even remember her. By now, all that her sister would say when people asked about her family was I had a sister, her name was Freya, and she was taken. There would be no kindness, no endearing attachment. She would shrug and go about her day. 

Freya hated that the memories of her family were fading. As if she had drawn them in the sand and the sea had come to wash them away.

The only things that were seared into her mind properly, unforgettable, like a brand on one's skin, was Matthias' face as he snarled the word drusje at her, her father's scorched skin, and the way her mother's hair looked from the back when she was running towards the woods, Skadi in hand. After that there were only sensations; someone's voice, the feel of callouses on her father's hand, the smell of her mother's herbs.

When Freya found her way out of the labyrinth of her mind, she realised the hunting party was even further than before. She could not even see them anymore and their voices were rapidly fading. Her heartbeat picked up with sudden fear. She did not know her way around these woods. She doubted she could find her way back either. She was about to shout, to call out to the trackers and to Nikolai, but the words hitched in her throat when she saw what was in front of her.

Either the world liked to play tricks on her, or it sensed her sudden vying for home. Before her stood a tall ash tree, its feather-like leaves bright green and its trunk thick and strong. It had been standing here for a while, possibly centuries. Tears gathered in her eyes.

The ash tree was a symbol of Djel. Drüskelle sometimes carried around pendants with the shape of an ash wood carved into the medal or wood as a sign of good luck. A way to carry Djel everywhere with them. 

Was the world laughing at her or did it wish to offer her some comfort? While Freya had not quite been able to shake the religion that she had been raised with, there were certain aspects of it that she despised. The way Djel would supposedly look upon her was one of them, though she doubted that it was actually true. Djel was a benevolent god, everything living was connected to him. Surely she had to be too, despite her Grisha abilities.

Freya blinked away the tears and simply stared for a moment, taking in the shape of the tree, the twist of its branches. It was beautiful indeed. It called to her, and so Freya slipped the strap of the rifle from her shoulder and set it down carefully into the dirt. Then she kneeled down slowly, ignoring the soft protest of her thighs as the heels of her boots digging into the back of them.

She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. She was not sure if she was praying or if she was just taking it in. No words ran through her mind, not pleas or gratitude. Perhaps she just wished to do what she had always done with her mother after supper every day when her belly was full and she was warm and loved. They gave thanks to Djel together then, and the approving smile of both of her parents when she recited the prayers alone and without their help was enough to make her want to do it, again and again, every day.

She had stopped praying as often. When she had been taken to the Little Palace, it was all she had wanted to do. But self-loathing and the acknowledgement that she was Grisha and that her god might despise her had kept her from doing so. And so she had cut the only tie she had with him, and instead only recited small prayers in her mind when walking to training or when she went to bed particularly anxious. Those were not prayers of thanks, however. They were prayers of fear and discomfort and worry.

Now, she simply knelt on the ground and breathed, felt the air stretching her lungs with every second, then the sensation of them deflating once more. The forest thrummed with life around her. She wondered how many roots interlocked beneath the earth where she knelt. How many bugs and small rodents made their home in it? Leaves billowed in the wind, birds chirped somewhere close to her and in the distance she could hear the murmur of a creek. She felt the bending of the sound without having to reach out with her hands. It was simply there at the back of her mind. A part of her as everything else was.

"Am I interrupting you?" Freya let her eyes slowly open. She had sensed Nikolai's approach minutes before he had found her, and felt the nervous fluttering of sound waves from his heart when he realised he could not see her. She smiled, knowing that he had been worried about her. It was sweet, and kind, something no other otkazats'ya had done in a long while.

"No, I was just finishing up," she answered, pushing herself up and dusting off her trousers. She picked up the rifle from the ground and slung it across her shoulder once more. "Did you locate the herd?"

Nikolai shook his head. "No, they lost it again." He extended a hand to her and Freya smiled. This was not the same offered arm from before when she was with the noblewomen. That had been courtly, a show of respect that a Prince had to give. This was a turned-up palm waiting for the weight of her own in it, a sweet gesture that Freya had seen from her young couples in her village. She accepted the offered arm, feeling a shiver run down her spine at the contact. 

Did Nikolai even realise what they were doing? She doubted the King would be very happy if he saw the display of affection. Affection, Freya let the word roll around in her mind. She and Nikolai had barely spent time together. Sure, they spoke for a while at the winter fete and then spent a few hours roaming the greenhouse and the training rooms that had been built for her, but could she truly call this affection?

For a moment, Freya wondered if she should heed Genya's warning now. Perhaps this was Nikolai's way of seducing her, perhaps he was not as angry and abhorrent about it as his father was. No, even if he was seducing her, it was not at all what the King did to Genya, what he probably did to many others. Besides, Nikolai's ears seemed suddenly flushed and he looked away from her for a moment, as if hiding the redness that had no doubt come across his cheeks as well. Freya felt her grin widen.

A branch cracked somewhere behind them and they both stilled. Nikolai let go of her hand, instead trailing his hand up her arm until he could grip her just above her elbow and slowly tug her closer to him, then behind him. He carefully turned around, not wanting to frighten whatever was behind them.

He released a sigh. "It's alright," he said, releasing his grip and letting his hand fall from her arm. "It's just as deer." A deer could still be dangerous if it was frightened enough to fight for its life, but when Freya turned around to look at it she had to admit the fright left her as well. She had feared a boar or a large angry stag. This deer was smaller than most, though obviously not a youngling. It could not hurt them even if it wanted to. "Do you want to shoot it?"

The words were a little shocking, Freya had to admit. "Why?" Nikolai shrugged.

"It is why we're here, are we not?"

"I suppose, but shouldn't the King have the honours?" It was why the trackers were even looking for the herd of deer that they had been tracking for hours now. They would capture one deer, probably tie it up with some rope and bring it straight to the King, who would then finally get his arse out of his armchair so he could skewer the poor thing before he toasted to his triumph.

Nikolai snorted. "This hunt is supposed to commemorate me, not my father."

"You shoot it then."

"Ladies first." Freya punched his arm, somehow not startling the deer not even twenty feet away from them. Nikolai let out a low laugh. "Have you even hunted anything before?"

"Have you?" she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. Nikolai nodded, a look on his face that told her it was rather obvious. She supposed it was, he had probably attended a thousand hunts just like this one in his short lifetime. She thought about killing the deer, about how it would feel. "But... it's so small and innocent looking."

"True, maybe I should keep it as a pet." Nikolai shrugged, grinning at the look she threw his way. She sighed, pulling the leather strap of the gun from her shoulders and taking hold of it. One hand held it close to the trigger, resting a finger on it, while the other came to the foreshock. She pressed the butt of the gun to her sternum. "Your elbows are too low." Nikolai corrected her stance with a soft push of his hand. "And your back isn't straight enough, no– don't slouch your shoulders." 

She was beginning to be a little exasperated, but at the same time, she was glad he was helping her. She knew well enough that shooting a rifle improperly could lead to a bruised chest if one was not careful.

"Here," Nikolai said, and then his back was pressed to her own. Freya's breath hitched at the feeling of his chest against her, but that was nothing compared to the way his arms came around her afterwards. It was her turn to blush, the heat pouring under the skin of her cheeks. She stilled her breathing, her entire body rigid in his hold. But then her body relaxed, almost involuntarily. His hands settled over her own, his chest held her back in the right position, and his head was inches from her own, breath fanning her right ear. Her blush reddened further at the heat of it. "Take aim." 

She did as he said, shifting her body until the rifle's sight was pointed at the deer's body. "Like this?" Her voice was light and breathless. Nikolai hummed, his lips incredibly close to her ear. It sent a rush through her body, a kind of sensation she did not think she could feel.

"Whenever you're ready," he said to her, his hands still on hers and his body still pressed to hers. Freya breathed in, then out and after a few moments of contemplation, of is this serving a purpose, she pulled the trigger. The recoil of the gun pushed through her body, rocking her and Nikolai slightly. The sound of the bullet firing echoed through the woods. A thud followed as the deer collapsed to the floor, huffing wildly in pain as it writhed on the ground. 

Freya suddenly felt regret, but she did not have much time to contemplate that as Nikolai carefully pulled himself away from her body. It was cruel of her to be disappointed at the sudden absence of his warmth when a creature was dying a painful death in front of her. Nikolai rushed to the deer and she followed after him, kneeling down by the deer's head.

Nikolai pulled a knife from somewhere beneath his coat, the blade glinting in the sunlight. He brought it to the deer's neck, right where an artery most definitely was. Good, Freya thought. It was better to rid the poor thing of its misery. Just as Nikolai was about to let the knife pierce the deer's flesh, Freya's hand shot out to stop him.

"Wait." Nikolai stopped instantly, his eyes snapping to hers. "I want to be the one to end it." She had been the one to shoot the bullet, she should be the one to end it as well. It was only fair. She should not show cowardice at the last moment.

Nikolai nodded and handed the blade to her, muttering a soft alright. The handle of the knife was warm from his hand, but Freya decided not to pay attention to that and instead turned her gaze to the dying deer. Its onyx black eyes were wide and skittering, not focusing on a single thing for too long. Freya placed a hand on its side, not realising how close to the wound she had laid her hand until she felt the sticky warmth of the deer's blood coat her palm. She fought back the short bout of sickness that came along with it and placed the blade of the hunting knife to the deer's neck, right where Nikolai had put it moments before.

"Djel will absolve me," she muttered in Fjerdan, and then she pushed the blade down to the hilt. The blood poured out almost instantaneously, becoming more rapid when she pulled the blade out.

It took only moments after that for the light to leave those onyx-black eyes.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The noblewomen stared when they returned to camp. Not at the trackers dragging the deer's body with them, not at the way the Prince laughed with the pale-haired Grisha girl. No, they stared at the blood coating her hand, the blood on one side of her face where Freya had accidentally smeared it during the journey back. At the hair that had been pulled astray from the perfect hairdo it had been kept in before, the dirtied kefta and trousers. Some of them lifted their fans to cover their faces, revealing only their scornful gazes.

Freya chose to ignore them to the best of her abilities, instead paying attention to literally anything else. The General approached her quicker than she expected, a small furrow between his brows as he eyed the blood on her face and hand – some of it on her kefta too.

"Are you alright?" he asked in that usual diplomatic tone as if showing care for one of his students was something he could not afford. He probably couldn't, not with every nobleman's scrutinising gaze on them. Rumours were dangerous things, and a General seen as someone weak would most certainly do not good for the Grisha. Freya nodded quickly, not wanting to worry him – she knew he was worried, despite his coldness. 

She wondered for only a moment if he felt such emotion towards Luca as well. If the distance he kept between them was just another way to secure the position of the Second Army. Was he simply treating his son like he did every other student? Freya knew that jealousy was a common thing in the Little Palace, it would not surprise her if someone would grow angry and bitter at Luca for any affection that might be shown. 

Or perhaps he just simply did not care, and Luca was right. She sincerely hoped the former was true, for Luca's sake.

The General had eventually walked off, called away by the King for a conversation that was no doubt dull and unimportant. Freya was glad she did not have to deal with such things. The King's eyes met hers for a moment, but Freya pretended to not notice, instead turning to Nikolai again. I want you to be careful out there. Genya's voice rang like bells through her mind. 

"The King requested me personally today." The words came barrelling from her lips before she could stop them. Nikolai's eyes widened the tiniest margin. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. The growing pit in Freya's stomach worsened. So there was cause to worry. She hadn't known why she had let the words slip so easily, but not it seemed plainly obvious. She wanted help, some protection. A shield that had not been offered to Genya when she needed it.

"Please, stay away from him if you can," Nikolai pleaded, and it surprised Freya how openly he said such things about his father. The words did not mean anything outright, but the implication of them, of the tone of his voice, was there. "I will be leaving in two weeks' time. I suspect this is the last time we will see each other in a while. I cannot protect you when I'm not here."

Freya nodded. Yes, she knew that, but the disappointment still left her releasing a puff of air. "I will try, I promise." They were empty words, really. If the King decided he wanted her, he would get her, whether she wanted to or not. Perhaps she would have greater protection than Genya, but it would not last long. What could the General truly do against the King? The standing of the Grisha was as precarious as ever. Would he really risk falling from the King's good graces for one girl?

Would he risk it all for just one person?

Nikolai nodded. "Thank you." Then he paused and grinned, chasing away the negativity of their previous topic. "I hope to see you again soon, despite my leaving." Freya laughed softly at that and nodded.

"I hope so too."

Freya did not see him again for two years.