THE WINTER FETE that year was much more extravagant than the one Freya previously went to. The King and Queen spared no expense. Nothing was missing, from imported flowers from the Southern Colonies to rich wines from the richest Shu territories. The ballroom was an explosion of colour and scents, so much so that Freya's eyes watered when she entered.

Arm in arm with Zoya, the two of them looked around bewildered. She gaped at the contortionists and the acrobats, gawked at a man who swallowed fire and laughed at a monkey taught to do tricks. It felt like she stepped into a new world.

Zoya's first destination, unsurprisingly, was the buffet, where she took two glasses of wine into her hands. One of them, she gave Freya. She looked divine with her raven hair done up, her blue kefta much similar to Freya's own, save for the differently coloured embroidery. Freya felt just as beautiful, with her hair pulled back into a braid crown, some of the locks left to tumble down her back. A string of pearls was woven into the braid, matching the chain of pearls around her neck.

It did not take long for Zoya to leave her. The second she felt the alcohol kick in, the Squaller stalked off to flirt with a handsome nobleman. Even from afar, Freya could see the man was instantly taken with Zoya. Of course, he was. Her laugh was a melody no bard could ever recreate. No poet could ever put it into words.

Zoya's departure didn't leave Freya alone, however. Having only been to one fete, the nobles who hadn't gotten a chance to speak with her last now hoarded around her. Freya's cheeks strained from the smile she forced onto her face, and she grew increasingly bored. This one man – an Earl's son, if she remembered correctly – seemed dead set on seducing her. He went on and on about his father's lands in the south. He was not an unattractive man, Freya had to admit. But the way his words slurred and the trajectory of his eyes all over her form was off-putting.

She was glad when the trumpets sounded, and the announcer's voice boomed, "Their majesties, the Tsar and Tsaritsa!" As the man turned his head to look at the royal couple entering, Freya quickly slipped away from him, letting herself be sucked in by the crowd. A moment later, the two princes were announced as well.

Freya craned her neck to look over someone's shoulder at Nikolai, smiling when her eyes landed on him. It had been two weeks since she last saw him last. The crimson clover on her table was a constant gift sent by him. Every other day, to replace those that had wilted. Sometimes, he sent other gifts as well. Once, a servant brought her a book of poems with some highlighted with coloured ink. It didn't take Freya long to realise they were meant to be about her. On another day, she'd received a box of expensive chocolate, which she feasted upon readily.

Nikolai had never looked so well put together as he did then. His golden hair wasn't messy at all, his eyes shined brightly, and he was dressed in the creme royal regalia, sporting some of his hard-won military medals. The medal for bravery shined the brightest of them all, dulling Vasily, who walked beside him with nothing more than the badges he earned sitting behind a desk.

The music and conversation picked up once the King and Queen were seated on the throne. King Pyotr had somehow gotten even fatter than he had been two years prior, and the Queen stood out beside him with her beauty. Fake beauty, Freya knew. She wondered how long Genya had to spend on that.

Freya paid them no mind. The only royal she truly cared about was Nikolai, anyway. Unfortunately, she couldn't speak to him yet. She wanted nothing more than to stride up to him and pull him onto the dance floor. But that would be unseemly in the eyes of most, treasonous of others. Instead, she subjugated herself to a dull lousy conversation with noblemen who only wanted to flaunt their wealth in her face.

Never mind that she was a soldier with little taste for their unauspicious spending. She felt herself inwardly cringe whenever one of them tossed out a number. How many villages could be fed with that amount of money? How many soldiers could have warmer clothes and better weapons? She chose not to think on it lest she rile herself up even more.

Luckily for her, Zoya soon found her again and dragged her away.

"You should've seen how he was looking at me," Zoya bragged as the two stood by the far wall, watching everyone else as they mingled and danced. Freya had long forgotten which nobleman she spoke of and decided she was better for it. Zoya revelled in the attention she got from men. She enjoyed rejecting them and sauntering away even more. While Freya could barely force herself to flirt with men, Zoya did it daily. And for her entertainment at that.

"With the utmost love and devotion?" Freya joked, taking a long sip of her wine. It was a bit too sweet, but it was better than nothing. "Or perhaps with a burning desire to get you into bed?" Zoya laughed, tossing her head back. Freya didn't doubt she'd choose one of the men here to take to her bed that night. Zoya's freedom in such things had always fascinated her, for Freya could never do something like that. She lacked the courage and the confidence.

Or perhaps not, she thought as she looked back into the room and caught Nikolai staring directly at her. Noticing her eyes on him, he grinned and jerked his head subtly towards the large glass door on the other side of the ballroom. Freya's breath hitched, and she answered with a barely noticeable nod. His response to that was an even wider grin, and then he turned away from his family and disappeared into the crowd.

"Excuse me," Freya breathed, shoving her glass of wine into Zoya's hand. As she walked away from her, she heard Zoya laugh to herself. She must've seen the exchange because Freya swore she heard her whisper good luck.

The crowd pushed her in various directions, but Freya tried to avoid the drunkards and the clumsy people. She walked around the side of the ballroom, careful not to get pulled into another conversation. When she reached the door leading out to the garden, she sighed her relief.

She stepped out onto the terrace. It was the same raised terrace she had met Nikolai on two years prior, and the memory left her a little giddy. Had anyone told her back then that she'd be stealing away from the fete with the Prince of Ravka, that she would kiss and comfort him and desire him, she would've laughed in their face.

The terrace was empty, and Freya's brows furrowed in confusion. She was sure that Nikolai had wanted to meet her here. She looked around, approaching the balustrade and looking down into the dark garden. The moon was almost at its fullest, providing enough light to illuminate most pathways and bushes. Everything glistened with a fresh layer of snow. She was glad for the fur that lined her kefta. The air was chilly, but it only nipped at her ears and cheeks.

Nikolai wasn't anywhere in the garden. Not that she could see anyway. Most of the bushes were tall and obstructed her view. She looked around again. Finally, she saw something. A familiar pair of gloves rested on the balustrade by the stairs leading down into the garden. Nikolai had worn those earlier that evening. Did he put them there as a sign of where to go? It was the most likely, she thought.

She picked up the cream-coloured gloves and carefully walked down the stairs and into the garden. The snow crunched beneath her boots. The air seemed to grow colder the longer she was out of the ballroom. She clung to the gloves tightly, but they provided little warmth when they weren't on her hands directly.

"Nikolai!" she called out to him, unsure where to go. The gardens were huge, and five different pathways began at the foot of the stairs. No one answered, so Freya picked one. The bushes surrounding her were enormous, towering over her like some fabled monsters. She was glad for the moonlight. It provided enough sight for her not to crash into anything head-on.

The further she walked into the gardens, the quieter the chatter and music got. The ballroom was far behind her now, as was everyone in it. No one would see her unless they stood on the same pathway as she did. She wondered if that was Nikolai's plan. Her cheeks reddened at the thought.

"Nikolai!" she called out again. And then, "Kolya!" A pair of warm arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and she let out a most undignified screech. Nikolai pulled her tightly against his chest, lips pressing to her jaw firmly. His teeth grazed her skin directly over the burn scar, and she shivered.

"Say that again," he gasped against her ear, grasping her hip tightly with one hand. Freya's mind came to a stuttering halt. What did he want her to say again? She could hardly recall her previous words. Her hands groped for purchase behind her, and finally, one of them settled in his hair. The ache the position gave her was easy to ignore, especially with his entire chest pressed against her back and his warm breath fanning over her neck and jaw as he kissed her there repeatedly.

The nickname came back to her. "Kolya," she breathed the word. Nikolai groaned and spun her around in his hold, pressing their foreheads together. He spoke another breathless 'again'. "Kolya." His mouth was on hers, kissing and biting. It was a ruthless pace he set, but Freya fought hard to keep up with him. She pulled at his hair and moaned against his mouth.

"It's been too long since I had you like this," he rasped and latched to her neck again, sucking a mark onto the skin. Freya's eyes fluttered closed.

They kissed like that until something cold hit her cheek. Freya's lungs burned with the lack of air, and she drew away just barely, only an inch between their faces. She looked up. Snow began to fall, and the moonlight glinted off the individual snowflakes. When she turned back towards Nikolai, he was already staring at her, lips parted slightly. The snow landed on his head, decorating his golden hair with flecks of white.

He raised his hand to her cheek, skimming his fingers over her skin. "I'm leaving for Ketterdam in a month," he said. The sudden change in topic made her mind reel, and she blinked at him stupidly for a moment. "My father wants me to study at the university there. I don't know how long I'll be away for."

Freya didn't know what to say to that. Some distant part of her heart ached, but she squashed that feeling before it could grow. Dread seeped into her bones, and she took a step back. This wasn't his fault. She knew that. It was the King's command. But that didn't mean the disappointment and anger weren't there. He took her out here tonight, knowing he was going to tell her this. Knowing he was leaving. And he'd kissed her anyway. Made her feel wanted and needed.

"Oh," she breathed, unsure of what else to say. Nikolai's brows furrowed, and the corners of his lips turned down. He looked a little disappointed, but what was she supposed to say? Did he expect her to drop to her knees and beg him not to go? Was she meant to congratulate him with a smile and wave him off, happy to be left behind now that he's had his fill with her? The thought made her cringe as soon as it crossed her mind. Nikolai wasn't like that. Surely, he wasn't.

But he was leaving anyway, and he'd taken her out here, kissed her until she couldn't breathe, and now he was telling her he was leaving. It wasn't much better. She thought back to the fresh vase of crimson clover on her table and wished he hadn't sent it earlier that moment.

"Excuse me, moi tsarevitch," she said, surprising even herself with the sudden use of formality. Nikolai's frown deepened, and his lips parted to remind her to use his name, but she was already walking past him, arms crossed tight around her torso to prevent the cold. And to hide from him.

Her shoulders collapsed forward, making her smaller as she walked away. The snow crunched beneath her feet. But there was no sound emanating from behind her. He wasn't following her, and she was glad. The air seemed to get colder and colder the more she moved away from him, and by the time she turned a corner, he disappeared entirely from her view, and she was shivering.

The pulsating of her heart hammered in her ears. She blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Not now. It was weak and pointless. She knew the entire time that nothing could come from this thing with Nikolai. Yet it still pained her. Djel knew how long he'd be gone, and she didn't want to spend her life waiting for a prince that could never be with her anyway. Why should she?

When she reached the stairs leading back up to the patio, she almost slipped on a sheet of ice. She caught herself just in time. The stone of the railing bit into the palm of her skin. She was breathing heavily, uncomfortably so, and she tried her best to regulate it before she stepped back inside the ballroom.

The stuffy too-warm air hit her the moment she opened the door, causing sweat to break out along her spine and forehead. She blinked away the last of the tears as she stepped into the crowd, hoping no one would want to talk to her. That seemed to be too much to ask for because someone grabbed her upper arm. She gritted her teeth, wondering who thought they had the right to grab her like her until she turned around and was met with a familiar face.

"Are you alright?" Luca asked, his brows furrowed in worry. "Your eyes are red." Were they? She'd hoped they wouldn't be. Freya pursed her lips tightly and inhaled a deep breath.

"I'm fine-" A gunshot rang through the room, and Freya's heart stopped. Screams quickly followed. The entire crowd around her moved, each person in a different direction as they tried to flee from the threat. Bodies shoved into Freya, sending her in one direction and then another.

She flung her hand out, hoping to grab ahold of Luca before they were forced too far apart. But then another gunshot rang, reverberating through Freya's bones down to her bone marrow. Something warm hit her face. She blinked, unsure of what was happening.

By then, the crowd had moved far away, only a few people lingering. Freya looked at Luca, and her mind stuttered to a vicious stop. A scarlet patch bloomed at the centre of his chest, mixing with the already crimson colour of his kefta. Then he fell.

And Freya went with him.