chapter four,     is it hatred or...?

𝕷iya

            LIYA HATED ALEKSANDER. That was a fact that was sown into her lungs and with every breath she took – she was reminded of it. Nevertheless, it wasn't all she felt for Aleksander. She once heard that there is a thin line between hatred and love and she never understood how different feelings could be so close. Well, she may have an answer now.

            Apart from the obvious, he did something to her and she couldn't figure out what. Her sleepless nights became even worse – her dreams were plagued by his scent, of his shiver-creating voice. The distance that she placed between them in order to protect herself felt as if she tortured herself with it, rather than protected herself with it.

            It wasn't that forgave him – she wasn't sure she ever will, but she wasn't afraid of him. The Darkling was a powerful and influential man who went over norms and limits. She experienced that and she learnt that about him the hard way. The captivity of General Zlatan will haunt her nights. And the little month she spent away from the Little Palace only showed that she wasn't only escaping the Darkling. She was escaping from herself.

            Perhaps she was twisted. She had every right to be. Perhaps the loss of the family, the life in the orphanage, the captivity and now this turned her into something she didn't want to be. She didn't want to feel something else apart from hatred towards him. But she would be an idiot to deny that. A part of her believed him and the rhythm of his heart that always increased when they interacted, but she has burnt once. It was not going to happen again.

            It wasn't her fault that her body was reacting to him: his voice, his scent and his presence. Hopefully, he will listen to her and not show up and keep their distance until she will be safe enough to leave this place and go as far away as she wished.

            "A penny for your thoughts?" Genya asked as they both were sitting on Liya's bed.

            Genya's visits became more often – mostly at night when everyone was filled with dinner. It was the only time she could escape from the frowning Queen. Liya knew that Genya wasn't content with her being here, but they both understood what has happened and why it was important to wait.

            Liya extended her hand to the side where her sister was sitting.

            "It's a saying," Genya deadpanned.

            "I know," she chuckled, "I still want that penny."

            Genya deeply exhaled through her nose and smacked her hand away gently.

            "I'm just thinking," Liya answered her question.

            "About?"

            Aleksander. "Baghra said that I'm improving," she clasped her hands on her lap.

            Genya sucked in a breath, "She said that? That old woman is getting soft."

            Chuckling, the youngest Safin nodded, "Baghra is not as horrible as others say. She is actually really caring."

            "Yeah, well," the Tailor chuckled, "I'm sure you heard those stories where she used to hit others with her cane in order to motivate them."

            "I believe they are over-exaggerating."

            "But that's not what's on your mind now, is it?" Genya asked as if she could see right through her. Could she? Was it so easy to read her thoughts?

            "No, but it doesn't matter," she shook her head.

            "Liya—," Genya lowly warned, "if he's bothering you – you always have to tell me."

            Aleksander was bothering her. Just in different ways than she has imagined.

            Sighing, she replied, "He's not bothering me. In fact, he's being distant enough for me to feel content."

            "But?" Genya didn't back down.

            Defeated, she was preparing to get smacked by her own sister. "But there is something about him that makes me have a hard time to—rest."

            "Oh," a surprised exclaim left Genya's mouth. "Is he trying to force you into something again?"

            "I wish I could know," Liya shrugged. "I was so sure I am able to read a person's heart and understand them, but whenever I read him – I don't want to believe it."

            "I'm not sure he can love," the oldest Safin admitted. "I'm not sure if you should waste your heart on him. You deserve better."

            Did she? Did she deserve anything at all? Throughout her life, she didn't know what her fate was bringing her tomorrow. Love wasn't something she was surrounded with in her path – it was unknown, and, perhaps, that's why she couldn't differentiate the feeling in her heart. But the thought of his increased heart beating, of his words back in the forest—could he be such a perfect manipulator and tell her those desperate words wanting to mess with her? Or he was honest, but then, what would he feel something towards her? Pity, perhaps...

            "I told him not to see me again," Liya mumbled, playing with the silk robe placed on her fragile body that craved to have a good night's sleep.

            Genya's hand ended up on her sister's shoulder, "You did the right thing... I'm not going to stand in the way of what you might—feel for him. You know yourself better than anyone else."

            Liya nodded and soon enough, just like most of the nights, the Safin sisters got separated to their daily lives. Their little golden cages.

            The youngest Safin laid in the bed restless even if her body was exhausted. The lessons with Baghra were taking every ounce of strength from her body—she knew she was supposed to have meals with others three times per day, but she tried to avoid the others as much as possible. She was slowly slipping away, but she didn't see the need to put a halt to it.

            She was tired. And her quirking heart didn't help her when her mind wandered about the man that used to manipulate her for his own cause. It made her wonder—how can her tortured heart be so foolish to feel something for that man that added another splint to her bleeding and infected wound? There was something wrong with her.

            A knock on the door alerted her as she rose from the bed, tip-toeing to the door. Her mind didn't wander once before she opened the door, thinking it was Genya—perhaps she forgot something. However, once she opened the door she was met with the warmth that made her slightly widen her eyes and hold tighter into the doorknob, feeling the way his presence was surrounding her.

            "What are you doing here?" she asked, silently. "Which part of 'do not see me again' did you not understand?"

            There was a small silence, making her nervous before his deep voice reached her ears and trailed shivers down her spine: "There are some matters to be discussed."

            "Now?"

            "Would you see me in the morning?"

            "No," she shook her head even if she wanted to say the opposite. She was doing the right thing.

            "Then, yes. Now." His voice was so alluring that her mind couldn't think straight—it lulled her to sleep and her whole body was already tingling with the exhaustion.

            Liya managed to lean to the doorframe, crossing her hands over her chest, "I'm listening."

            "Come with me."

            "We'll be fine where we are," she disagreed, not budging a centimetre.

            "I thought you'd wish to hear about the upcoming celebration."

            "The new general," she crossed her hands.

            There was a small silence. "So you've heard."

            "Genya."

            "Ah," he breathed out, his body slightly moving, making a little wind reach her skin hiding in the silk robe. She felt so bare in front of him, but for some reason, she didn't want to cover herself or move back, she stood still.

            "Is that it?" she asked, her voice rougher than she expected it to be, surprising herself. A little bitter taste entered her mouth, an unspoken part of her heart fluttering harder as she didn't want him to go yet, she wanted to hear his excuses to come and see her; she wanted her morals to fight with her overflowing feelings.

            It was so wrong for her to trust him after such a short time of manipulation of his. It was so wrong to stand here, in front of him, with a silk robe in the middle of the night when her heart was battling with her brain. It was so wrong and horribly hilarious for her to be so naïve, but she could blame herself for being deprived of love. It was wrong wanting for him to stay.

            "I want you to be safe during the celebration."

            Safe. It made her wonder why he didn't want her to be safe when she was captured by General Zlatan. Why his remorse showed up too late? Why it showed up at all? She knew what kind of man he was, she knew that collateral damage was a phrase leaving his mouth a little bit too often. She was supposed to be collateral damage for a greater cause without the remaining of his remorse. Then why was he standing here?

            "Aleksander," she whispered, not knowing what she wanted to say, but she shut her mouth, hearing his heart spike from afar.

            The man took a step closer and her body grew weary—she needed to step back, to create the distance between his presence will swallow her whole again and take away her transparent mind, but she didn't budge.

            "I know..." he started, "that I should respect your words to keep my distance from you. But I can't sleep." He whispered.

            The scent filled her nostrils and she tried to decipher it—it was musky, strong, but with a hint of honey, alluring her closer to him as if he was the biggest treat. He was her temptation and she felt pathetic for being so easily swooned by his alluring voice and soothing scent. Did he view her as so—weak and easily swayed?

            "Is that supposed to be my problem?" she slightly raised her eyebrows, remembering their conversation in the kitchen a few months back when she prepared him the tea.

            A quick breath escaped his mouth – he chuckled: "You hurt me."

            "You deserve it."

            "I completely deserve it."

            "I can't sleep as well," she admitted even if she should be moving away and closing the door – ending this conversation.

            A heartbeat of his rang in her ears, making her body grow warm, when he suggested: "Tea?"

            "Tea," she agreed almost in a heartbeat of her own when she was supposed to close the door right in front of him.

            "I'll call for the—" he began, but she closed the door behind her, now in the hallway beside him, already turning left, walking away, shaking her head.

            "No need."

            While walking, she felt the way he made her hand wrap around his elbow and she felt the silk material again on her bare forearm, making her put attention to the fact that he wasn't wearing his kefta. Much to her pleasure, they reached the kitchen in the silence quickly and she wandered inside first as she heard how he lit a lantern behind her.

            With outstretched hands, she took small steps forward, afraid to hit her limps anywhere, but she reached the shelf with her hands soon enough.

            "Let me help you. Tell me what you need," he stopped her before her hands raised to take some glass jars.

            Obliging, she pushed her hands to the table, leaning on it: "Lavender florets, skullcap leaves, ashwagandha, oat straw, chamomile and honey."

            The little clinging of the glass jars made her gently smile as he slowly was placing some on the table and she was taking them and bringing each of them to her nose to know if he was giving her what she asked.

            The two of them were making the tea in silence – as she was blending the herbs together with the spatula, he was placing some water over the hot stones for them to get warm. Soon enough the tea was steaming with lovely-smelling smoke in the two cups that were in their hands, their bodies slightly too close—her sitting on the table and him positioned beside her.

            It was calm in her chest. After all this time. Even if she was sitting next to the man who manipulated her, she knew that she couldn't loathe him as much as she needed to, because her heart was spending far too much time enjoying this moment. It was silent around the two, only the distant marching of the soldiers was heard upstairs.

            "I've always wanted power—I still do. Being in the middle of the war, being led by a King who is nothing but a moron... I did some horrible things, but using you made me realise how far I walked off the road," he admitted, making her breathing stop for a few seconds.

            "Do you think Grisha could ever feel safe?" Liya asked.

            He moved beside her, moving slightly away, but the gust of the wind only announced that he was now in front of her. "They have to. It's my only desire to make Grisha feel safe."

            "Do you truly regret what happened at the..?" She felt her throat dry up a little bit, but she didn't need to finish her question

            "I haven't calculated the risks that might've happened to you as I was working only on rage. I've known about the doings of Zlatan for years and the King kept demanding more evidence because he is so terrified of the civil war. I didn't realise that you could've died, hurt, and sold and..."

            Touched.

            "Promise me you won't betray me again," she slightly extended her hands, his hand intertwining with hers as they gripped their wrists.

            "I promise you," his whisper reached her ears, but she focused on the clear heartbeat of his—it was as if she was holding his heart in her free hand only because he was enhancing her abilities, amplifying them.

            He was sincere. And Saints only knew how much she wanted to give in to the temptation of believing him and holding their hands for a little bit longer. And she believed him, but she pulled her hand away, not giving herself the chance to feel light-headed.

            "You must know that the new General..." he started.

            "He is the same as Zlatan?"

            "Perhaps worse. Driven with the need for revenge," his voice was raspy, littering little goosebumps on her skin. "The King insists on having a huge celebration thrown in order for him to be happy. Of course, letting an enemy into the safe haven..."

            "Someone will die."

            "General Pavel won't be as stupid as killing someone, but making someone disappear might be more of his expertise."

            "Isn't the Little Palace the safest place for Grisha? It's overflowing with soldiers," she pointed out.

            Alexander placed the cup on the table, humming, "I'm afraid that he won't be as much after any other Grisha as for me and you."

            "Oh," she managed to whisper, the realisation taking over her. The new General Pavel was probably a revenge-driven man who experienced loss in his family and since she almost got killed by two of the assassins, the General knew that it was her who had a part in Zlatan's death. "You have a plan, don't you?"

            "I'm afraid that doing anything drastic within the walls of the Little Palace would be unfavourable. The King will be there as well. High-born families will attend to celebrate this... So much unnecessary spotlight on a scum like him."

            Liya furrowed her eyebrows, "And the King is fine with him being appointed as the General?"

            "The King is an idiot."

            Inhaling, she suppressed the surprised laughter that was tickling to leave her mouth. "Am I in danger?"

            "You are. And since I was the one who placed you upon this, I'll be the one to fix this. But..."

            "But?" Anxiety peaked in her heart and she almost choked out in nervousness.    

            "But I need to also protect you from the King."

            "From the King?" her voice spiked in anxiety. "Why?"

            There was an unnerving smile, "He's interested in you."

            "He's married," she deadpanned.

            "When has that ever stopped a King?"

            "You're lying," she shook her head.

            "Ask Genya if you want. He has many mistresses and he has a certain interest in you."

            Scrunching her nose, "That's disgusting." She placed her cup on the table and shook her head. "I don't necessarily need to do everything he says... Right?"

            Liya felt him move closer, "I never want to see him look at you like that when he first saw you, Liya. He is a disgusting man and I'd slit his throat before he could even have a chance with you..."

            "You want the throne, don't you?" she whispered, feeling the heat of his body radiating towards her, her knees touching his thighs. "You want to overthrow him."

            "Accusing me of treason?"

            "It's not accusing if it's the truth," she pointed out. "But you won't do anything, you know better than that."

            "I do," he agreed. "But since I'm not the King, I have no way of protecting you against the moron sitting on the golden throne except you letting me court you."

            There was a loud silence as she opened her mouth to say something, but nothing left it. Her mind went blank, her body freezing as her heart stopped beating for five seconds. What did he just say?

            "What?" she blinked a few times, looking into the pitch darkness that was making her feel more nervous than usual.

            "Let me court you officially. He won't go against my wish."

            "Why are you doing this? Why—what?"

            The Darkling moved closer to her, "I'm going insane about you, Liya. I wish not to be called a traitor for killing the King in front of everyone because he got you. I meant it when I said I want you to be safe and courting doesn't sound like such a bad idea."

            "You can't do this to me, Aleksander," she shook her head. "You can't do this to me when I wish to loathe you – I need to loathe you! You are only doing this to mess with my head!"

            "Listen to my heart, Liya," his voice was a desperate whisper, too close to her and burning like a fire on her skin.

            Hesitantly, she outstretched her hand forwards, pushing it on his chest and she gasped when she touched the bare skin, feeling the firm and toned chest of his with the heart that was spiking more from her touch. Furrowing her eyebrows, she was slightly shaking while trying to tell herself that this was all a lie when his heart was beating in her ears louder than she could hear her thoughts.

            "That month without you—Liya..."

            The desperate tone of his voice was making her feel dizzy, his hand softly ended up on hers which was placed on his bare chest. It made her weak in the lower body how well his hand covered hers and the way his warmth was radiating towards her.

            Liya desperately pleaded for the Saints to look away as she wanted to give in to the passion she felt for him. Please look away...

            "I need to forget this—I need to forget what I feel," she finally whispered.

            "What do you feel?" His voice seemed to be everywhere—outside, inside of her, surrounding her.

            "Don't ask me this," she closed her eyes, shaking her head. "You're torturing me," she breathed out, slightly raising her chin to reveal her distressed expression. "You're torturing me by making me feel disoriented and—weird in my chest and even if I cannot think about you without the loathing feeling, I still..."

            "You still wonder about me," he finished the sentence for her and she exhaled.

            "Stop the torment. Stop it," she begged. "You did a horrible thing by using me, manipulating me. And now courting? It's not—stop it. How would I look in front of others—in front of Genya, if I'd be courted by you? I'm someone who ran away. I'm the one who looks guilty—don't you see that all of this wouldn't work?"

            "Are you afraid of what others might think?"

            "What does it say about me?" she retracted her hand away from him. "What does it say about me that I developed something for a man who made me run away from here? There is something wrong with me that I'm sitting right here when I asked you to never see me again!"

            "What do you feel?" he asked slowly.

            Liya shook her head. If she will say it out loud – she will be doomed. "I can't stand you for doing this to me. For making me have a hard time. For using me. For making me question every word that leaves your mouth when I just want to believe you without any second thoughts... When I want to be held by you so your voice wouldn't plague my nights..."

            She heard him exhale, his hands slowly moving beside her legs as he leaned down, his hot breath against her face: "Hate me – I deserve it."

            "You deserve it," she agreed, their foreheads slightly brushing against each other and she suppressed a gasp. Desperately, she was fighting the urge to pull him closer, to dive into the softness and the warmth of his skin.

            Saints, Liya Safin was infatuated with him.

            Nudging their foreheads together, sitting with mixed feelings, she was praying to the Saints to give her the will to move away from him. But the Saints stood still to the ground—they didn't give her the strength to move away from the biggest temptation of hers.

            At that moment, Liya knew that she had to do two things first before she will allow herself to trust him again. First, she will have to talk to Genya and secondly, she will have to find out everything that is hiding within his deepest desires. It seems that his wish to overthrow the King was far more serious than she put her thoughts into it. Perhaps, there was an older reason for it.