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While Aleksander orders breakfast to be sent up to his study, Alina retreats into the bedroom again to finish her morning routine. The sight of the rumpled bed brings a blush to her cheeks, as she recalls the... pleasurable hours spent in it last night. With a small, self-satisfied smile, she ambles toward the vanity.
The smile fades as she stares at the vanity’s bare countertop. She wishes she were exaggerating, but it is literally bare. Then she spies the slim built-in drawer. Sighing with relief, she pulls it open.
Inside are a fine tooth comb and a cologne bottle. And maybe some dust bunnies.
Alina picks up the comb and eyes it critically. It’s about an inch wide, and she could maybe wedge her fingernail in between each tooth. If she tried to brandish it against the tangled knots of her hair, her hair would win easily.
Still clutching the comb, she goes to poke her head out the door. “Aleksander?” she calls. “Do you know if they’ve cleaned my room yet?”
“The maids have just been sent there. Why?”
Is having neat, properly arranged hair worth stepping over a bunch of bat corpses? The answer is a definitive no. “I need a comb.”
“You can use mine.”
Arching an eyebrow, Alina holds up the comb. “You mean this thing?”
Aleksander looks between her and the comb, his brow furrowed faintly in confusion. “Yes. Is there something wrong with it?”
“Well, my hair is either going to break it in half or swallow it whole.” She purses her lips, thinking. “I’ll just make do with my fingers.”
“No,” he cuts in, “I’ll handle this.” He strides to his study door and cracks it open. “Ivan, find a comb. It--” He pauses and looks back at Alina. “What kind of comb do you need?”
Shaking her head, she moves to stand next to him so she can tell Ivan herself. The Heartrender is stony-faced as always, making no mention of the slew of bat corpses he left behind in the vezda suite. Nor does he make any comment about Alina’s presence in Aleksander’s quarters first thing in the morning. Small mercies, although Alina always feels like she’s being secretly judged when she’s in the same room as Ivan.
It doesn’t take Ivan long to return with the requested beauty products. Alina turns away from him to hurry through her routine, as the Heartrender sits at his desk in the War Room and begins scribbling in his little notebook. Safely ensconced in the bedroom once more, Alina wields the wide-toothed comb and, within minutes, her hair no longer resembles a haystack.
As she is tackling some particularly stubborn ends, Aleksander sidles up to her. “You look nice,” he murmurs, nuzzling her neck. Then he looks down and freezes. “Is everything alright? Are you ill?” he demands.
Alina stares at him. “I--yes, I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be?” He gesticulates at the floor, and she follows the gesture to where her loose hairs have fallen. “Oh, I’ll clean that up. Sorry.” She kneels to scoop up the usual casualties of her haircare routine.
Now he’s the one staring at her. “Is your hair not falling out? That can be a sign of sickness.”
“Is my hair--no, Aleksander, this is normal ,” she emphasizes. “I comb my hair and some of it...sheds. It happens.”
He looks unconvinced. “My hair doesn’t do that.”
“Good for you,” she mutters as she darts to the bathing chamber to dispose of the fallen hairs. But when she returns, she rests her hands on his cheeks and smiles reassuringly at him. “Stop worrying, Sasha. This happens to every woman with long hair.” She stands on her tiptoes to peck his lips. “Is breakfast here yet?”
As a matter of fact, that was what Aleksander initially came in to inform her about. His desk has been cleared of its usual array of books and paperwork. Now it’s laden with fried eggs, blinis, warm yeasty bread rolls, buttery pastries, an assortment of fruits and jams, and a samovar of tea, next to which is a small bowl stacked high with sugar cubes.
Aleksander takes his usual seat behind his desk. Alina looks at the chair opposite him and considers it for all of five seconds, before casually perching on his lap. He makes no complaint, curling his fingers around her hip as he pours her a cup of tea. “And what would you like to start with?” he inquires after she takes her first sip.
She points greedily at the blinis, and watches as he doles several onto a plate and slathers them with jam. Then he folds them in half twice, picks up one of the triangles, and holds it up to her in offering. She’s just leaned in to take a bite when someone knocks on the door.
Aleksander’s eye twitches slightly as he raises his voice. “What is it?” he asks, his irritation obvious.
“It’s Ivan, moi soverenyi,” comes his muffled voice.
“I’m busy, Ivan.”
A shuffling noise on the other side of the door. “Moi soverenyi…”
Cursing under his breath, Aleksander snaps, “Make it quick, Ivan.”
The Heartrender cracks the door ajar and seems to peek carefully inside before he opens it all the way. “It’s the morning report, moi soverenyi. You have back-to-back meetings starting in half an hour, so now is the only time you have available before the evening.”
Aleksander squeezes his eyes shut as his head flops onto the back of his chair. The blini is about to fall out of his hands, so Alina swiftly rescues it. Then she eats it, because she’s hungry. Chewing thoughtfully, she watches as Aleksander gathers himself. By the time he opens his eyes again and sits up straight, he looks like his usual, collected self. “Fine. Give me the highlights now. We’ll sort out details later in the day.”
Alina swallows her mouthful of blini and asks, “Should I give you two some privacy?”
Ivan starts to nod just as Aleksander responds firmly, “No.” His grip tightens, not uncomfortably, on her hip. “There’s no reason to keep you from your breakfast.”
Ivan looks about to protest, but after a moment, he just gives up. Clearing his throat, and deliberately not ogling Alina’s unorthodox chair, he starts to rattle off updates on various Grisha outposts. She tries to listen in at first, curious about this aspect of being a general--but then Aleksander brings a bite-sized pear tart to her lips, and that is much more interesting than debating the ratio of kvas and wine to send with the next resupply. All the while, Ivan’s face is firmly glued to his packet of memos as he drones on tonelessly.
Just as Ivan is starting to wrap up, there’s another knock. Aleksander, by this point resigned that breakfast is not going to go the way he expected, bids them enter. Then he mutters to Alina, “You’ve got jam on your face.” His thumb swipes at the corner of her mouth and he licks the digit clean, just as Genya steps inside.
The Tailor’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline. She glances at Ivan, who shrugs helplessly. “Well! I see it’s a good morning for some of us,” she remarks.
“Are the Starkovs here?” Aleksander asks impatiently.
“Yes, and Mrs. Starkov now bears an uncanny resemblance to Botkin, if I say so myself.” Genya preens.
Puzzled, Alina turns to Aleksander. “Botkin?”
“Your mother will pretend to be his sister while she’s visiting the palace,” he explains.
“And Madam Gerel Kir-Erdene seems most impatient to meet Botkin’s favorite student,” Genya adds pointedly. “I only managed to convince her to stay put in her ‘brother’s’ quarters because I promised that Miss Starkov would come by soon.”
Although Alina is eager to see her mother, she can’t ignore her disappointment that breakfast must conclude, and that she’ll have to give up her cozy seat. Sighing, she looks at Aleksander, whose expression is no happier than her own. “Thank you for breakfast,” she murmurs. His gaze softens, and he tugs her closer for a kiss, uncaring of their audience; Ivan is still buried in his papers anyway.
After a moment, Genya is muttering, “I don’t think she has any more jam on her face.” Alina makes a rude gesture at her friend as she pulls away from Aleksander. She really should get going, though.
Alina makes her way out of the study. “Don’t touch the sugar cubes, Ivan,” she hears Aleksander saying just before the door closes behind her.