[ For a moment, Nikolai is quiet. They lean into each other. Ianthe's misery rattles between them. His hands maintain their gentle sweep through her hair, slow and careful of pulling.
[Even drunk, Ianthe remembered the things she promised Alina. She couldn't say what happened without inadvertently giving Nikolai too much context. Alina might not want Ianthe anymore, but the necromancer still loved her. That hadn't turned her vindictive yet, so she shook her head.]
[It was the kiss on top of her head that had Ianthe letting go of the bottle to bring that hand up across Nikolai to clutch his shirt. Wine spilled to soak into the furs as Ianthe choked down a sob. Even drunk, Ianthe didn't cry in front of others.]
[ As she curls in against him, Nikolai wraps his arms around her. Draws her in, holds her close. It's not quite graceful, but hopefully it is of some comfort to her. ]
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[Ianthe took another swig before words came bubbling out, like pus from a lanced abscess.]
How's it feel to win?
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[ Questioning. Quiet. ]
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'Smeans you win.
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[ That their presence in Alina's life didn't require the banishment of the other.
His fingers draw through her hair, careful not to tug at any tangles. Doesn't shift their position, not yet. ]
I know something must have happened. But she didn't speak of it to me, and I can't imagine it's not something that's beyond repair.
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Don't matter what we agreed. Never mattered. Never fucking mattered. Tried so hard for nothing.
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Eventually, he murmurs: ]
Would you tell me what happened?
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No. Between me and her.
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He presses a kiss to the top of Ianthe's head. ]
It's not beyond repair, whatever it was. Unless you wish it to be.
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Never.
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We'll fix it, Ianthe. Trust me.