Nikolai sighed. "You need not keep pressing. I hear what you're saying. I am Tsar, closer to fifty than to forty, with more obligations and responsibilities than I can track—and you want me to drop all of that to run off and save Schatten? How does one even go about that?"
"I do not know, yet," Raz said pensively, moving to stand next to him. He leaned against the glass to face Nikolai, ember eyes swirling, glowing, as he looked up at Nikolai. "We must first wait for Piedre and Verde to restore their gods. Until we know what happened to them all those centuries ago, until we know the whole picture, I cannot tell you much. But I wanted you to know and to be able to prepare. Piedre is still six months from its chance at freedom, and there is yet another year to follow for Verde. That is assuming they succeed. The return of chaos to the world is only a promise of a chance, not a promise of success."
"So you are telling me I have two and a half years to put my affairs in order."
Raz shook his head. "Three and a half, until the barrier wears down enough to make Schatten accessible. The world can't handle the gods returning all at once. Losing them all at once nearly destroyed it; it could not handle a second onslaught of such power."
"I see," Nikolai said. "Three and a half years to put my affairs in order, and then I must venture into Schatten to save it. This sounds entirely too much like a child's tale for my taste. I'm no hero."
"No?" Raz asked softly. "What would you call a man who sacrifices everything for the good of his people? Who stoically surrendered even his sister and does not resent me for that? You do whatever it takes to do the right thing—"
Nikolai cut him off with a sharp gesture and a rough-spoken curse. "Pretty words, Eminence, but that's all they are. Doing one's duty does not make a man a hero. All it makes him is lonely. If the gods say that I am the one to save Schatten, then I will do it."
He fisted his hand, feeling the weight of Zarya's ring, the only thing from Zarya that he had never wanted. But there he was, wearing Zarya's ring, living Zarya's life—alone. He'd worked his entire life to save his country, but had never been able to save the only man who mattered to him. Foolish as he was, weak as he was, Zarya had still called to him.
Scorch the selfish, stubborn, obtuse bastard anyway.
Nikolai would give anything, everything, to have him back, to rule with him, not for him. Loneliness washed over him, the ache of a life where he went through the motions, but did not really live. What reason did he have to live? He was Tsar, but if he died in the night, Sonya would rule far better than he, and they were already discussing who to begin grooming as a suitable heir. The only person who understood him at all was a nine-hundred-year-old priest, and they were both too busy to have much time to spare for friendship.
And sometimes, it just hurt too much to be anywhere near Dym and Raz, who were so in love the feelings had not faded after nine centuries. It was beyond his comprehension. He could not get Zarya to love him for one lifetime, let alone nine.
He pinched the bridge of his noise, willing away the pain. He had no time to spare for matters that were, literally and figuratively, quite dead.
"Kolya ..." Raz said softly.
"I'm fine," Nikolai replied tersely. "So I have three and a half years to set my affairs in order. Is there anything I must prepare for in regards to breaching Schatten?"
"I'm sure your sword and whip skills could stand to be brought out of storage, but otherwise, I just don't know yet. But don't despair, Majesty."
"Despair? I don't despair. I have never once in my life despaired anything. I make a point not to go further than resignation. It wastes too much energy. Is this a trip from which I might return, or should I plan never to come back?"
The question was childish because of course it would be dangerous. No one had seen Schatten for nine centuries, and Teufel was the heart of the problem. It was extremely unlikely he would survive it, but he would like, however stupidly, some reassurance that Raz was not so easily sending him off to die.
He turned to glance at Raz, but his ember eyes had gone dark the way they did when he looked at things only gods could see. After a couple of minutes, he focused on Nikolai again. "You have no previous lives, being a child of chaos, so I cannot see the past to gauge the myriad possibilities of your future, except to say that I do sense happiness, as I once said to you."
It was a better answer than he had expected, so Nikolai nodded. "Then we shall see, Eminence, if an old Tsar can save a lost world. Now go away, because it would appear I have even more work to do than I first thought."
Raz laughed and reached up to kiss him softly. Nikolai felt a spell wrap around him, burn gently, and then settle. "For protection, that no one else see what you are until I permit it. When I know more, I'll speak to you again about it. Until then, Majesty."
"Eminence," Nikolai replied and went back to staring out the window when Raz had gone.
Sasha pushed his memories aside, far more interested in the present than the past. David's fingers were warm in his own, calloused and strong—the hands of someone who had worked hard his entire life instead of flitting about a palace and turning a blind eye to the problems of a dying country.
As if sensing his stare, David looked up, flushed dark, and looked away again. Sasha was not certain what that meant, but hoped it was a good thing. Certainly David had seemed taken with his altered appearance a few minutes ago. He wondered how David would react to learning he was Tsar—well, had been Tsar. He had absolutely no intention of reclaiming the throne when he was done. His only desire was to stay with David in Schatten. Raz was right; Schatten needed someone who could help them, someone with the experience to do that.
The priest guiding them drew to a stop, pulling Sasha from his thoughts. He opened a door and stepped inside, then bowed them in. "All you need should be here, but please do not hesitate to call for anything you desire. Have a good night. Someone will be sent to wake you."
"Thank you," Sasha said. He waited until the door was closed before he looked around the room, stripping off his jacket and setting it aside with the other clothes already lying on a chest. The room was sparse, but nicer than the one Karl had locked him up in. There was a large bed, clearly meant to accommodate two, a table with a wash basin and various soaps and bottles on a shelf above it, the chest, and another, larger table clearly meant for dining.
It was, he would hazard, a guest room. "Does the temple often accommodate overnight guests?" he asked, finally turning to David—who dropped his gaze as he was abruptly caught staring. Sasha smiled and walked over to him, reaching out to touch because it was impossible
not
to touch David. Even the slightest caress got the brightest smile, the warmest eyes. David was meant to be touched, and Sasha wanted always to be the one doing the touching.
The thought, the realization, was a startling one, but it was stupid to try to talk himself out of it because if there was one thing he had learned about love, it was that there was no undoing it. He had wasted most of his life being in love and then trying to undo that love. In the end he had been left with nothing more than a ring and a kingdom he had never wanted.
David nuzzled into his hand, shy and sweet as always—shyer than usual, in fact, as he cautiously lifted his eyes to meet Sasha's. "You look so different," he said softly. "Like a flame."
"A cold flame, perhaps," Sasha murmured.
That earned him a frown. "Cold?"
"Mm, that is how I am usually described." Never to his face, of course, but he knew it was what people said about him, and was one of the nicer things they said.
David's face scrunched up with disapproval. "Whoever said that is stupid."
Sasha laughed and bent to take a kiss because what was there to say to that? "They aren't stupid, but I appreciate the sentiment, sweet."
"They are stupid," David said vehemently. "There's nothing cold about you. I know what cold is like. I've been cold my whole life, but I didn't realize it until you showed up and I began to feel warm."
That needed another kiss, and Sasha gladly gave it—or took it, he could not tell. And that was the sweetest part of David, really. He gave what he got in equal measure. He was honest and earnest and simple. There was no hesitation, no dithering or changing his mind a hundred times. No sneaking around the palace in the dead of night, whispering tender words in the dark and cold words in the light. David was open about loving, and just that was enough for Sasha to love him.
He drew David closer, tugged David's arms up to wrap around his neck, and slid his own down David's body and around his waist. Shy fingers laced gently through his hair, and Sasha drew back just enough to say, "Ah, sweet. You do not seem to realize you were the spark that brought
me
back to life. From the moment I woke up in your bed and saw you, I was caught."
David shook his head, clearly not believing a word. Sasha let it go because it was long past time for words, anyway. It was time for actions to speak. He kissed David again, sliding his mouth along those soft lips, lost utterly to the eager, artless response. David clung to him tightly, slender body fitting perfectly against his.
Sasha loosed his arms to trail his hands along David's body, smoothing across his sides and back, then down to cup his ass. That made David freeze in surprise, but Sasha only kissed him harder, taking control of David's mouth.
Pulling away, he sank one hand into David's hair to bare his throat, trailing lips along his skin, and working his way down until he reached the still-red scars left by a sorcerer's whip. Anger flickered to life, but Sasha snuffed it. Drawing back, he stroked the scars lightly with his fingers. "I'm glad you're all right, sweet."
"F-Fritz healed them," David said, face flushing dark as he looked at Sasha's chest instead of meeting his eyes. "The ones on my back and chest are worse."
Sasha smiled faintly and tilted his face up, brushing a soft kiss across his lips. "Scars are not marks of shame, David. Stop fretting." He took another, harder kiss before David could reply, then drew back, and before David could react, grabbed the ends of his shirt and pulled it off. David gasped in surprise, bumps rising on his skin as the cool air struck it.
Anger flickered to life again when Sasha saw clearly the marks he had only glimpsed in the past—angry wounds left by the sharp, metal-tipped tails of the sorcerers' whips. He grabbed David's wrist when he tried to cover them and bent to trail mouth and tongue across them. "You really are quite lovely."
"I'm just a plain village boy," David said, sounding faintly amused. He met Sasha's gaze, and then reached out shyly to stroke Sasha's hair. "You're beautiful."
In reply, Sasha just kissed him again, long and slow, savoring the warmth of David's mouth, the flavor of him. David clung tightly, matched him perfectly, leaving Sasha breathless and aching in more ways than one. Kissing Zarya, he had always held something back, and Zarya had always held too much back. Every kiss had been a hesitation, or a battle. Kissing Zarya had always meant opening himself up to pain. The terrible night they had married, Zarya had tasted of death and reminded Sasha of too many chances thrown away.
With David there was only joy. Sasha drew away and guided David over to the bed, ignoring the nerves he could see rising up, knowing David would not want him to acknowledge it. "Lovely," he murmured, eager to see David completely naked because was already temptation incarnate in just his breeches.
"Sasha …"
Smiling at him, Sasha stripped off his own shirt and cast it to the floor before he crawled onto the bed, straddling David and bending to nuzzle against him. "You are entirely too lovely for this old man, sweet."
David's fingers landed on his shoulders, resting more than holding, but Sasha would fix that. He took David's mouth in a hard, hungry kiss, holding nothing back, making a promise of what was to come. The fingers on his shoulders tightened, instinctively pulled him closer. "Sasha …"
"I do like it when you cannot manage to say more than my name," Sasha said, murmuring the words in David's ear before he bit it lightly, loving the way that made David shiver against him. David moaned softly, a sound that went straight to Sasha's cock, a sound he wanted to hear every night for the rest of his life.
He licked David's lips, kissed him again, then began to slowly work his way down David's body, extracting more delightful sounds and breathless pleas as he drove David mad with mouth and teeth and tongue. He paused briefly to remove the rest of their clothes, laughing with warm affection at the way David moved restlessly, eyes looking everywhere but at Sasha's cock. His hands twitched with an urge to cover himself.
Sasha returned to his task, loving the warm, male scent of David, the taste of his skin. David's fingers ran restlessly over him, unable to settle, but not certain what to do. Sasha chuckled before he lapped and gently bit at one nipple. David's fingers slid through his hair, body pushing up against Sasha's mouth, soft moans filling the room.
Moving further down David's body, he paused to drag his tongue across David's stomach, nipped it just to hear David gasp. He gazed up at David through his lashes, and the naked look of hunger, need, and trust was nearly enough to undo him.
He did not know what he had done to earn David, but he would do whatever it took to keep him as long as he could. Looking down again, he closed his mouth around David's cock. David bucked and cried out, entire body shuddering at a sensation that was no doubt overwhelming for him. "Sasha, I can't—"
Sasha pulled off his cock to chuckle and pressed a kiss to one thigh. "Do you want me to stop?"