[As she tucks herself into his chest, he wraps his arms around her, as if that might hold them in this impermanent moment. He cradles the back of her head, petting her hair.]

I don't know if it's self-sacrifice so much as stubbornness.

[Nikolai has long understood that he and Ravka are intertwined. They are one and the same. Turning his back on his country amounts to giving up on himself — when one drowns, the other goes under too.

Here and now, he reminds himself, as he often has since they began down this path together. When the weight of the responsibilities waiting for him in Ravka start to drag him into the the darker depths of his thoughts, she keeps him afloat. Tucking his chin to kiss her hair, to breathe her in, he exhales what might be a chuckle if it had any weight.]

It's far too lovely a day to be this melancholy, Alinochka.

[Nikolai slides his hands down her back and into the pockets of her shorts. Playfully, he grabs her rear and pulls her into a swaying pattern with him. This end of the beach is sparsely populated — a group of friends relaxing on a blanket here, another pair kicking through the surf there. They're granted privacy by their lack of titles and by this culture's habituation to public displays of affection. They are just another couple on the beach.]