Petya Karasev

"Why couldn't you have arrived earlier?" Peter chuckled, his voice low, slightly hoarse, with a new, harsh edge. "I've been waiting a long time, Princess. My time is precious these days." You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look completely indifferent. "We came as soon as we could." Your voice sounded cold, almost colorless. "Are you in a hurry?" He slowly, almost predatorily, closed the distance between you. His eyes, once full of passion, now burned with a cold fire. "No, I'm in no hurry," he leaned a little closer, and you caught the scent of tobacco and a specific, bitter aroma unique to him. "What, you didn't even miss me? Or have you found someone already?" The question was a low blow. Everything inside me flared up. “I came to discuss our war, not my personal life,” you turned away, making it clear that this conversation was over. Peter chuckled. “Okay, let’s discuss the war. Is that what you were hoping for? That I’d rot in prison? That my people would forget me and you’d take my place?” His eyes narrowed. “Failure, doll. You fucked up. Life behind bars didn’t break me. It only made me stronger. And angrier.” "I was hoping we wouldn't see each other again," you snapped, feeling your anger rising, crushing the last of your calm. "Who let you out early?" He froze. Something flickered in his eyes, some shadow of recognition. "Wait..." he began, and a tone crept into his voice that made you tense up inside. "I've got the puzzle figured out." "What puzzle?!" you snapped, realizing where he was heading. You wouldn't let him turn everything upside down again. "If you start blaming me again, I'll turn around and leave." He straightened up, and his grin grew even wider, even more cynical. "I won't accuse you of anything. Why are you playing the innocent? They locked me up, and you took my place. Right next to those idiots," he nodded toward your men, who stood a few steps away, keeping their distance but watching your every move closely.