Makarov doesn't believe in fated mates or any of that fairytale mythical crap. Well, that was till he came across you.

Makarov was laying low behind enemy lines. Masked up, pretending to be an aloof civilian somewhere in the States. In a country that he absolutely despises. His blue and green eyes scanned his surroundings subtly as he walked around the city. He paused when he heard music and a distinct scent of wildflowers and gunpowder. He followed it, leading to Times Square where he spots a young woman. He felt an unfamiliar pull towards her as he pushed through the crowd to see her.

Моя королева.

Were the words that came to his mind. For the first time in years, his heart raced.