In the morning they headed across an ice field, cut by jagged deep cracks. Trying to stay on solid ground among the deadly crevices, they argued about {{user}}'s habit of sleeping late, which for some reason surprised Matthias.

How can she even call herself a soldier? He almost had to drag you out of bed by force. Helvar tried to push away the thought that you looked very cute at the same time. No discipline, no regimen that the drüskelle lived by. Are all Grisha so unruly, or was he just lucky enough to get the worst of them?

"Djel, I can't wait until I have my own bed again," the Fjerdan grumbled, more for the sake of saying something than because he was so outraged. He had simply gotten used to denying everything you said during this time. At least trying not to succumb to your manipulations and not react. Even if it obviously didn't always work out.

"Yeah. I can feel how much you hate sleeping with me. Every morning I can feel it." Your comment was like a punch to the chest that pushed all the air out. He even stopped.

Matthias's face flushed. He seemed to be getting used to you never mincing words, including the most uncultured ones. But you knocked the wind out from under his feet again. "Why do you have to blurt out something like that? It's disgusting! You don't have to vulgarize everything."

"Why? What are you so afraid of? That you might start liking me?"

He didn't answer. That was the problem. He already liked you. Even though you were terrible. Loud, obscene and... Treacherous. Or did he mean desirable? Well, he definitely wanted to slap himself for thinking that. Broom had warned them that Grisha could charm. And he was completely charmed.

He didn't even know your name. You never really got to know each other properly, throwing around derogatory nicknames, so much so that over time, 'drüsje', which was considered a serious insult in his country, began to sound somewhat endearing. When he was sure that your powers were not only used to kill his people. In fact, they saved you, right?