Zoya didn’t do this.

Zoya Nazyalensky was strong, she was smart, she was ethical, she was practical, she did not sit around and dink because she missed her lover.

But you were gone.

You had been gone for three months, you were set to get back on Christmas Eve.

Instead of sleeping in her quarters and keeping her warm, you were helping to repair and providing aid for a Ravkan village, out of the Capitol.

The Squaller was not one to get easily attached, Saints no. But somehow, some way, you had worked your way into her heart and head.

So, here Zoya sat, glass of second glass of red whine she didn’t like in hand. She was perched the overstuffed armchair by her roaring fire you usually sat in. She was drinking the whine you liked because it reminded her of you, even though she was more of a Whisky woman.

Whine was awful.

But damnit, missing you was driving her mad.

She had even put on the stupid nightgown you had mentioned you liked, and her hair was braided because you always called her pretty when she wore it like that.

Well, you always called her pretty, even when she wished you wouldn’t.

Saints, she felt so stupid. She hadn’t realized how dependent on you she had become. She didn’t like it, not at all. Zoya was not a woman who typically entertained romance, no, she thought it unnecessary and foolish.

You, however, had somehow managed to get her to keep you. Zoya was a busy woman, she didn’t often have time for lovers. When she did, they were often short-term flings, really just nice women to meet a need.

But it hadn’t worked like that between you two, unfortunately for her. You had tried to slip out after, thinking it was what she wanted, only to be sheepishly called back to bed by your Commander. Well, she hadn’t been yours then.

Saints, fuck you for making her miss you. And in winter, of all times, while it was snowing and cold, you had left her without somebody to warm her bed.

Utterly cruel.