He’d tried at the time to tell them the Fold was an accident, that he hadn’t actually torn a monster-birthing hole in his country intentionally, but, well - no one had believed in the goodness of a man who pulled shadows from his blood, not his whole life long, and they hadn’t been inclined to start then.

And now, so many years later, it’s still the same, still this girl, this sour, prickly little ball of light looking sidelong at him, saying, “So you don’t want to enlarge the Fold and use it to kill all your enemies?”

For a moment, he lets himself think of it, think of removing a King who’s corrupt and worse, think of killing indiscriminately as his Grisha have been killed, generations beyond counting, lets himself revel in the glory of what he could be, if he chose - and then he opens his eyes to the light, and smiles, and tell her no, as he must.