Chapter 9
THE INTERROGATION
Kaan
The ride back from the borderlands should taste like victory.
We crushed three Light Court battalions in six hours—a massacre so thorough that Lord Taren's precious soldiers fled screaming about the Shadow Lord who commands darkness itself.
My shadows still hum with bloodlust, satisfied after days of violence that reminded everyone exactly why I took this throne by force fifteen years ago.
The victory hardly matters when I'm returning to a wife who despises me and a cousin whose timing is more suspicious than a demon offering free wishes.
"Did you see Captain Varian's face?" Zoran rides beside me, his light magic still flickering around his fingers—a Light Court noble who just helped slaughter his own people for the Shadow realm.
The irony isn't lost on either of us. "When you turned his entire squadron's shadows against them?
I thought his eyes might actually pop out of his skull. "
"Theatrical," I admit, letting dark satisfaction creep into my voice. "But effective. Though not as impressive as you convincing those Light Court deserters to switch sides mid-battle. What did you promise them? Eternal happiness and free puppies?"
"Better wages and the promise I wouldn't let you eat their souls." Zoran's grin is sharp. "Apparently your reputation precedes you."
"Good. Fear is more reliable than loyalty.
" I glance back at the thousands of shadow warriors following us, their dark armor still splattered with Light Court blood.
They sing war songs that echo through the valley—ancient melodies about conquest and glory that make the trees themselves shudder.
"Speaking of unreliable loyalty, where the fuck is my dear cousin? "
Zoran's expression shifts, light magic dimming. "Good question. He said he'd join us after 'securing supply lines.'"
"Very suspicious." I scan the horizon, searching for any sign of shadow-fire magic. Nothing. "He shows up right when war breaks out, offers tactical brilliance, then conveniently misses the actual fighting?"
"Maybe he's just a coward," Zoran suggests hopefully. "Lots of strategy, no stomach for blood."
"Yasar's many things, but he's not a coward." The admission tastes bitter. "When we were young, he once fought seven demon spawn bare-handed just to prove a philosophical point about the nature of violence. Nearly died, but made his point."
"What was the point?"
"That violence without purpose is just chaos wearing a crown." I snort. "Pretentious bastard. Always had to make everything into some grand statement."
The palace comes into view—je-black spires piercing the afternoon sky like accusations. My shadows involuntarily reach toward it, toward her, always pulled by that damned bond that refuses to break no matter how much she hates me.
Through that connection, I feel Nesilhan's emotions spike—relief mixed with something else. Fear? Confusion? The feelings are tangled, chaotic, nothing like her usual cold control.
"Something's wrong," I mutter, urging my shadow-mount faster.
"Define wrong," Zoran says, matching my pace. "Wrong like 'dinner will be cold' or wrong like 'your psychotic father has decided to visit'?"
"Wrong like—" I pause as a familiar figure appears on the road ahead, riding toward us with casual elegance. "Like my cousin is approaching with perfect timing and not a single speck of battle-dust on his stupidly expensive clothes."
Yasar looks immaculate. His black riding leathers are pristine, his shadow-fire magic coiled around him in lazy spirals that speak of power carefully leashed. His violet eyes—so different from the Karanliko?lu silver—gleam with what might be amusement.
"Cousin!" He calls out cheerfully, as if he hasn't just missed a major battle. "Victorious already? I must say I am impressed."
"Where were you?" The question comes out as a growl. My shadows writhe with suspicion.
"Securing supply lines, as discussed." His smile doesn't waver. "The eastern routes were more complicated than anticipated. Demon raiders have been testing our borders—probably hoping to capitalize on the Light Court distraction."
"Demon raiders." I study his unmarked face, his clean clothes, the suspicious lack of evidence that he's been fighting anything. "How convenient that they appeared just as the battle commenced."
"Isn't it?" Yasar's tone remains light, but something flickers in his eyes. "Almost like someone orchestrated multiple threats to divide our attention. But surely that's too paranoid, even for you, cousin."
Before I can respond with the violence his smugness deserves, Zoran interjects. "No battle wounds, Lord Yasar? Demon raiders are notoriously... aggressive."
"They were handled with appropriate efficiency." Yasar's gaze slides past me toward the palace, and I catch something in his expression—satisfaction? Guilt? "Though I'm more interested in hearing about your victory. The Light Court battalions were formidable, or so intelligence suggested."
"They were." I don't elaborate. Every instinct screams that something is wrong with this encounter, with his timing, with the way he's not quite meeting my eyes. "We'll discuss the battle details at the council. Move aside—we need to return to the palace."
"Of course." He wheels his mount aside with practiced grace, but doesn't turn back toward the eastern territories. Instead, he falls into formation beside us, clearly intending to accompany us to the palace.
The rest of the ride passes in tense silence, broken only by Zoran's occasional attempts at conversation that die against Yasar's polite deflections and my own brooding suspicion.
Nesilhan waits in the courtyard, and the sight of her steals my breath despite everything between us. She's dressed in formal Shadow Court attire—midnight blue that matches my own colors—but her posture screams tension. Her light magic flickers around her fingertips in agitated sparks.
The moment our eyes meet across the courtyard, I feel her emotions through the bond: relief that I'm alive, warring with anger, fear, and something else I can't quite identify. Betrayal? No, that's not quite right. It's more like... wounded trust.
"My lord." Her voice is carefully controlled as we dismount. "Welcome home."
The formality cuts deeper than any blade. We used to greet each other with different words, different touches. Now we're strangers performing a court dance.
"My lady." I approach her, keenly aware of Yasar watching our interaction with those too-sharp eyes. "We were victorious."
"Good." The word is clipped. Her gaze flicks past me to where Yasar dismounts, then immediately back to me—too quick, too deliberate. "The eastern wing needs your assessment. Now."
It's not a request. There's an edge to her voice I don't recognize, an urgency that has nothing to do with battle damage.
Yasar steps forward. "My lady, if I might—"
"Captain Kael will brief me." Nesilhan's interruption is sharp, final. "Alone."
Through the bond, her pulse hammers. Her emotions are a chaotic storm of fear and anger and something that feels dangerously close to panic.
They're not looking at each other. Very deliberately not looking at each other, the kind of aggressive avoidance that screams something happened while I was gone.
Zoran shifts beside me, and I catch his frown as he registers the same wrongness I'm feeling. Whatever occurred in our absence, Nesilhan and Yasar are both intimately aware of it—and desperately trying to hide that awareness.
"Where were you, Lord Yasar?" Elcin asks with her characteristic directness, emerging from the palace entrance with her hand resting on her sword hilt. "The battle could have used your strategic genius in practice rather than theory."
"Handling complications," Yasar replies smoothly, though his gaze keeps sliding toward Nesilhan before he catches himself. "The eastern situation required... personal attention."
"How personal?" I step closer to him, shadows coiling with threat. "Personal enough to explain why you're unmarked while we're covered in Light Court blood?"
His gaze meets mine with something that might be challenge. "Some battles are fought with swords, cousin dearest. Others require more subtle weapons. I'm sure you understand the distinction."
"I understand that you missed the fighting." My shadows grow colder. "Again."
"And yet our victory was assured without me." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps my absence was intentional—letting you claim the glory while I handled less glamorous necessities."
"Necessities." I taste the word, finding it bitter. "Like what?"
"Supply lines—"
"Fuck your supply lines." The snarl escapes before I can stop it. "You appeared the moment war began, you vanished during battle, and now you're here with clean clothes and vague explanations. If you think—"
"Kaan." Nesilhan's voice cuts through my building rage. "We're in public."
She's right. The returning soldiers are watching, probably placing bets on whether I'll murder my cousin in the courtyard. Bad for morale to kill family members in front of the troops, no matter how suspicious they are.
"We'll continue this at dinner," I say with forced calm. "War council meets in an hour."
"Of course." Yasar bows with mocking perfection. "I look forward to sharing my insights about the eastern... complications."
Through the bond, dread coils tight, edged with the kind of panic that comes from losing control of a situation.
Something happened while I was gone.
Something that has my fearless wife terrified.
Something that involves my conveniently-absent cousin.
The troops disperse behind us, heading to barracks with victory songs and promises of celebration wine. But I barely notice. My attention is fixed on Nesilhan, who's already turning away.
"We need to talk," I say quietly.
"No." She doesn't look back. "We don't."