Chapter 9 #2
She vanishes into the palace with Elcin, leaving me standing in the courtyard with Zoran and a certainty that whatever happened while we were fighting might be worse than the war itself.
"Well," Zoran says after a moment. "He's not even trying to hide it anymore."
"Find Emir." My shadows writhe with dark promise. "Tell him to watch Yasar. Carefully. I want to know everywhere he goes, everyone he speaks to."
"You think he's working with Erlik?"
"I think my cousin's playing a game." I stare at the palace where both Yasar and Nesilhan disappeared. "And my wife is somehow caught in it."
The war council convenes as sunset bleeds across the sky, painting everything in shades of blood and shadow. The great hall thrums with post-battle energy—generals still high on victory, discussing casualty reports with the casual ease of those who've grown comfortable with death.
I should be focused on strategy, on Lord Taren's next move, on the thousand tactical considerations that come with defending seven fractured territories against Light Court invasion.
Instead, I'm watching my wife and cousin very deliberately not look at each other.
They sit at opposite ends of the war table—Nesilhan to my right as befits the Shadow Queen, Yasar to my left where honored advisors belong. Between them stretches twenty feet of ancient onyx and enough tension to choke on.
"The Light Court will regroup," General Malachar is saying, his scarred face serious. "Lord Taren won't accept this defeat quietly."
"Let them come," Lord Riza interjects with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. "We showed them what happens when light challenges shadow."
"We showed them one battle," Yasar corrects mildly. "Wars are won by those who think three moves ahead, not those who celebrate single victories."
He's right, which makes me want to strangle him more.
"What do you suggest?" Zoran asks from his place among my generals—a Light Court noble in shadow armor, the irony not lost on anyone. "Since you seem to have opinions about everything except actual fighting."
Yasar's smile could cut glass. "I suggest we consider why Lord Taren chose now to attack. What changed? What prompted such sudden aggression after years of cold peace?"
"My son's death." The words escape before I can stop them, sharp enough to draw blood. "They think grief makes me weak."
"Does it?" Yasar's question is soft, almost sympathetic. But his gaze flicks to Nesilhan for just a moment—so quick I almost miss it.
She stiffens. Through the bond, fresh terror spikes.
"Weakness is relative," I say carefully, studying them both. "As is strength. Sometimes they're indistinguishable."
"How philosophical." Yasar leans back in his chair. "Though philosophy won't stop the next assault. I have contacts in the eastern territories who report unusual movement near the Whispering Marshes. If Lord Taren is smart—and he is—he'll try to divide our forces."
"Your contacts." I let skepticism drip from every word. "The same ones who kept you busy during today's battle?"
"Information is a weapon, cousin. Sometimes more valuable than shadows or swords."
"And yet information doesn't bleed," Zoran observes. "Doesn't scream when you drive steel through its heart. Some of us prefer tangible victories."
"Some of us," Yasar returns smoothly, "prefer victories that last longer than the echo of screams."
Nesilhan stands abruptly, her chair scraping against stone. "If you'll excuse me, I need air."
"The council isn't finished," I say, though what I mean is: don't leave me alone with him.
"Then finish it without me." She moves toward the doors with rigid control. "I'm sure you can manage strategy without my input. You certainly manage everything else that way."
The barb hits exactly where she intended. Four months of distance condensed into one perfectly placed wound.
She's gone before I can respond, Elcin following like a protective shadow. The war council continues around me—voices discussing supply lines and defensive positions—but all I can focus on is the echo of her fear and the way Yasar watches her leave with an expression I can't read.
"Perhaps," Yasar suggests after a moment, "we should adjourn. Post-battle exhaustion affects judgment, and your wife seems... distressed."
"My wife's distress is none of your concern."
"Isn't it?" He stands with lazy grace. "We're family, Kaan. Her wellbeing affects the stability of the realm. And stability, as you've reminded us, is everything in war."
Before I can respond with the violence his presumption deserves, he bows and exits, heading in the opposite direction from where Nesilhan went.
But I felt it through the bond—the way her fear spiked the moment he stood, like prey sensing a predator's attention.
"That was interesting," Zoran observes once the room empties. "And by interesting, I mean deeply concerning."
"Find out where he really was today." My shadows writhe with dark promise. "I don't care how you do it."
"And if he was exactly where he claimed?"
"Then find out what he did there that has my wife terrified of him."
Zoran's expression sharpens. "You think he threatened her?"
"I think something happened while we were gone." I stare at the door where she vanished. "Something that has them both pretending the other doesn't exist while the air between them practically screams with tension."
"Could be attraction," Zoran suggests carefully. "He's handsome enough, if you like the refined type—"
My shadows explode outward, slamming him against the wall before I consciously decide to move. "Finish that thought and I'll show you why Lord Taren calls me the Monster of Shadows."
"Right." Zoran doesn't struggle against my hold, smart enough to recognize murderous intent when he sees it. "Not attraction then. Definitely not an attraction. Probably something much more sinister and not at all related to your cousin being annoyingly handsome."
I release him, pulling my shadows back with effort. "Find Emir. Tell him what we discussed. I want answers."
"And where will you be?"
"Having a conversation with my wife."
"The wife who just made it clear she wants nothing to do with you?"
"That one, yes."
Zoran shakes his head. "Your masochism is impressive, even by shadow court standards."
But I'm already moving toward our chambers—or rather, the chambers she's claimed since making it clear my presence is unwelcome in what used to be our marriage bed.
I find her on the balcony, staring out at the city below where victory celebrations are beginning. Torches flicker to life as darkness falls, and somewhere in the distance, war drums still echo.
"Go away, Kaan."
"No."
She doesn't turn. "I could make you."
"You could try." I lean against the doorframe, maintaining distance she clearly needs. "But we both know your light magic has been unstable lately."
Her shoulders tense. "A temporary side effect of grief."
"Is it?" I study her rigid posture, the way her hands grip the balcony railing. "Or is it something else? Something that started, say, nine days ago when my cousin arrived?"
She spins to face me, golden eyes blazing. "Don't."
"Don't what? Ask questions? Notice that you and Yasar are doing an elaborate dance of avoidance? Point out that you're terrified of him?"
"I'm not—"
"You are." I step closer, shadows coiling around us both. "I can feel it through the bond, Nesilhan. Fear so sharp it could cut glass. What did he do?"
"Nothing." The word comes out too fast, too desperate. "He's your cousin. Your family. He's here to help with the war."
"Bullshit."
"Does it matter?" Her voice cracks slightly. "Would you even care if something had happened? Or would you just see it as another tool to use against me?"
The accusation cuts deeper than any blade could. "You think so little of me that you believe I'd weaponize your fear?"
"I think you chose me over our son." The words hang between us like poison. "I think you're capable of anything if it serves your purposes."
"And yet you're still afraid of him, not me." I move closer, close enough to see the way her pulse flutters at her throat. "What does that tell you?"
She looks away. "It tells me there are different kinds of monsters."
"What did he do, Nesilhan?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." She tries to move past me, but I catch her arm—gentle enough not to hurt, firm enough to stop her.
The moment we touch, the bond flares to life. Her emotions crash into me—terror and confusion and something else, something that makes my blood run cold.
Desire. Not for me. The feeling is tangled, complicated, tainted with revulsion, but it's there—a pull toward something that isn't me.
"Nesilhan—"
She wrenches away, light magic flaring. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me without permission."
"Something happened." My voice comes out rough. "While I was gone, he did something—"
"Yes, something happened." She laughs, bitter and broken.
"I lost our child. I discovered my closest friend was replaced by a shapeshifter.
I learned my husband would let our baby die to save me.
Something happened, Kaan. Everything happened.
And now I'm supposed to pretend it's fine?
That we can just continue like the world didn't end four months ago? "
"That's not what I—"
"I know what you meant." She backs toward the door. "But I can't. Whatever you're looking for, whatever answers you want—I can't give them to you."
"Can't or won't?"
"Does it matter?" She pauses at the doorway, not looking back. "We're all monsters here, Kaan. Some of us are just better at hiding it."
She leaves me on the balcony with more questions than answers and the absolute certainty that my cousin has done something unforgivable.
The war with the Light Court suddenly seems like the least of our problems.