Chapter 36 #3
"Perfect." I straighten, decision crystallizing. "Then we don't fight by any rules he'll recognize."
The council disperses to make final preparations, but Nesilhan lingers, studying the troop positions and escape routes marked on the maps. Her hands are steady now, I notice. The grief is still there—carved into the shadows beneath her eyes, her cheeks—but it's been joined by something else.
Purpose.
I move to stand beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
"You don't have to be there," I say quietly. "Solene's intelligence gives us options we didn't have before. We could position you somewhere safe, use a decoy—"
"No." She doesn't look at me, but her voice carries a raw edge that makes my chest ache.
"I spent months blaming myself for our baby's death.
Destroying myself with guilt while my father watched—while he knew what he'd done and said nothing.
He let me believe I killed our son when he was the one who—" Her voice breaks, and she presses a hand to her mouth, visibly fighting for control.
I don't touch her. I want to—every instinct screams at me to pull her into my arms and hold her until the shaking stops—but I know better. She needs to feel this rage, needs to let it burn through the grief. Comfort would only smother what's keeping her standing.
"He doesn't get to take anything else from me," she continues, steadier now.
"Not my home. Not my husband. Not my future.
" She finally looks at me, and the devastation in her eyes is tempered by something fiercer.
"I want him to know it was me. When he's on his knees, defeated, I want him to look up and see his daughter standing over him.
The daughter he threw away for politics. "
My shadows writhe in response to the cold fury in her voice. "Well, that's delightfully vengeful. I'm impressed. And slightly aroused, if I'm being honest."
She stares at me, caught off guard. "Did you just—"
"What? You're standing there looking like an avenging goddess planning patricide, and I'm supposed to pretend that doesn't do something for me?" I shrug, allowing a hint of my usual smirk. "I'm a monster, not a liar."
For a moment, she just blinks at me. Then—impossibly—the corner of her mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not yet. But something close.
"You're unbelievable," she says, but there's less ice in it than before.
"I prefer 'charmingly inappropriate in moments of crisis.
' It's a gift, really. Eight centuries of practice.
" I study her face, memorizing the determined set of her jaw, the fierce light in her eyes despite the grief still shadowing them.
"Besides, if we're going to destroy your father, we might as well enjoy ourselves.
Vengeance should be savored, not suffered through like a tactful dinner. "
She reaches out and takes my hand—a simple gesture that somehow means everything. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly, but her grip is firm.
"Then let's give my father a demonstration."
"Now you're speaking my language." I squeeze her hand once. "Fair warning—I plan to be theatrical about it. There may be dramatic shadow displays. Possibly a villainous monologue. I've been workshopping some material."
"Of course you have," she murmurs, but she doesn't pull away.
We stand like that for a moment, her hand in mine, united by grief and rage and something that might—with time—become stronger than either.
The doors open and Emir enters, his expression unreadable but his posture radiating readiness.
"My lord. The troops are assembled. Shadow warriors in formation.
Supply lines secured. Everyone is in position.
" He pauses, his dark eyes meeting mine with the weight of decades of service. "Are we ready?"
Nesilhan's hand tightens in mine, and I feel her waiting—waiting for me to say we need more time, more planning, more preparation.
"No." The word comes out flat, absolute.
Emir's eyes narrow slightly, confused.
"I'm done waiting." My shadows unfurl across the floor, eager and hungry. "We go to war now. No more defending. No more reacting. No more sitting behind these walls while they circle like vultures."
I release Nesilhan's hand and stride toward Emir, feeling the decision settle into my bones with perfect clarity.
"They tried to take her from me. They took my child. They've spent months testing our defenses, killing our people while we strategize and prepare." My voice drops to something lethal. "It ends now."
Emir's confusion transforms into understanding, then into a rare, savage smile, the expression of a warrior who's been waiting for this order for far too long.
"Sound the war horns," I command. "Tell the troops we march at dawn. We're taking the fight to Taren Alari. We end this."
"It will be my pleasure, my lord." Emir's voice carries dark satisfaction.
He turns toward the door, then pauses. "Any specific message for the troops?"
"Tell them their Shadow Lord is done playing defense." I let my smile sharpen into something monstrous. "Tell them it's time to remind the Light Court why they fear the dark."
Emir bows, something like pride flashing across his features, then strides from the room with renewed purpose.
Moments later, the first horn sounds—deep and resonant, echoing across the Shadow Court like the voice of something ancient and terrible waking from slumber. Then another joins it, and another, until the very stones seem to vibrate with the call to war.
The sound rolls across the courtyards, through the training grounds, into every corner of the Shadow Court. A declaration. A promise.
War.
Nesilhan steps beside me at the window, and I feel her watching the transformation below—soldiers moving into final formations, shadow warriors coalescing from darkness itself, the entire court mobilizing.
"No going back now," she says softly.
"Good." I turn to face her, darkness convulsing shadows around us both. "I'm tired of being hunted. Tired of watching them come for what's mine." My hand finds hers again. "Your father wanted to test whether his daughter's monster of a husband could be broken."
The war drums begin—a deep, primal rhythm that makes the floor tremble beneath our feet.
"Let's show him exactly what kind of monster I am," I murmur.
Through the place where our bond once lived, I feel her dark satisfaction mirroring my own. Her fingers tighten around mine, and when she speaks, her voice carries the weight of prophecy.
"Then we go to war. We end this now."
Outside, the Shadow Court roars to life—an army of darkness preparing to descend on the Light. Inside, two broken people forged by tragedy and loss stand united.
Unbreakable.
And absolutely merciless.