Chapter Fourteen
The Curse
Kaan
THERE'S A PECULIAR irony to shadow magic, one that most people never live long enough to appreciate. The same darkness that gives me power can also consume me if I'm not careful.
Right now, it's doing exactly that.
I can feel the curse feeding on my shadow magic, growing stronger with each pulse of power through my veins.
I was speaking to Nesilhan when I collapsed, accusing her of killing the enemy so I wouldn't get a chance to question him.
The poison from the assassin's blade works quickly, completely immobilizing me, which is a fucking shame.
"If this is what dying feels like," I rasp to no one in particular, "I'm deeply disappointed. I expected a more dramatic exit. Perhaps a choir of demons singing my praises or at least some impressive pyrotechnics. "
"Stop talking," a voice commands from somewhere to my left. Nesilhan. My beautiful bride sounds genuinely irritated, which I find oddly comforting. Hatred is familiar territory. Concern would be far more unsettling.
I turn my head, immediately regretting the movement as pain lances through my skull.
She's sitting beside my bed, her golden eyes fixed on me with an intensity that might be unnerving if I weren't already in agony.
The candlelight catches in her dark hair, creating a halo effect that seems painfully ironic given our circumstances.
"Ah, hatun ," I manage through gritted teeth, "have you come to witness my suffering? Looking for pointers on how to finish the job?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive," she replies, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through me that has nothing to do with the curse. Despite how I'm feeling my cock is fucking aware of her presence. "Though I'm questioning mysanity in the process."
"That makes two of us," I mutter, pushing the memories of me inside her away. "Why exactly are you playing nursemaid to your sworn enemy? Couldn't bear the thought of life without me?"
Her hand stills momentarily before continuing its work. "The blood bond, remember? If you die from this curse, I suffer, too." She wrings out the cloth in a basin beside her, then returns it to my brow. "Self-preservation is a powerful motivator."
"How convenient," I say, trying to inject my usual malice into the words, but they come out weaker than intended. I hate her seeing me in this position; vulnerability doesn't go well with my murderous persona. "And here I thought you'd developed a soft spot for your monster husband."
A commotion outside the chamber door interrupts whatever retort she might have made. Raised voices—Emir's distinctive baritone among them, along with what sounds like several of my shadow lords and the palace healers.
"Shadow Lord Kaan needs proper medical attention!" Emir's voice rings clear through the heavy door. "Let us through, Lady Nesilhan!"
Nesilhan rises with surprising grace, her body tensing like a warrior preparing for battle rather than a diplomat's daughter. My hatun . "I handled them once. I'll handle them again."
"Handled them?" I manage to ask as she strides toward the door. "What exactly did you do to my most faithful servants, hatun ?"
A smile flickers briefly across her face, sharp and dangerous. "I persuaded them that I was better equipped to manage your condition than they were."
She pulls the door open just enough to present her body as a barrier, her voice carrying clearly back to me.
"I told you before, General Emir. No one enters.
His shadow magic is volatile and attacking him from within.
Any dark magic user who approaches risks triggering a reaction that could kill us all. "
"We've brought light healers—" begins another voice.
"Who knows nothing of shadow curses," Nesilhan cuts him off. "I've studied these specific maladies. I know what I'm doing."
"And we're supposed to trust the word of a Light Court bride who has every reason to want him dead?" challenges a third voice—definitely Ozan, always the most suspicious of my inner circle.
"If I wanted him dead," Nesilhan replies with deadly calm, "I'd simply wait. The curse would do my work for me. Instead, I've been awake for three days fighting to keep your lord alive. Now, unless you want to explain to Kaan why your interference killed him, I suggest you leave us be."
The silence that follows speaks volumes. I'm almost impressed by the authority in her voice, the natural command that has nothing to do with her diplomatic training and everything to do with something else entirely. Something she keeps hidden, except in moments like these.
"Three days, if he worsens—" Emir begins.
"You'll be the first to know," she interrupts, then closes the door with finality, turning the heavy key in the lock.
"My, my," I drawl despite the pain radiating through my chest. "Such fierce protection. One might almost think you care."
"One would be wrong," she replies, returning to my bedside with a steaming cup of something that smells truly vile. "I simply refuse to let a shadow curse be what kills you when I have so many more creative methods planned."
Another wave of pain hits me, this one so intense that I can't suppress a groan. The shadows around me respond to my distress, thrashing wildly before settling into agitated patterns across the walls.
"You need to control your magic," Nesilhan says, her voice surprisingly gentle despite her harsh words moments before. "The curse feeds on shadow power. The more you use, the stronger it grows."
"Helpful advice," I hiss. "Next, perhaps you'll suggest I try not being in excruciating pain."
"I'd suggest you try not being an ass, but I doubt that's possible even when you're dying.
" She slides an arm behind my shoulders, helping me sit up enough to drink.
Her touch is firm but not rough, her body warm against mine.
The contact sends a different kind of heat through me, one that makes the curse momentarily recede.
The liquid she holds to my lips is bitter enough to make me gag. "By all the shadows, what is this foul concoction? Are you poisoning me after all?"
"If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't waste good herbs doing it." She presses the cup more insistently against my mouth. "Drink. All of it."
I comply, if only because arguing requires more energy than I currently possess. The potion burns going down, settling in my stomach like molten lead before spreading outward in waves of uncomfortable heat.
"Delicious," I mutter once I've drained the cup. "Please tell me it's at least lethal."
"Unfortunately for both of us, no." She eases me back down, her movements gentler than strictly necessary. The way her fingers linger against my skin for a fraction longer than required doesn't escape my notice, even in my cursed state. "It should help fight the curse, though. For a while."
Time passes strangely. I drift in and out of consciousness, the room alternating between freezing cold and unbearable heat.
Sometimes I'm aware of Nesilhan moving around the chamber, preparing more potions, changing the cloth on my forehead.
Other times, I'm alone with the shadows that seem to have developed minds of their own, forming into faces I recognize—faces from the Light Court massacre, silent and accusing.
In one moment of clarity, I open my eyes to find Nesilhan reading by candlelight beside my bed, her profile outlined in gold. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hasn't slept.
"You should rest," I tell her, surprised by the concern in my voice.
She looks up, startled. "You're awake."
"Apparently." I attempt to sit up, managing to prop myself against the pillows with considerable effort. "How long has it been?"
"Six days total," she says, setting her book aside and reaching for a cup of water that she holds to my lips. I drink greedily, suddenly aware of my parched throat. "The fever breaks occasionally, but it always returns."
Another wave hits, worse than before. The shadows around the room respond to my distress, whipping into a frenzy that shatters a vase and sends books flying from shelves. Nesilhan doesn't flinch, her hands remaining steady on my chest as she continues an incantation in an ancient language.
In the brief respite that follows, I find myself speaking again, compelled by pain and fever to unburden myself of truths I've never shared.
"The Light Court," I rasp, my voice barely recognizable. "Tell me what you know about the massacre."
Her hands pause momentarily before resuming their work. "I know what everyone knows. The Shadow Court slaughtered innocent citizens during what was supposed to be a peaceful annexation."
"Not at first," I admit, closing my eyes against memories that burn as fiercely as the curse. "I gave the order to protect the citizens. To show mercy. To prove we aren't the monsters they believed us to be."
I feel rather than see her surprise. The bond between us pulses with it, stronger now that her light magic is actively working within me.
"Then what happened?" she asks quietly.
"Emir's lover was killed. Cut down while surrendering.
" My breath comes in short gasps now, each word an effort.
"And I... changed the order. I was so angry.
So full of rage. I said no mercy, no survivors.
" I turn my face away, unable to meet her eyes.
"I became exactly what they feared. What I had sworn never to be. "
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of my confession. I see something flicker across her face, not quite forgiveness, but perhaps understanding.
"Why are you telling me this?" she finally asks.
"Because the fever is making me sentimental," I reply, attempting humor and failing miserably. "Or possibly because I'm dying and want someone to know the truth."
"You're not dying," she says with surprising fierceness. "I won't allow it. "