Chapter Sixteen
Three Truths
Kaan
SHADOWS COIL RESTLESSLY around my feet as I await my wife's arrival, their agitation mirroring the storm brewing in my chest. The memory of Nesilhan's fairy conspirator, Banu, still burns fresh in my mind, but what truly sets my blood on fire is the knowledge that my bride has been using modified fairy potions to weaken our blood bond beyond what we agreed upon, making it harder to read the depths of her thoughts and feelings.
Three truths. That was our bargain. Three honest answers in exchange for allowing her some privacy through standard blood bond dampening.
But she's taken liberties with our agreement, and I find myself craving more than truth.
I want to strip away every layer of deception until she stands bare before me in every possible way.
"You look like a caged shadow beast contemplating murder," Emir observes from his position by the window, his tone carefully neutral. "Should I be concerned about your mental state, or is this your normal pre-wife meeting ritual?"
I shoot him a withering glare that would make lesser men soil themselves. "I'm contemplating various ways to disembowel you while maintaining our friendship. It's quite the mental exercise, really."
"Charming as always," he replies dryly. "Might I suggest practicing your matrimonial diplomacy instead? That expression would terrify small children and most grown adults."
"Excellent," I grin. "Fear is an important foundation for any lasting relationship. Along with occasional threats and regular sexual dominance."
Emir pinches the bridge of his nose like a man fighting a headache. "Your relationship philosophy explains so much about your court's high turnover rate."
"People either adapt to my methods or become decorative examples for others," I shrug, while my shadows writhe with barely contained violence. "I find both outcomes equally satisfactory."
"And Lady Nesilhan?" Emir asks carefully, recognizing the dangerous territory he's entering. "Which outcome are you hoping for with her?"
The question hits unexpectedly close to something I don't care to examine, a raw nerve I thought I'd severed long ago. My shadows respond to my emotional turmoil, darkening to an almost solid black around me as my careful control wavers.
"She's different," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
"Different how?"
Different because she fought for my life during the curse when letting me die would have freed her.
Different because she stands her ground instead of cowering, meets my darkness with fire instead of tears.
Different because when I touch her, something ancient and buried stirs in my chest—something that reminds me dangerously of feelings I swore died two hundred years ago.
"Different in that she hasn't broken yet," I reply instead, my tone deliberately cruel to mask the truth even from myself. "Most people shatter within the first week. She's proving to be a more... durable plaything."
Emir looks skeptical but wisely chooses not to press further. "Well, your 'plaything' will be here momentarily. I'll take my leave before the inevitable pyrotechnics begin."
"Coward," I call after him as he heads for the door. "You're missing the best part of my day."
"Some of us prefer to maintain our eyebrows unsinged," he retorts, pausing at the threshold. "Try not to destroy the study this time. The repairs from your last 'discussion' with Lady Nesilhan cost more than a village's annual tax contribution."
"Worth every gold piece," I reply with a wolfish smile. "The way she looks when she's furious is quite... stimulating."
As if summoned by my words, a knock sounds at the door just as Emir opens it. Nesilhan stands in the corridor, surprise briefly crossing her features at Emir's presence before her mask of composure slides back into place.
"Perfect timing, Lady Nesilhan," Emir says, bowing slightly with genuine respect. "I was just leaving before the imminent catastrophe."
"Always the optimist," I call out as he departs with undue haste.
She steps inside, and I feel the familiar jolt of electricity that accompanies her presence.
Her golden eyes assess the room with a warrior's instincts before settling on me with the intensity of a blade at my throat.
Her dark hair is woven into a braid that exposes the elegant line of her neck, where my marks from our last encounter have faded to faint shadows, a fact that irritates me more than it should .
She wears layers today—a flowing outer robe of deep crimson over a simpler dress beneath, the rich color bringing out the gold in her skin and making her look like a flame captured in human form.
Beautiful. Dangerous. Mine in ways that go beyond any blood bond.
The layered clothing is practical, I note—easier to move in should violence become necessary, with hidden pockets throughout where I'm certain multiple daggers are concealed.
"Lady Nesilhan," I greet her, my voice a deliberate purr designed to unsettle. "How lovely you look in the color of freshly spilled blood. Did you choose it with me in mind?"
"I chose it to hide any stains should I decide to slit your throat," she replies with perfect composure, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders that betrays her awareness of me through our weakened but still functional bond.
I laugh, genuinely delighted by her sharp tongue and the promise of violence in her tone. "Always so thoughtful. It's one of your more endearing qualities."
"Shall we begin?" I ask, gesturing toward the chairs arranged near the fireplace with deceptive casualness. "I believe we had an agreement. Three truths from you, one from me."
Nesilhan approaches with the wary grace of a predator, her eyes never leaving mine as she takes the indicated seat. I notice her fingers briefly check the hidden weapons concealed throughout her clothing.
"Daggers at a truth-telling session?" I smirk, taking the seat opposite her and allowing my shadows to creep closer to her chair with deliberate menace. "How charmingly paranoid of you."
"I find sharp objects make most conversations with you more bearable," she replies coolly, but there's heat beneath the ice, always heat with her.
I lean forward, my shadows responding to my focused intent and gathering densely around us until the air itself seems to thicken with dark magic.
"Let's begin with truth number one, shall we?
Your complete training history in the Light Court.
Who taught you, what skills you possess, what missions you completed? And don't leave out any details."
She takes a deep breath, her fingers twisting the ring on her right hand, a nervous habit I've catalogued along with every other tell she unknowingly displays.
"I was recruited at seven years old," she begins, her voice carefully measured but carrying an undercurrent of old pain. "Not as a diplomat, but as an assassin for the Order of the Silent Blade."
"Seven?" I repeat, eyebrows rising with genuine surprise. "The Light Court recruits children for murder? How delightfully hypocritical of them. And here they call me the monster."
Her jaw tightens, a muscle jumping with suppressed emotion. "They identified an unusual form of light magic in me, internal rather than external. It enhances reflexes, allows me to sense magical threats before they materialize, makes me faster and more lethal than normal humans."
"Fascinating," I murmur, genuinely impressed despite myself. "This explains how you almost took my head off in our training session. Your body moves like liquid lightning when you fight. And who molded little Nesilhan into such an efficient killer?"
"Various masters," she replies vaguely, clearly hoping to avoid specifics.
"Names," I demand, my shadows darkening around her chair like hungry serpents in response to my growing impatience. "Our agreement was for complete truth, not these half-measure crumbs you're tossing me like I'm some court lapdog."
Golden eyes flash with defiance that sends heat straight to my groin before she continues. "Master Erevan for poisons and their antidotes. Mistress Lyria for court deception and manipulation. Master Toren for weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Master Kael for infiltration and escape techniques."
"And who," I ask, voice dropping to a dangerous purr that makes her breathing hitch slightly, "taught you the more... intimate arts? The seduction tactics every good assassin needs to get close to their targets?"
Her cheeks flush with color that makes me want to trace the path of that heat with my tongue, but her voice remains steady. "Primarily Mistress Kaya."
"Primarily?" I echo, catching the qualifier instantly like the predator I am. "Who else participated in that particular aspect of your education, hatun? "
The bond between us pulses with sudden tension—anger, embarrassment, and something fiercely possessive that mirrors my own growing fury.
"Aslan," she finally spits, his name steals the breath from my lungs.
"Aslan was brought in as my training partner when I turned eighteen."
My shadows lash violently around us in response to my explosive rage, cracking a nearby vase and sending books flying as fury boils through me like molten metal.
The image of him touching her, training her, knowing her body before I did makes my blood burn with an intensity that threatens to consume me entirely.
"Stand up," I command, rising abruptly from my seat as power crackles through the air, my shadows moving the chairs aside to clear the center of the room.
She eyes me warily, recognizing the danger in my tone. "Why?"
"Because," I snarl, my shadows pushing the remaining furniture back against the walls with violent efficiency, "I want you to show me exactly what your precious Aslan taught you. Every. Single. Thing."