Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Dark Truth
Nesilhan
THE SUN CASTS golden rays through the shadow trees as I leave the garden, my heart lighter than it has been since coming to the Shadow Court.
I pause at the edge of the path, savoring this rare moment of pure contentment.
The children's laughter still rings in my ears—their initial fear of the Shadow Lord melting into wonder as Kaan creates intricate shadow creatures for their amusement.
Little Thea's delighted squeal when I show her how to shape her fingers to make a butterfly shadow on the garden wall.
Eren's serious concentration as he perfects his wolf, his small face lighting up when Kaan adds glowing red eyes to his creation.
"Again, Lord Kaan! Please, again!" they beg, fear forgotten as they crowd around him.
And Kaan—stern, terrifying Kaan—obliges with surprising patience, his shadows dancing for them in ways I've never seen before. Not to threaten, not to intimidate, but to delight. To create wonder instead of fear.
My hand drifts instinctively to my still-flat stomach, a secret smile warming my face.
One day soon, our own child might sit among these orphans, learning to create shadow butterflies and wolves from their father.
The image is so vivid—Kaan's large hands guiding tiny ones, teaching our child the intricate movements that bring shadows to life. Not as weapons, but as art.
The thought fills me with such overwhelming happiness that I nearly turn around to find him now, to tell him that the prophecy is coming true, that we're creating a future neither of us ever imagined possible.
Soon, I promise myself. Tonight, perhaps, when we're alone. When I can see his face as I tell him he's going to be a father.
As I make my way through the palace corridors toward my chambers, exhaustion begins to settle into my bones.
The afternoon with the children was joyful but draining.
This new fatigue that comes with early pregnancy is unlike anything I've experienced before—a bone-deep weariness that descends without warning.
Yet beneath the tiredness glows a fierce happiness that not even exhaustion can dim.
Three servants approach, bowing respectfully as they pass.
Their whispers follow in their wake, and I catch fragments as they continue down the corridor—"glowing," "the Shadow Lady," "never seen her smile so much.
" I can't even bring myself to mind their gossip.
Let them talk. Let the entire Shadow Court see that their fearsome lord's wife is happy, contented, perhaps even in love.
Love. The word I've been afraid to even think, let alone speak aloud.
But it's true. Somehow, against all odds, I've fallen in love with the monster I was sent to destroy.
Except he isn't the monster I thought him to be.
He's complex, contradictory—capable of both terrible cruelty and unexpected gentleness.
The way he looked at me in the garden today, with something so vulnerable in his eyes when I kissed him.
.. it was as if he'd never been kissed with genuine affection before.
I remember the first time he showed me the shadow observatory, his voice softening as he explained the constellations.
The night he taught me to manipulate small shadows, his hands guiding mine with surprising patience.
The morning I found him asleep at his desk, brow furrowed even in slumber, and how he leaned into my touch when I smoothed his hair from his face.
And now, a child. Our child. The living embodiment of shadow and light united.
When I reach my chambers, I'm surprised to find the door slightly ajar.
A flicker of assassin's instinct tenses my muscles before I recognize Banu's familiar magic.
Pushing open the door, I see her standing near the window, her back to me, wings unusually still.
Something about her posture immediately sets warning bells ringing in my mind.
"Banu?" I say softly, closing the door behind me. "Is everything alright?"
She turns, and I immediately notice the absence of her usual mischievous smile. Her wings droop slightly, lacking their characteristic shimmer, and her silver-blonde hair has shifted to a dull gray—a color I've rarely seen on her.
"Nesilhan," she replies, her voice strained as she attempts a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Back from your garden adventure? How were the little shadow spawn?"
The forced lightness in her tone only heightens my concern. "The children were wonderful. They adored your sparkle illusions—Thea was still talking about them when I left." I move to sit on the edge of my bed, studying her carefully. "What's wrong? You look... troubled."
"Me? Troubled? Preposterous." She flits nervously from the window to the dresser, hovering above the floor as her wings beat frantically. She adjusts items that don't need adjusting. "Just standard fairy concerns. Dewdrop shortages. Moonlight taxes. The usual bureaucratic nightmare."
"Banu." I fix her with a firm look that stops her nervous fluttering. "I've known you long enough to tell when something's wrong. What is it?"
She hesitates, wings beating so rapidly they become almost transparent. "Did you... have a chance to speak privately with Kaan after I left the garden? About... you know." She gestures vaguely toward my midsection.
I shake my head. "He was called away for a council meeting. But I'm going to tell him tonight."
Her wings suddenly stop their frantic beating, and she drops several inches in the air before catching herself. "Tonight? Are you sure that's... wise?"
I laugh, confused by her reaction. "Of course I'm telling him. He's the father, Banu. Besides, I can't keep hiding it much longer. The morning sickness, my exhaustion—someone's bound to notice if they haven't already."
"But there's no rush, is there?" she presses, her voice rising slightly. "Maybe wait a week. Or a month. Or possibly until the baby's old enough to defend itself with shadow daggers?"
Now thoroughly confused, I frown at her. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't I tell him?"
Banu wrings her tiny hands, her wings beating so fast they're almost invisible.
She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again.
"I overheard something today after I left the gardens," she finally says, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.
"A conversation between Kaan and Emir. They mentioned someone named Isil. "
The name sends a jolt through me—the woman whose name Kaan whispered during our encounter in his study months ago. The name that made him recoil as if struck, that ended our intimacy as abruptly as a door slamming shut.
"What about her?" I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse.
Banu perches herself on the bedside locker; she suddenly seems smaller, more vulnerable, as she sits on the edge of the wooden surface. "Emir brought up something about Isil." She takes a deep breath. "She was pregnant with his child when she died."
My heart begins to pound, a strange dread building in my chest even as I try to dismiss it. "I didn't know that. I knew she had died."
"She refused to end the pregnancy," Banu continues, her eyes fixed on mine. "Kaan's exact words were: 'When Isil told me she was carrying my child and refused to end it, I lost control. I can't let history repeat itself.'"
The room seems to tilt around me. "Lost control? What does that mean? Did he say anything else?"
"Not specifically," Banu admits. "But Emir warned him not to make the same mistake with you. Nesilhan, he sounded afraid…not just worried, but genuinely terrified of what might happen if you're pregnant."
I place a protective hand over my stomach, trying to make sense of what Banu is telling me. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything terrible. Maybe 'losing control' meant he panicked, or said things he regretted. Maybe they argued and she left."
"Nesilhan." Banu's voice is firmer now, her usual playfulness completely gone. She stands from the table, straight and tense. "You can't tell him about this baby. Not until we know more about what happened with Isil."
"Are you saying Kaan might harm me? Harm our child? That's absurd. You've seen how he is with the orphans, how gentle he can be with me when we're alone. "
"I've also seen him torture a man to death and bottle his soul for eternity," Banu counters, her feet lifting off the ground as her agitation grows.
"I've seen him crack stone walls with his rage.
I'm saying we need to be careful—we need to find out what really happened with Isil before you put yourself and your baby at risk. "
My legs suddenly feel too weak to support me. I sink onto the bed, my hand still protectively covering my stomach. The joy I'd carried from the garden evaporates, replaced by a cold dread that seeps into my bones.
"This can't be happening," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I was so happy just moments ago. I thought... I thought we were finally..."
Tears burn behind my eyes, the first I've allowed myself since coming to the Shadow Court. I never cry in front of Kaan, not even when Aslan died, not even when I thought Kaan might kill me. But now, faced with this terrible possibility, my control shatters.
"I thought he was changing," I manage between stifled sobs. "I thought I was seeing the real man beneath the monster."
Banu's small hand comes to rest on mine, her touch unusually gentle. Her delicate, fairy features make her seem almost childlike as she looks at me with genuine concern. "Maybe you were. Maybe this is nothing. But we need to know for sure before you tell him about the baby."
I nod, too exhausted to argue further. The day's emotional extremes—from pure joy to crushing fear—have left me drained beyond measure. My eyelids grow heavy, the weight of what might be true about Kaan too much to bear consciously.
"You need to rest," Banu says, hovering closer. "We'll figure this out, I promise."