Chapter 8
The Fairy's Confession
Kaan
I sit in my command pavilion, staring at nothing, a goblet of wine untouched in my hand while maps and battle plans lay scattered, forgotten across my desk. The phantom ache where our bond used to live throbs with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of what I've lost.
"My lord?" Emir's voice cuts through the silence as he enters, then stops short. "Are you…all right?"
I blink slowly, focusing on his concerned face.
"All right?" I repeat the words as if they're foreign.
"Well, let's see. My wife has erased me so thoroughly from her mind that she chose a new name rather than remember her own.
She's living as a healer's assistant in a village that smells like goat cheese.
And she looked at me like I was something that crawled out from under a rock.
" I take a sip of wine, grimacing. "So no, Emir.
I wouldn't say I'm all right. I'd say I'm having the sort of day that makes one reconsider the benefits of immortality. "
Emir closes the pavilion flap behind him, his expression carefully neutral. "What happened?"
"She's alive," I say, the words hollow. "Alive and calling herself Elif.
The blood severance destroyed her memories along with our bond—complete amnesia.
She didn't recognize me at all. Looked at me like I was a stranger who might harm her.
" I laugh bitterly. "Which, to be fair, is probably accurate. "
Emir's expression grows more concerned. "How extensive is the memory loss?"
"Complete. She remembers nothing—not her name, not her past, not me.
" I pause, then deliver the next blow. "And there's more.
She's pregnant, Emir. Over six months along.
" I drain the goblet and set it aside with more force than necessary.
"She's carrying my child and has no idea who the father is. "
For once in eight centuries of service, my general appears genuinely shaken. He processes this information in silence for a long moment, then makes a low sound of understanding in his throat.
"Fetch Banu," I command, shadows unfurling from beneath my cloak. "Now. And Emir?" He pauses. "Make it abundantly clear that this is not a social call."
The village lies a good ten minutes away, yet Banu arrives sooner than expected, slipping through the tent flap with none of her usual grand entrance.
Her silver-blonde hair cycles through anxious colors—blue to gray to a particularly ominous shade of purple.
Her wings droop with exhaustion, and for once, she's mercifully quiet.
"Well," she says, attempting her usual bravado but failing spectacularly, "this is awkward. Though I must say, your camp has terrible feng shui. All those pointed weapons facing inward? Very negative energy flow."
"Sit," I command, my voice deadly quiet.
She perches nervously on the edge of a camp stool, her tiny form dwarfed by the military surroundings. "Before you start with the dramatic threatening," she begins, "I want you to know that I didn't expect?—"
"You will tell me everything," I interrupt, my voice carrying the promise of violence.
"Everything that happened that night. Every word you spoke to my wife.
Every detail you've conveniently omitted.
And if I discover you've lied to me..." Shadows rippling outward in dark waves.
"Well, let's just say your wings are quite delicate, aren't they? "
Banu's wings flutter frantically. "I…after you killed Aslan, when we were leaving his cottage, I saw a potion on the floor. It had been knocked over during the fight. I…I picked it up and hid it."
"What kind of potion?" Emir asks quietly.
"The Blood Severance Elixir," she admits, wringing her tiny hands. "I was watching from the window when Aslan tried to force it on Nesilhan. I knew what it was supposed to do—break the blood bond between you two. I thought…I thought maybe she should have options."
My shadows begin to darken around us. "Options?"
"When I told her about Isil's journal that night, she was so desperate, so terrified. I thought…I thought she should have the potion back. So I gave it to her." She swallows hard.
The temperature in the pavilion drops several degrees. "You returned a magical potion to my wife that was specifically designed to destroy our bond?"
"She was terrified!" Banu protests. "After I told her about the journal and gave her the vial, she just…she took it. Said she would keep it. I thought maybe having it would make her feel like she had some control."
"How considerate," I snarl, shadows beginning to lash out. "You enabled her destruction out of kindness."
"I knew it would break your blood bond, but I didn't realize it would cause complete amnesia," she says desperately.
"I thought…I thought it would just sever the magical connection, not destroy her memories entirely.
I should have asked more questions about what the potion would do, but I was so focused on giving her a choice that I didn't consider the consequences. "
"The Blood Severance Elixir," Emir interjects quietly, "what exactly does it do beyond breaking bonds?"
"I don't know much about memory magic—it's not my area of expertise," Banu admits reluctantly.
"But I've heard that sometimes traumatic magical severances can lock memories away rather than destroy them completely.
Whether they can be recovered..." She shakes her head helplessly. "I honestly don't know."
"What I do know," she continues carefully, "is that we have to take this slowly. She's fragile now, more than you might realize. Pushing too hard, too fast, could shatter what's left of her mind completely. You need to be gentle with her, Kaan. Patient."
Something inside me snaps.
"Gentle?" I snarl, shadows exploding outward with violent force. "Patient? My wife destroyed her own mind to escape me, and you want me to be fucking gentle?"
I surge to my feet, the camp chair flying backward as darkness engulfs the pavilion. "Tell me she'll remember! Tell me this isn't permanent! Tell me something useful instead of platitudes about patience!"
Banu yelps as tendrils of shadow wrap around her tiny form, lifting her from the stool. "Hey! Personal space, you overgrown drama queen!" she snaps, though her voice wavers slightly. "And for the record, I don't know! Nobody knows! Memory magic isn't an exact science!"
"My lord." Emir's voice cuts through my rage as he steps between us, one hand moving carefully to his sword hilt. "Perhaps we should release her and discuss this calmly."
"Get out of my way, Emir," I growl, tightening the shadows around the fairy. "She destroyed my wife's mind and now she's telling me to be patient while?—"
For a heartbeat, something shifts in Emir's eyes—something I've never seen in eight centuries of service.
His jaw sets with quiet resolve as steel whispers from its sheath.
The blade emerges slowly, deliberately, its steel catching the lamplight.
Eight centuries of loyalty gives weight to his defiance as he levels the ceremonial blade between us, its significance unmistakable.
The world stops.
In eight hundred years, through countless battles, betrayals, and my darkest moments, Emir has never—not once—drawn steel against me. My shadows freeze mid-strike, shock overwhelming my rage.
"Well, well," I laugh, the sound brittle as breaking glass. "My stoic general, drawing steel to protect his precious little pixie. Tell me, Emir, does she flutter those pretty wings when you kiss her? Or do you have to be careful not to snap her in half during your tender moments?"
"Take a walk," he says quietly, his sword never wavering. "Cool off. Think. Then come back when you can discuss this rationally."
"Rationally?" I repeat, incredulous. "My wife?—"
"Take. A. Walk."
For a moment, we stare at each other across drawn steel. Then I release Banu with a gesture of disgust, watching her drop to the floor in a heap of trembling wings.
"How very domestic," I sneer, shadows retreating slightly. "The noble warrior and his pet fairy. Do try not to break her, Emir. She's so delicate."
I stride toward the pavilion entrance, pausing at the flap. "When you're done comforting your little Tinkerbell, find out if there's anything else she's conveniently forgotten to mention. I'll be back when I've cooled off enough not to pluck her wings."
The tent flap snaps shut behind me with more force than necessary, leaving them to whatever tender moment my general apparently needs to have with his winged conscience.
I can't bring myself to return to camp. Not yet. Not when she's so close I can almost feel the phantom echo of our severed bond pulling me toward her. So I wander the village outskirts like some lovesick fool, staying in the shadows, watching the cottage where she sleeps.
The irony isn't lost on me. The Shadow Lord reduced to lurking in bushes like a common stalker.
It's well past midnight when I decide to take one more look at her cottage before returning to camp. As I approach, I hear the steady thunk of an axe biting wood from behind the building. I find Sinan splitting logs by lamplight. Apparently, I'm not the only one who can't sleep.
"Working late," I observe, stepping into the circle of light.
He spins, axe raised, then recognizes me. His expression shifts from alarm to wariness. "You."
"Yes, me. Miss me already?" I wave dismissively. "Tell me, Sinan, what exactly are your intentions with my wife?"
"Elif is not your wife." He lowers the axe but keeps it ready.
"Elif." I taste the name with distaste. "Charming. Did she pick that herself, or did you help her with the new identity?"
"That's her name. She's always going to be Elif to me," he says defensively.
"And how long have you been playing hero?" I ask with mock curiosity. "Since before the bandits arrived, I assume?"
"I was passing by and decided to stay," he says stiffly. "The attack just…happened.”
"How convenient." I circle him slowly, noting how his grip tightens on the axe handle. "And you just happened to be here to offer your…protection?”
"Someone had to look out for her. She was confused, vulnerable?—"
"Ah, yes, the noble protector routine." I laugh, the sound sharp in the night air. "Tell me, hero, have you kissed her yet? Held her hand? Whispered sweet promises about keeping her safe?"
His face flushes. "It's not that way. I just?—"
"Want to fuck her," I finish pleasantly. "It's perfectly natural. She's a beautiful woman, damaged and grateful for kindness. Easy prey for a man with noble intentions."
"You bastard," he snarls, raising the axe. "She's not prey. She's?—"
"Mine," I interrupt, power exploding outward. The temperature plummets so rapidly that frost forms on his beard. "She is mine, you pathetic little worm. My wife. My property. The mother of my child."
He staggers back, the axe falling from nerveless fingers as my power crashes over him. "What... what are you?"
"I am Kaan Karanliko?lu," I say, letting the darkness dance around us both.
"Lord of Shadows and Darkness, ruler of the seven factions of the Shadow Court.
Son of Erlik, Prince of the Void. I am the thing that hunts your nightmares, the darkness that swallows light.
" I lean closer, letting him feel the cold that radiates from my very soul.
"And you, dear Sinan, are a village peasant with delusions of heroism. "
Even in remote villages, mothers tell their children stories about the Shadow Lord—tales meant to keep them from wandering too far into the dark. Recognition dawns in his eyes—even here, my name carries weight. Good.
"Now," I continue conversationally, "let me give you some friendly advice. Walk away. Pack your things, leave this village, and never think of her again. Because if I find you sniffing around what belongs to me..." I smile. "Well, let's just say they'll never find enough pieces to bury."
For a moment, I think he'll run. Any sane man would. But then his jaw sets with stubborn determination.
"If she wants me gone, I'll go," he says quietly. "But I won't abandon her just because some monster claims ownership."
I blink, genuinely surprised. "Did you just call me 'some monster' to my face?"
"If the title fits." He retrieves his axe, though his hands shake. "I don't care what you are or what you think gives you the right to her. She's not property."
"Oh, but she is," I correct, delighted by his defiance. "Blood-bonded, magically bound, legally wed. Every law of god and man says she belongs to me." I tilt my head. "Of course, she did try to dissolve that bond by destroying her own mind, so points for creativity."
His face goes pale. "You're the reason she ran. You're what she was so afraid of."
"Indeed," I agree with dark amusement. "Though I'm still working out the details of why. Something about thinking I'd murder her and our unborn child, apparently. Terribly inconvenient, that."
Sinan sways on his feet, the truth finally sinking in. "That's…you’re lying."
"Which part?" I ask with dark amusement.
"That she's terrified of me? That she destroyed her own mind to escape whatever she believed I'd do?
Or that your noble rescue is nothing more than wishful thinking?
" I watch his face crumble. "So you see, your little rescue fantasy was doomed from the start. "
The fight goes out of him. He slumps against a woodpile, staring at me with hollow eyes.
"So you see," I continue pleasantly, "you can't save her from me, Sinan. I am her nightmare made flesh, the monster under her bed, the darkness she can't escape. And sooner or later, she'll remember that."
"Then why aren't you taking her?" he asks quietly. "If she's really yours, why are you here talking to me instead of dragging her back to the Shadow Realm?"
The question irritates me more than I care to admit. "Because I'm not some common brigand who steals women in the night," I snap. "She made her choice to run. Now she can make the choice to return."
"And if she doesn't? If she never remembers, or remembers and still chooses to stay here?"
I consider this, power writhing restlessly around my feet.
"Then I suppose we'll discover just how far my patience extends.
But make no mistake—she is mine. The child she carries is mine.
And if you think to take advantage of her broken state.
.." My smile turns razor-sharp. "Well, immortality gives one such creative perspectives on revenge. "
I turn to leave, then pause. "Oh, and Sinan? Don't make me return to have this conversation again. I won't be nearly so…diplomatic next time."
As I fade into the darkness, I begin humming a cheerful little tune—a lullaby mothers sing to their children about the monsters that steal naughty boys in the night.
Behind me, Sinan remains frozen by the woodpile, staring at the spot where I vanished, the axe hanging forgotten in his grip.