Chapter 14
The Brother's Return
N esilhan
The tension in the square is thick enough to cut with a blade after my spectacular destruction of municipal property.
Villagers peer at us from doorways and windows, their expressions ranging from awe to terror to what might charitably be called morbid curiosity.
A few brave souls have begun creeping closer to examine the twisted remains of the bronze statue, their whispered conversations carrying words like "magic" and "impossible" and "dangerous. "
"Perhaps," Kaan says with entirely too much satisfaction as he surveys the metallic carnage, "we should take this conversation somewhere with fewer witnesses and breakable objects."
His hand is still extended toward me, and despite every rational thought screaming warnings, I find myself reaching for it.
The moment our fingers touch, that golden warmth spreads through me again—not the explosive, uncontrolled power from moments before, but something gentler.
More intimate. Like coming home to something I'd forgotten I was missing.
"Walk with me?" he asks, and there's something in his voice—a careful restraint, perhaps, or maybe hope—that makes it impossible to refuse.
We leave the square together, moving toward the path that leads to the river.
I'm acutely aware of him beside me—the feral grace of his movements, the way shadows seem to bend toward him like flowers following the sun.
But underneath the otherworldly power, there's something else. Something almost…vulnerable.
The silence between us isn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it's charged with unspoken questions and the weight of everything we haven't said. My skin tingles where he's touching me, and I find myself fighting the urge to step closer, to see what would happen if I pressed against his side.
Hormones, I tell myself firmly. This is just pregnancy hormones making me feel things that aren't real.
But even as I try to rationalize it, I know it's more than that. There's something about his presence that makes me feel more alive, more myself—whoever that might be.
"The blonde warrior," I say suddenly, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "Elcin. She called me cousin, but I don't remember her at all."
He glances at me, interest sharpening his dark eyes. "Tell me what you felt when you saw her."
"Recognition. Not memory, exactly, but something deeper.
" I pause, gathering my thoughts as we follow the winding path away from the village.
"She moves like she owns whatever space she's in.
Expensive armor, weapons that cost more than most people see in a lifetime.
She's not just nobility—she's someone with real power. "
"What did she say to you?" His voice is careful, probing.
"That there are larger forces at work. That people are coming for me whether I remember who I am or not." The words feel heavy on my tongue, weighted with implications I can't grasp. "She said even you can't protect me forever if I don't remember who I'm supposed to be."
I can feel him watching me as we walk, his attention focused and intense. "And what did you think of that assessment?"
"That she knows things. About me, about whatever I was running from." I shake my head, frustration bleeding into my voice. "But there's something else. The way Banu reacted to her like they have a history. And Elcin kept looking at me like I should remember something important."
"Would you like me to help you find out what she knows?" he asks, and there's something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully.
"What do you mean?"
His smile is sharp, predatory. "I could have a conversation with your cousin. I'm quite persuasive when I need to be."
"What kind of conversation?" I ask warily.
"Oh, nothing too dramatic," he says with the casual tone of someone discussing the weather.
"I'd just pin her to a wall with shadows and extract whatever information she's hiding.
Very efficient method, really. Warrior types become remarkably forthcoming when they realize their weapons are useless. "
I stop walking so abruptly that he's pulled up short by our joined hands. "No!" The word comes out sharper than I intended. "Absolutely not. She came here to help me, even if I don't understand how yet."
He blinks, looking genuinely surprised by my vehemence. "Help? She's clearly manipulating you with cryptic warnings and family obligations you can't remember."
"Maybe," I admit. "But she also stood between you and me when you were being threatening. She didn't have to do that." I meet his dark eyes directly. "Promise me you won't hurt her."
For a moment, he looks like he wants to argue. Then his expression softens into something almost fond. "Very well. I promise I won't pin her to any walls. I'll just intimidate her instead. A few well-placed shadows, perhaps a demonstration of what happens when I'm displeased?—"
"Kaan." My voice carries a warning.
"What? Intimidation is much more civilized than physical restraint. I'm showing remarkable restraint here."
"No intimidation either. Just…talk to her. Like civilized people do."
He looks at me like I've suggested he sprout wings and take up interpretive dance. "Talk. Like civilized people. Do you have any idea how inefficient that is? My way would have answers in under five minutes."
"Your way would start a war with someone who might actually be able to fight back," I point out. "Did you see her weapons? She's not some village merchant you can terrorize into submission."
"Your way is considerably less entertaining," he mutters, but there's affection in his voice. "Fine. I'll attempt civilized conversation. With words instead of creative applications of darkness."
"Thank you."
"Though for the record, my way would be much more satisfying."
"I'm sure it would be," I say dryly. "But maybe try to remember that alienating my family—even family I can't remember—probably isn't the best strategy for winning me back."
His expression shifts, becoming more serious. "You're right. If she truly is your cousin, if she knows who you were..." He pauses. "I suppose I should be grateful someone from your past cares enough to find you."
"Even if it complicates your brooding monster routine?"
" Especially if it complicates my brooding monster routine," he says with a self-deprecating smile. "I was getting far too comfortable wallowing in dramatic solitude."
The path curves away from the village now, following the river through stands of tall grass that sway in the afternoon breeze. The golden light filtering through the swaying stalks creates patterns that shift and dance, beautiful and hypnotic.
And achingly familiar.
I stumble slightly as recognition crashes over me.
This place, this exact combination of light and shadow and swaying grass—I've been here before.
Two nights ago, in the dream that felt too real to be mere fantasy.
The dream where Kaan touched me with reverent hands and made me come apart with pleasure so intense it left physical marks on my skin.
"Are you all right?" Kaan asks immediately, his free hand moving to steady me.
"Yes, it's just..." I gesture vaguely at the landscape around us. "This place feels familiar somehow. Like I've dreamed about it."
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, dark and knowing. "Dreams can be powerful things," he says with deliberate casualness. "Especially the kind that leave bite marks on tender skin. Very educational dreams, those."
Heat floods my cheeks as his meaning hits me.
He knows. Of course, he knows—he was there, in that golden field of swaying grass, doing things to me that made me sob his name in ecstasy.
The bite marks on my thigh throb with remembered pleasure, and I have to fight the urge to press my legs together.
"You—" I begin, but the words die in my throat as his smirk widens.
"I what?" he asks with mock innocence, though his dark eyes burn with satisfaction. "Gave you exactly what you needed? Made you come apart so beautifully, you glowed like starlight? Left my mark on you so you'd remember who you belong to?"
"That wasn't real," I whisper, though even as I say it, I know it's a lie.
"Wasn't it?" He steps closer, close enough that I can smell that intoxicating scent of shadows and something uniquely him. "Then explain the marks, hatun . Explain why you're standing here blushing like a virgin when we both know exactly how you taste."
I should be outraged. Should slap him again for his presumption, for the casual way he speaks of the most intimate violation imaginable. Instead, I find myself swaying toward him, drawn by the heat in his eyes and the memory of pleasure so intense it rewrote my understanding of my own body.
I need an excuse. Some reason to feel his touch without admitting how desperately I want it.
"Oh," I gasp suddenly, my free hand flying to my belly. "The baby—it's moving. Really active today."
Kaan's attention immediately shifts to my belly, his dark eyes lighting up with an intensity that takes my breath away. "May I?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion.
But I know this is a lie. The baby isn't kicking—not right now, anyway.
But standing here in this swaying grass that feels like a dream made real, with the scent of his skin surrounding me and the warmth of his touch making me feel more alive than I have in months, I want nothing more than to feel his hands on me again.
It's the hormones, I tell myself desperately. It's just biology making me want things I shouldn't want.
But even as I try to rationalize it, I know it's more than that. There's something about him that calls to every part of me—mind, body, soul. Something that makes me want to surrender to whatever this is between us, consequences be damned.
"Please," I whisper, and watch his carefully controlled expression crack with naked hunger.