Chapter 11
GOLDEN DAYS
Hakan
The Golden Throne Hall was designed to make men feel small.
Pillars of white marble soared toward a ceiling lost in brilliance, every surface carved with scenes of light triumphing over darkness.
The air itself seemed to glow, thick with divine magic that pressed against my skin like a warning.
Courtiers lined the walls in their finest silks, their whispers cutting off the moment I entered.
They thought I was walking to my death. I could see it in their faces—the barely concealed smirks, the way they positioned themselves for the best view of my humiliation. A nobody apprentice, daring to ask the Light God for his daughter's hand. They'd be telling this story for decades.
Good. I'd give them something worth remembering.
I kept my spine straight and my stride unhurried as I approached the throne.
The Light God was everything the stories promised and nothing like I'd expected.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair that fell past his shoulders and a close-trimmed beard that framed a face too symmetrical to be human.
His skin seemed lit from within, a warm bronze glow that pulsed faintly with each breath.
His eyes were the worst part—molten gold, ancient and knowing, the kind of eyes that had watched empires rise and fall and found both equally amusing.
He wore robes that seemed woven from captured dawn, white and gold threads that shifted and shimmered with their own light.
His hands, resting on the arms of his throne, were adorned with rings older than most bloodlines.
Power radiated from him in waves that made my teeth ache, pressed against my skin like a physical weight.
And he was smiling at me like we were old friends.
"Hakan." His voice filled the hall without rising above a conversational tone. "I wondered when you'd find the courage to come."
The words hit wrong. Not surprised to see me. Not curious about my purpose. He'd been waiting.
"My lord." I stopped at the prescribed distance and executed the bow I'd practiced a hundred times. Not too deep—I wasn't groveling. Not too shallow—I wasn't a fool. "I thank you for granting me this audience."
"You've been courting my daughter for three months." He gestured lazily, and a servant appeared with wine. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
My shadows stirred beneath my skin, responding to the spike of alarm I couldn't quite suppress. He knew. Of course he knew. This was his realm, his palace, his light that touched everything within these walls. We'd been idiots to think we could hide.
"I intended no disrespect—"
"Sit." He indicated a chair that hadn't been there a moment ago, positioned close enough that we might have been sharing a private meal. "I'm not angry, boy. I'm curious."
I sat, because refusing the Light God's invitation wasn't an option, and accepted the wine I had no intention of drinking. The chair was comfortable. That felt like a trap.
"Tell me about yourself," the Light God said, swirling his own goblet. "Lord Kaya speaks highly of your talents. Says you're the most promising apprentice he's had in centuries."
"Lord Kaya is generous."
"Lord Kaya doesn't give compliments he doesn't mean.” Those golden eyes held a particular stillness. He already knew the answers to every question he was asking. "Where does your family come from? The borderlands, yes? Your mother—Elif, isn't it? She's kept you quite hidden all these years."
The shadows coiled tighter. How did he know my mother's name? Why would the Light God care about a nobody's family history?
"My mother values her privacy, my lord."
"And your father?"
"A wanderer. Not the kind of man who stays in one place long enough to be known."
"Curious." The word hung in the air. "Your magic is... unusual, Hakan. I've felt it, you know. When you're near my daughter. There's something in you that doesn't quite match the training you've received."
My blood went cold. I kept my face neutral, but beneath my skin, something stirred—that other part of me, the darkness that was suppressed by light for so long. I forced it down, crushed it into stillness, but for a heartbeat I wasn't sure it would obey.
The Light God's eyes flickered to my hands. Had he seen something? Sensed something?
His smile widened, just slightly.
"You have remarkable control," he said, almost to himself.
"Most young men would have revealed themselves by now.
The pressure in this room alone..." He gestured vaguely at the pillars, the watching courtiers, the weight of divine power pressing down on everything.
"You're either very disciplined or very frightened. Perhaps both."
"My lord, I don't—"
"I'm giving you my blessing." He raised a hand, cutting off whatever denial I'd been about to offer. "To court Ada. To marry her, eventually, if that's what you both want."
The words didn't make sense. I'd walked in here expecting death or humiliation, and instead—
"Why?" The question escaped before I could stop it. "Why would you allow this?"
"Because I see potential in you." His smile returned, warm and fatherly, and something in my gut said wrong, this is wrong.
"Because my daughter loves you, and her happiness matters to me.
And because..." He paused, and those golden eyes seemed to look straight through me, past skin and bone to whatever lay beneath.
"Some paths are meant to be walked. Some unions are meant to be forged. You'll understand eventually."
He stood, and I rose automatically, my mind still reeling.
"Go," he said. "Tell Ada the good news. I expect you'll want to make your courtship official."
I bowed again, deeper this time because I didn't know what else to do, and turned to leave.
"Hakan."
I stopped at the door.
"Take care of her." The Light God's voice was soft, almost gentle. "She's more precious than you know. And so, I suspect, are you."
I didn't look back. I couldn't. Because if I had, he would have seen the fear on my face—fear that had nothing to do with his power and everything to do with the way he'd looked at me.
Like he knew exactly what I was.
Like he'd been waiting for me my entire life.
For three steps down the corridor, I nearly turned around.
Nearly walked back through those golden doors and said What do you mean, more precious than I know? What do you see when you look at me? Do you know what's in my blood? Do you know why my mother runs? Do you know what's waking up inside me?
The questions stacked up behind my teeth like a dam about to break. Because Gün Ata was a god. An actual god, ancient and all-seeing, and if anyone in this realm knew what was wrong with me — what was waking up inside me, what the shadows meant, why my blood ran dark — it would be him.
But that was exactly why I couldn't ask.
If he knew, and the answer was what I feared, then I'd lose Ada. I'd lose the Academy, the border apartment, my mother's careful two-century deception — all of it, gone, because I'd walked into the Light God's throne room and handed him the rope to hang me with.
And if he didn't know — if that look in his eyes was something else entirely, something I was too paranoid and sleep-deprived to read correctly — then asking would be the thing that made him look closer. That made him see what I'd spent my whole life hiding.
Either way, the truth destroyed me.
So I kept walking.
I left the throne hall with his blessing and a crawling certainty that I'd missed something vital. The courtiers' shocked faces barely registered. I needed to think. Needed to be somewhere the light didn't press against my skull like a living thing.
I found Sarp in our usual spot—a wine cellar beneath the Academy that we'd claimed years ago, far from watching eyes and listening ears. He took one look at my face and poured two glasses without asking.
"Well?" He slid one across the barrel we used as a table. "Should I start planning your funeral, or...?"
"He said yes."
Sarp's hand froze halfway to his drink. "He what?"
"The Light God gave his blessing." I downed my wine in one swallow, the burn doing nothing to settle my thoughts.
"He asked about my family, my mother, things he shouldn't care about.
He knew we'd been meeting in secret—knew for months and said nothing.
And then he just... smiled. Said he sees potential in me. "
"That's..." Sarp's frown deepened. "That's not how this usually goes. You're a nobody from the borderlands. No offense."
"None taken."
"So why would he just hand over his daughter? What's the angle?"
I poured another glass. "I don't know. That's what's bothering me."
"Maybe he actually likes you." Sarp's tone made it clear how likely he found that possibility. "Or maybe Ada threatened to run off with you anyway and he's cutting his losses."
"Maybe." But I didn't believe it. The Light God's questions had been too specific, his interest too keen. He'd been looking for something in me. And whatever he'd found had made him smile.
That smile was going to haunt me.
"Look," Sarp said, leaning back, "you got what you wanted. Ada, the blessing, the whole fairy tale. Maybe don't question it so hard that you talk yourself out of being happy."
"Since when do you give sincere advice?"
"I contain multitudes." He grinned. "Also, I'm expecting to be best man at this wedding, and I can't plan my devastatingly moving toast if you're too busy brooding to actually get married."
The weeks that followed should have been the happiest of my life.
I could walk through the palace with Ada at my side, her hand resting openly in the crook of my arm.
I could kiss her in the gardens without checking for witnesses first. Courtiers who had sneered at me now smiled and bowed, suddenly remembering my name, suddenly eager to be associated with the Light God's future son-in-law.