Chapter 28
SHADOW REALM
Hakan
I woke to Ada's fingers tracing patterns across my chest, her light magic dancing playfully across my skin.
"Morning," she murmured against my neck, her breath warm.
"Morning, starlight." I pulled her closer, breathing in jasmine and sunlight.
Last night had been extraordinary — meeting Kaan, watching Banu ask whether Ada had screamed during our first time while Nesilhan tried to physically shield her from the fairy's interrogation, seeing my brother formally acknowledge Ada's rank as Gün Ata's daughter with a respect that had surprised us both.
And then the children. Yaman with his easy grin and Eda with her father's sharp tongue.
A niece and nephew I'd never known existed, leading Sarp off to try shadow bread like they'd known us for years instead of hours.
I'd fallen asleep thinking about Kaan's arm around Nesilhan. The way Emir trailed behind them all with patient endurance. The sound of Banu cackling at something Sarp said as their voices faded down the corridor.
Family. I had a family.
Everything the Light Realm had taught me about this place was a lie.
I'd walked through streets where children played freely.
I'd watched a woman sell pastries from a cart while shadow-finches stole crumbs from her windowsill.
I'd eaten dinner with my brother's family — a shadow lord married to a light-bearer for two centuries, raising children who laughed instead of cowered.
Everything was backwards.
"You're thinking too much," Ada said, kissing my jaw.
"I'm thinking about how much time we have before breakfast."
She laughed. "Not enough for what you're thinking."
"You don't know what I'm thinking."
"Your shadows are making very suggestive shapes."
I looked down. My shadows had formed what could only be described as extremely inappropriate imagery around us both.
"Traitors," I muttered, dispersing them with a thought.
"Come on." Ada sat up, grinning. "We should get dressed before Kaan sends someone to drag us to breakfast. You know he would."
She wasn't wrong. I'd learned within minutes of meeting my brother that he had absolutely zero respect for privacy when he wanted something.
We dressed — Ada in a gown Nesilhan had left for her, me in black as always — and found the breakfast room by following the sound of voices and laughter.
Sarp was already deep in conversation with Banu, who was perched cross-legged on her chair eating olives directly from the bowl with her fingers.
"—which is why fairies invented wine, and everyone else just borrowed the concept," she was saying, her translucent wings casting prismatic patterns across the table.
"That's not how wine works," Sarp protested, though he was grinning.
"Says the light-wielder who's never even tried to ferment grapes. You wouldn't last a day in the Forgotten Grove. Our revels would break you."
"I'm very difficult to break."
Banu's lavender eyes gleamed. "Is that a promise or a challenge? Because I accept both."
Sarp opened his mouth, closed it, and reached for his tea. Outmatched, and he knew it.
Kaan sat at the head of the table with Nesilhan beside him, both looking relaxed. Emir was seated at Kaan's left, methodically buttering a piece of bread with the same precision he probably applied to military strategy. A servant moved quietly between them, refilling tea glasses.
"Ah, the lovebirds!" Kaan grinned. "We were starting to think you'd sleep until noon."
I felt Ada's embarrassment through the bond as we sat, though I felt none myself. My brother's humor was starting to grow on me.
The table was covered with food — fresh bread still warm from the ovens, soft white cheese, olives glistening with oil, thick cream, honey in crystalline jars, tomatoes and cucumbers sliced thin, spiced sausages that smelled of unfamiliar herbs, jam made from fruits I didn't recognize.
Tea steamed in delicate glasses, and Kaan had a small cup of thick, dark liquid that smelled like it could strip paint from walls.
"This is kahve," Kaan said, offering his cup. "Very bitter, very strong. Want to try?"
I took a sip and immediately regretted it.
"Gods, what is this?"
"Suffering in liquid form," Sarp said cheerfully. "I had three cups."
"Why?"
"Builds character."
Kaan gestured to the tea. "Stick with that. My wife keeps trying to civilise me with it."
"I've given up on civilising you," Nesilhan said. "I'm just trying to prevent you from offending every visiting dignitary."
"I only offend the ones who deserve it."
"That's everyone."
"See? Efficiency."
Banu leaned across the table toward Ada and me, her lavender eyes enormous with mischief. "So. I've been thinking about last night. About your bond. About the mechanics of your bond."
"Banu," Nesilhan and Emir said in unison, with the synchronised weariness of people who had been doing this for centuries.
"What? I'm a scholar. A fairy scholar. We're naturally inquisitive." She propped her chin on her hands. "I just want to understand the timeline. You were intimate, his shadows exploded out for the first time ever, and the bond snapped into place. Yes?"
"We are not discussing this at breakfast," Ada said.
"We're barely discussing it at all, that's the problem. Nobody tells me anything." Banu turned to Sarp. "You were in the general vicinity. Did you feel any magical tremors? Hear any—"
"I was in a different building," Sarp said. "But I felt the shockwave. Thought we were under attack."
"A shockwave!" Banu clapped her hands. "That's magnificent. Were there aftershocks? How long did it—"
"If you finish that question, Banu," Ada said pleasantly, "I will set your wings on fire, sister-in-law."
Something about Ada calling Banu sister-in-law — the easy claim to this family, the assumption that she belonged here — made me instantly hard under the table. I shifted in my chair and caught Kaan watching me with the expression of someone who knew exactly what had just happened.
He said nothing. He didn't have to. The bastard just smiled into his kahve.
"I'm only asking because shadow-light bonds formed during intimacy are historically unprecedented," Banu continued, completely undeterred by threats of immolation. "The only comparable case is Kaan and Nesilhan's, and theirs involved significantly less pleasure and significantly more stabbing."
"The stabbing was entirely justified," Nesilhan said.
"She had a list," Kaan added. "Color-coded by method of execution. Cross-referenced by difficulty level and likelihood of success. She'd ranked poisoning as her top option, which I found personally offensive. Poisoning is so impersonal."
"You were very difficult to kill up close," Nesilhan said. "I had to be practical."
"My wife, the romantic."
"I also considered drowning, suffocation, and something involving bees that I never fully worked out the logistics of," Nesilhan continued. "The bee plan would have been spectacular if I'd had more time."
Kaan looked at me. "Two hundred years of marriage and I'm still not entirely sure she's abandoned the bee plan."
"I haven't," Nesilhan confirmed.
"And yet I sleep soundly beside her every night. Either I'm brave or stupid."
"You said it, not me, love."
I felt a surge of satisfaction. My bond with Ada had formed from genuine desire, genuine connection. She'd wanted me just as much as I wanted her.
"So what you're saying," I said, meeting Kaan's gaze, "is that my bond is better. Formed through actual desire rather than forced consummation with someone who wanted you dead."
Ada made a small choking sound beside me.
Kaan's eyebrows rose, and then he laughed — genuine and pleased. "Look at that. The little brother has teeth after all."
"I'm never too polite."
"Good. Politeness is boring." He grinned. "And I'll concede your bond probably felt significantly better in the moment."
"I still maintain mine is stronger," I said. "No effort required. Pure power and connection."
"Arrogant," Kaan observed. "I approve."
"You're encouraging him," Nesilhan said.
"I'm bonding with my brother through competitive posturing. It's traditional."
Kaan helped himself to more cheese, and his tone shifted — still casual, but with an undertone of genuine curiosity. "Tell me about the Light Realm. Not the politics — I know the politics. I want to know what it was like growing up there. Both of you."
I glanced at Ada. She set her tea down carefully.
"Beautiful," she said. "And cruel. Often at the same time."
"The purification ceremonies," Kaan said. Not a question.
"You know about those?"
"Everyone in the Shadow Realm knows. It's the reason half-bloods flee here." His jaw tightened. "How many did you witness?"
Ada was quiet for a moment. "Enough. I was never part of the court officially — my father kept me at a distance from most of it. I think he was protecting me from seeing the worst."
"Or protecting himself from you seeing it," Kaan said, not unkindly.
"Gün Ata is many things, but he isn’t the one driving the purification campaigns.
That was Serkan and the faction lords. Your father has been diminishing for a while, Ada.
The Light Realm has been running on the lords' authority for longer than most people realise. "
"You're saying my father didn't—"
"I'm saying the system was rotten long before your father's health started falling. Serkan and his allies built the purification framework. Your father let it happen — whether through weakness or complicity, I won't pretend to know. But the machinery of it? That's the lords. It always has been."
Ada absorbed this in silence. I reached for her hand under the table and she gripped it hard.
"The Light Realm has seven factions," Kaan continued, looking between us. "So does the Shadow Realm. The difference is, my faction lords answer to me, and I don't allow them to burn children in public squares and call it divine mercy."