Page 38 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"This is a public square," Emir hisses, glancing around nervously. "People can hear you."
"Let them," I say with a shrug that sends shadows rippling. "Maybe it's time everyone understood exactly what they're dealing with."
That's when it happens—Nesilhan suddenly goes very still, her hand flying to her belly with an expression of startled wonder. Even from this distance, I can see the moment recognition dawns on her features, the soft "oh" of surprise that means only one thing.
The baby is moving.
Every rational thought evacuates my mind, scattered to ash by the storm of my fury. I'm moving before I consciously decide to, crossing the square with lethal grace, my shadows streaming behind me—a dark cape of living darkness.
Sinan sees me coming and half-rises from his chair, clearly recognizing the danger approaching his cozy little breakfast scene. But I'm not interested in him right now—my entire focus has narrowed to the woman sitting wide-eyed with one hand pressed to her stomach and wonder written across every feature.
I drop to my knees beside her chair without asking permission, my hands settling against the swell of her belly with eagerness. The moment my palms connect with her body, everything else ceases to exist.
The connection blazes to life immediately, that golden thread stronger now, more insistent. My child recognizes me, reaches for me through the fragile bridge of Nesilhan's body, and the sensation nearly destroys what's left of my composure.
"Evladim," I whisper, my voice breaking completely. "There you are, little warrior. Your father is here, feeling you."
Another flutter of movement, and this time I can feel it clearly—tiny limbs stretching, a strong heartbeat that mirrors my own. The bond pulses with life and magic, shadow and light dancing together in perfect harmony.
"Over six months," I murmur with fierce recognition, my hands mapping the familiar swell. "My child has been growing strong."
I press my forehead against her belly, one hand spread wide while the other traces gentle patterns through the fabric of her dress. "Sen benim cümle âlemimsin," I whisper to the child. "You are everything to me. Both of you."
"Kaan," Nesilhan says quietly, but there's no real protest in her voice. If anything, she sounds as moved by this moment as I am.
"Just a little more," I plead without lifting my head. "I need to feel you."
Her free hand settles in my hair, fingers combing through the dark strands with unconscious tenderness. "Okay," she breathes. "For a moment."
But of course, the moment can't last. Nothing beautiful ever does in my experience.
"Elif," Sinan says carefully, his voice carrying the particular strain of a man trying to navigate a situation he doesn't understand but recognizes as dangerous. "Perhaps we should?—"
"Perhaps you should fuck off before I decide your continued breathing is optional," I snarl without lifting my head from Nesilhan's belly, my voice carrying enough venom to kill a horse.
I feel Nesilhan stiffen above me, her hand stilling in my hair. When I finally look up, her expression has shifted from soft wonder to sharp irritation.
"Don't," she says firmly, her eyes flashing with warning. "Don't speak to him like that."
"Why not?" I ask, rising slowly to my feet while keeping one hand possessively on her belly. "The pathetic little worm is interrupting a private moment with my fucking wife."
"I'm not your—" she begins, but I cut her off.
"Aren't you?" I ask with dark amusement, my thumb tracing a possessive pattern across her belly. "Tell me,zevciyem, do you remember what you whispered in my ear that night we created this miracle? Because I do. I remember every word."
Color floods her cheeks so rapidly, I'm genuinely concerned about her blood pressure. "You bastard," she hisses.
"That's not what you called me then," I point out helpfully, leaning closer so only she can hear my next words. "Though you seemed quite…attached to me then. Couldn't bear to let me leave your side, if memory serves."
"Stop," she whispers, but I can see the effect my words are having—the rapid pulse at her throat, the way her breathing has gone shallow and quick.
Sinan, bless his noble heart, apparently decides this is the moment to play hero. "You need to leave her alone," he says, rising from his chair with admirable courage and questionable sense of self-preservation. "She's told you she doesn't want this."
I turn my attention to him with the kind of smile that makes intelligent people make peace with their gods. "Has she? Because from where I'm standing, her body is telling quite a different story."
I take a step closer to him, letting my shadows writhe with enthusiastic menace. "Tell me, Sinan—may I call you Sinan?—what exactly do you think you're offering her? Safety?Protection? The thrilling prospect of mediocre conversation over breakfast for the rest of her natural life?"
"I'm offering her choice," he says firmly, though his voice wavers slightly. "Something she clearly doesn't have with you."
