Page 118 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"Good morning, little warrior," I whisper against her hair, my hand settling over the place where our miracle grows. "Your father is still getting used to the idea that he might not completely destroy everything he touches."
The baby responds with a gentle kick, and I smile despite myself. Through the bond, I feel the contentment, theinstinctive recognition of my voice. It's still surreal—the idea that something so innocent could grow from the union of light and shadow, that my poisoned blood could create life instead of destroying it.
"You're going to be trouble," I continue, my voice barely above a breath. "Half your mother's stubbornness, half your father's talent for making enemies. The realm won't know what hit it."
Another kick, stronger this time, and Nesilhan stirs against me with a soft sound of contentment. Her hand moves instinctively to cover mine, and even in sleep, she smiles at the contact.
These morning moments have become sacred to me—the three of us connected in perfect harmony, no external pressures or political machinations to complicate the simple miracle of existence. For thirty-five days, I've allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, happiness is something I'm allowed to keep.
"What are you plotting now?" Nesilhan's voice emerges warm with sleep and amusement.
"How to keep you both safe," I reply honestly, pressing a kiss to her temple. My hand traces down her side, and she shivers at the touch.
"Mmm," she hums, turning in my arms to face me properly. Her golden eyes are heavy with sleep and something warmer. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"Very thoroughly," I murmur against her lips, my fingers tangling in her hair as I kiss her slowly, deeply. She melts against me, her body soft and pliant in ways that still steal my breath after all this time.
"You're beautiful," I whisper against her mouth, my hands mapping the familiar curves that have grown even more lush with pregnancy. "Every morning I wake up wondering how the fuck I got this lucky."
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating through our bond. "Language, remember?"
"The baby can hear everything through our bond," I growl, nipping at her lower lip. "Might as well learn early that Mother drives Father to absolute distraction."
My mouth moves to her throat, and she arches beneath me with a soft gasp. "Kaan..."
"I love the sounds you make," I breathe against her skin, my voice rough with want. "Love how you respond to me, how your body knows exactly what it wants."
Her hands fist in my hair as I worship the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Through our bond, I can feel her desire rising to match mine, feel our child stirring in response to the emotional connection flowing between us.
"Tell me what you want," I murmur, my hands skimming over the gentle swell of her belly, marveling again at the miracle growing there. "Tell me how to make you forget everything but this."
"You," she whispers, her voice already breathless. "Just you. Always you."
The simple honesty in her words stops me cold. After everything we've survived—the poison, the amnesia, the betrayals—she still chooses me. Still trusts me with her body, her heart, our child's future.
"I love you," I say fiercely, my mouth moving lower, pressing reverent kisses to the changes pregnancy has brought. "Love watching you grow our child. Love that you're mine."
She's trembling beneath my touch now, her breathing shallow as I position myself between her thighs. "Let me worship you properly," I growl against her skin. "Let me show you exactly how fucking grateful I am that you're?—"
A sharp knock at our chamber door interrupts with the kind of urgent rhythm that suggests actual emergencies rather than routine palace business.
"Fuck," I snarl against her skin, my shadows flaring with frustrated rage. "This better be the apocalypse or someone's dying today." I take a deep breath, shadows coiling protectively around the bed, and call out with forced civility, "Enter, before I change my mind about not killing the messenger."
Emir steps inside, his usual composed demeanor intact, though I catch the tension around his eyes. Five weeks of relative peace have made us all soft—now every disruption feels like a potential catastrophe.
"My lord, my lady," he greets us formally. "I'm afraid we have a situation requiring your immediate attention."
"How immediate?" I ask, already regretting allowing this interruption when I can still taste Nesilhan on my lips and feel her arousal through our bond. "Are we talking 'mild diplomatic inconvenience' or 'the realm is actively on fire'?"
"Somewhere between those extremes, but trending toward fire," Emir replies. "Multiple border incidents in the past week. Three Light Court patrols have crossed into our territory, claiming they're pursuing 'dangerous fugitives' who pose a threat to both realms. Our informants in their court confirm this is a coordinated strategy, not random incidents."
The contentment drains from the morning air like wine from a cracked cup. I sit up, immediately alert, while Nesilhan's hand moves protectively to her belly.
"What kind of fugitives?" she asks quietly.
"That's where it gets interesting," Emir continues. "According to the Light Court reports, they're hunting creatures that escaped when the ritual tore open sealed sections of the Shadow Realm. They claim these ancient horrors are drawnback to shadow magic and are gravitating toward the ritual site, requiring extensive searches of our territory."
"Bullshit," I snarl, darkness beginning to coil around my feet. "What sealed sections? The ritual was contained within the sanctum."
