Page 125 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"Added after," Zohan insists. "I've been investigating the records. Mother wasn't even supposed to be on that transport. Father changed her route at the last moment, sent her directly into an ambush. And the 'Shadow Court raiders'? No one ever found them. No intelligence beforehand, no trace afterward. Just convenient evidence of shadow magic on her body."
"But the official report said?—"
"There were no shadow burns initially, Nesilhan. I was there when they first brought her back. Before Father cleared the room." His voice cracks with the gravity of his words. "Just wounds that could have come from any weapon. Father was alone with her body for hours before he let anyone else see. And then suddenly—shadow burns everywhere, the perfect evidence of a Shadow Court attack."
The mother who gave me her music box three days before she died, who told me love was worth any price—was she warning me? Did she know what was coming?
"You think Father staged it to look like Shadow Court?"
"I think Father either hired shadow mercenaries or used captured shadow weapons to make it look authentic. He needed you to hate them, needed a reason to train you as a weaponagainst the Shadow Court. What better motivation than your mother's murder?" Zohan's voice breaks completely. "She was three days from signing a peace treaty that would have ended the territorial conflicts. Three days from making his entire power structure obsolete."
"She even warned us, didn't she?" I whisper. "Remember what she told me with the music box? 'Love is worth any price.' I think she knew someone would make her pay that price."
The revelation reframes everything I thought I knew about our family, our choices, our very existence. If Zohan is right—if our father has been pulling strings for years, eliminating obstacles and manipulating outcomes—then nothing about our lives has been real.
"Why tell me this now?" I ask.
"Because watching what they're doing to you and Kaan, seeing how they're using the information I provided to justify military action..." He takes a shuddering breath. "I can't be part of it anymore. Whatever Father's ultimate goal, I won't help him destroy your happiness to achieve it."
Through our bond, I feel the exact moment Kaan decides our conversation has gone on long enough. His presence touches my consciousness with protective warmth, and I sense him moving toward the balcony with purposeful intent.
"We can't trust Father," I say quietly, the words tasting like ash. "And I'm not sure I can trust you either."
"I know," Zohan replies with brutal honesty. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness for what I've done. But Nesilhan—" His voice falters. "I think we're all in danger from him. Whatever game he's playing, I don't think any of us survive it if he wins."
Before I can respond, Kaan steps onto the balcony with shadows coiling protectively around his feet. His dark eyes take in our expressions with swift assessment, and I feel his contained fury at whatever has made me look so devastated.
Elçin follows a moment later, positioning herself where she can observe both the balcony conversation and monitor the great hall beyond. Her presence adds another layer of security to an increasingly volatile situation.
"Is there a problem?" Kaan asks with deceptive mildness, though his voice carries harmonics that make the stone beneath our feet vibrate slightly.
"Just family revelations," I reply, exhaustion creeping into my voice. "The kind that rewrite your understanding of everything you thought you knew."
Zohan straightens with obvious effort, his diplomatic training reasserting itself despite the emotional turmoil. "I should return to the party," he says formally. "People will notice my absence."
"Zohan," I call as he moves toward the doors. "This conversation isn't over."
"I know," he replies without turning back. "But for now, we all have roles to play."
He disappears back into the glittering celebration. Elçin appears briefly at the balcony entrance, catches my eye, and gives a subtle nod before melting back into the crowd to give us privacy. We're left with the bitter truth hanging between us and the sound of distant laughter that feels suddenly hollow.
"How much did you hear?" I ask.
"Enough," Kaan replies grimly, pulling me into his arms with gentle intensity. "Your father orchestrated our marriage. Your brother's been reporting to the Light Court. And now there are suspicions about your mother's death."
"The highlights, yes." I lean into his warmth, drawing strength from our bond. "My entire life has been a carefully orchestrated lie."
"Not everything," he says fiercely, his hand settling over my belly where our child grows. "This is real. What we have isreal. Whatever manipulation brought us together, what we built together is ours."
Through our bond, I feel his absolute conviction, his determination to protect what we've created regardless of how it began. The love flowing between us carries no trace of political calculation or hidden agenda—just pure, honest devotion that has survived every trial.
"You're right," I say, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. "But now we know we're playing a game we don't fully understand, against an opponent who's been planning moves for years."
"Then we change the rules," Kaan replies with dark satisfaction. "And we make sure he understands that some pieces on the board have minds of their own."
The sounds of celebration drift out from the great hall—music, laughter, the clink of glasses raised in toasts to our happiness and our realm's prosperity. For a moment, we stand together in the cool night air, drawing strength from each other while contemplating the battles ahead.
"We should go back inside," I say finally. "People will notice our absence, and we can't afford to look shaken by whatever political games are being played."
