Page 126 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"Together?" he asks, offering his arm with courtly grace.
"Always together," I reply, accepting his support with a smile that's only partly for show.
We return to our celebration, to the glittering spectacle Banu created to project strength and stability. But now I understand that every smile, every toast, every diplomatic pleasantry is part of a larger performance—one where the stakes are higher than I ever imagined, and the real enemy might be someone I've called family my entire life.
The shadow ball continues around us, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure, while I carry the burden of truthand the growing certainty that the most dangerous battles are yet to come.
But through it all, our bond holds steady—light and shadow united in ways that no amount of political manipulation can touch. Whatever games are being played around us, whatever truths are yet to be revealed, we'll face them as we've faced everything else.
Together.
42
The Throne's New Queen
Kaan
The ballroom pulseswith forced celebration, my lords attempting normalcy after the chaos of recent revelations. After Zohan's betrayal and the vampire threat, I insisted we proceed with Banu's planned festival—a show of strength, a message that the Shadow Court remains unshaken. But I'm not fooled by the facade of merriment. Across the room, I catch sight of Elcin maintaining her diplomatic duties, her steady presence a reminder of loyalties that haven't wavered—unlike certain family members, whose betrayals still cut deep.
But I'm not watching the festivities anymore. Every fiber of my attention has narrowed to the sight of my wife moving through the crowd like a goddess incarnate, her pregnancy giving her an otherworldly radiance that makes every conversation stop when she passes. Fucking magnificent. And every bastard in this room knows it—I can see it in the way their eyes follow her, the hunger they think they're hiding behind polite smiles. Mine. She's mine, carrying my child, and theselords are undressing her with their eyes like she's available for their entertainment.
Every demon and shadow lord in attendance has found an excuse to speak with her tonight, ostensibly to offer congratulations on our upcoming child. But I can see the way their gazes linger, the careful respect that barely conceals their fascination with the impossible woman who married their lord and now carries his heir.
"You're grinding your teeth loud enough to wake the dead," Emir observes dryly from beside me, his own gaze following mine to where Nesilhan stands near the musicians, one hand resting protectively on her belly while she laughs at something Banu has whispered in her ear. "And your shadows are starting to strangle the curtains again."
"I'm watching my wife and brooding dramatically, there is a difference," I reply, my voice tight with barely controlled rage as I watch Lord Mehmet approach her with obvious admiration gleaming in his eyes.
"Right," Emir says with the patience of a man who's spent centuries managing my various homicidal tendencies. "And I suppose you're also appreciating the way Lord Mehmet is bowing over your wife's hand like he's auditioning for court poet?"
"If he gets any closer, he'll be auditioning for the afterlife," I growl, but even as the words leave my mouth, I realize my jealousy isn't the real issue here.
I can see something else—an undercurrent of tension that has nothing to do with her game of making me jealous. There's a fragility beneath her confident facade, a careful control that speaks of someone holding herself together through sheer will. The revelations about her brother still weigh on her; I can see it in the way her light flickers sometimes when she thinks no one is looking.
I watch her pause to speak with Lady Serap, her easy manner a stark contrast to the careful way Nesilhan holds herself tonight. She is playing the role of confident queen while inside she's still reeling from Zohan's betrayal. The knowledge that her own brother sold information about her to her enemies has shaken something fundamental in her trust, even if she won't admit it. I can see it in the way she holds herself, the careful mask she's wearing to hide her pain.
Lord Mehmet leans closer to her, saying something that draws a practiced smile from her, but I can see the way her hand unconsciously moves to her belly—a protective gesture that's become more frequent since learning about her family's deception. She's afraid, though she'd never admit it. Afraid for our child, afraid of who else might betray her, afraid that she can't trust her own instincts about people.
"You know," Emir says quietly, following my gaze, "you're right about what you said earlier—she has been like this since the meeting with Zohan. Bright and charming on the surface, but..."
"But fragile underneath," I finish grimly. "Like she's performing being happy instead of actually feeling it."
"Something's clearly weighing on her mind. She's been different lately—more guarded."
I watch as another lord approaches her group, and though Nesilhan greets him with perfect courtesy, I can see the tension in her shoulders. Every new person who approaches her now carries the potential for betrayal in her mind. Every smile might hide a knife, every compliment might be a manipulation.
"She needs to get out of here," I realize aloud. "Away from all these people and their hidden agendas. She needs?—"
"Peace," Emir supplies. "Safety. Somewhere she doesn't have to perform."
I can see it in her posture, the way she's holding herself too carefully, the slight tremor in her hands that she's trying to hide. She needs rescue, escape, a chance to drop the mask she's been wearing all evening.
"Right," I announce to Emir, already moving toward her with purposeful strides. "Time for some urgent brooding intervention."
"Try not to scandalize the guests," Emir calls after me with knowing amusement.
I cross the ballroom with assessing patience, my approach drawing curious glances from guests who recognize the particular way I move when claiming something that belongs to me. But this isn't about possession or jealousy—it's about reading my wife's needs and responding to them.
"My lords," I say pleasantly as I reach her circle of admirers, though my voice carries enough authority to make them step back respectfully. "I'm afraid I need to steal my wife away. Urgent matters require her immediate attention."
