Page 132 of Crown of Storm and Silence
Kaan
They keptme waiting for thirty-seven minutes.
I counted each one, letting my shadows grow darker and more violent with every passing second. By the time the Light Court delegation finally deigned to enter the supposedly neutral meeting hall, the temperature had dropped twenty degrees and frost crept along the marble floors.
The room itself is a monument to diplomatic delusion—perfectly round table, carefully balanced lighting that favors neither court, walls enchanted to prevent violence. As if architecture could contain what I am. As if their pretty protections mean anything to the son of Erlik himself.
Beside me, Zohan shifts nervously in his mediator's robes, still trying to process the display of power I've been putting on while we waited. My supposed brother-in-law has been attempting redemption ever since I discovered he was feeding information to the Light Court, but his nervous energy grates against my already frayed patience.
"Perhaps you could... tone down the shadows?" he suggests weakly, watching as darkness pools around my feet. "We're supposed to be negotiating?—"
"We're supposed to be teaching them their place," I correct, letting my voice drop to something that makes him shiver. "Your former allies need to understand exactly what they're dealing with. Sit there, look pretty, and try to remember which side your sister is on."
I don't rise when they enter. Instead, I remain sprawled in my chair like a predator at rest, one hand idly toying with a sphere of pure darkness that shouldn't exist within the hall's protective barriers. The fact that I've already violated their precious neutrality makes General Altin's jaw tighten beautifully.
"Lord Kaan," he begins, his golden armor catching the light in what I'm sure he believes is an impressive display. "Thank you for?—"
"You're late," I interrupt, letting the darkness in my hand expand until it swallows half the table's surface. "I don't appreciate being kept waiting like some petitioner at your court. The next time you attempt such a pathetic power play, I'll assume negotiations have failed and act accordingly."
The advisors flanking him shift nervously. Good. They should be nervous.
"Our apologies," one of them stammers. "The journey from our territory?—"
"Spare me." My shadows writhe across the walls, defying every protection the neutral ground supposedly offers. "You've been camped at the border for two weeks conducting your little war games. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise."
General Altin's gaze flicks to Zohan with barely concealed disappointment. "I see you've brought Lord Zohan as mediator. An interesting choice, given his... conflicted loyalties."
"His only loyalty should be to his sister," I warn, my shadows coiling tighter. "Something you all seem to have forgotten when you tried to use him against us."
Zohan winces but remains silent, understanding his precarious position as someone caught between courts while seeking redemption for past betrayals.
General Altin clears his throat, attempting to reclaim control of the meeting. "Lord Kaan, we've called this emergency summit to discuss the dire situation?—"
"Dire?" I laugh, and the sound makes several advisors step back. "The only dire situation I see is your military's embarrassing attempt at intimidation. Did you really think parading soldiers along my borders would make me amenable to negotiation?"
"They're defensive measures," another advisor interjects, though his voice wavers. "The magical disturbances from your realm?—"
I'm on my feet before he finishes the sentence, shadows exploding outward with enough force to crack the marble table. The advisor stumbles backward, face pale as my darkness coils around his throat—not quite touching, but close enough that he can feel the cold promise of death.
"Let me explain something," I say conversationally, as if I'm not currently violating every rule of neutral territory. "Those 'disturbances' you're so concerned about? They're celebrations. My realm rejoices because their lord's heir grows within my wife's womb. If that troubles you..." I let my shadows tighten slightly around the man's throat, "...perhaps you should examine why the joy of my people threatens you so deeply."
"The prophecy—" General Altin begins.
"Ah yes, the prophecy." I release the advisor, who gasps and clutches his throat. "A child of shadow and light who will either unite the realms or destroy them. And your solution is to steal my pregnant wife because you're afraid of an infant who hasn't even drawn breath yet?"
"Lady Nesilhan belongs with her people," General Altin declares with the arrogance of someone who's never had his authority truly challenged. "She must return to the Light Court immediately for proper protection during this dangerous time."
The words hang in the air for a moment before I begin to laugh. It starts low, building into something that makes the very stones of the neutral ground tremble. My shadows writhe and dance, filling the room with writhing darkness that dims their precious balanced lighting to nothing.
"Her people?" I repeat, still laughing. "The people who sold her to me like chattel? Who treated her as a political pawn her entire life? Those people?"
"We can ensure the child is born safely?—"
"In chains," I finish for him. "Under your control. To be molded into whatever weapon serves your purposes." I lean forward, and every shadow in the room leans with me. "Let me be absolutely clear, General. You will not touch my wife. You will not touch my child. And if you continue down this path, I will paint both realms red with your blood."
"You threaten war?" one of the advisors squeaks.
"I promise it," I correct. "But please, continue. Show me whatever laughable leverage you think you've gained while I was busy claiming my bride."
