Page 44 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"Zohan," I say carefully, testing the name on my tongue. It feels familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. "You say you're my brother?"
"I am," he says simply, and something in his voice makes tears spring to my eyes. "Your older brother, though not by much. We were close once, before..." His gaze flicks meaningfully to Kaan. "Before you married him."
"She doesn't remember you," Kaan says with vicious satisfaction. "She doesn't remember any of her previous life. Whatever claim you think you have on her?—"
"Is stronger than yours, apparently," Zohan interrupts smoothly, "since she chose to forget you entirely rather than remain in your company."
The words are a direct hit, and I feel Kaan flinch beside me. But before he can retaliate, before this can turn into the bloodbath I can see building in both their eyes, I step forward.
"Stop this," I say sharply, stepping between them with more confidence than I feel. "I won't be the reason for bloodshed between you. Whatever claims you both think you have on me, this isn't how civilized people resolve them."
Both men go silent, though the tension between them remains thick enough to cut.
"Zohan," I continue, turning to face the brother I can't remember, "if you truly are my family, then I'm glad you found me. I have so many questions?—"
"Questions I can answer," he says eagerly, taking another step forward. "I can tell you about our childhood, our parents, the life you had before?—"
"Before she became my wife," Kaan interrupts coldly. "Before she bound herself to me in ways that can't be undone, regardless of what she remembers or chooses to forget."
The possessiveness in his voice should anger me, but instead it sends an unwelcome thrill through my veins. Even now, even with family offering me answers to mysteries that have tormented me for months, part of me wants to step closer to the shadows that coil around him like living things.
"I need time," I say finally, looking between them both. "Time to think, to process this. I can't—I won't make any decisions while you're both standing here radiating hostility like territorial animals."
"Of course," Zohan says immediately, though his eyes never leave Kaan's face. "Take all the time you need. I'll be staying at the inn if you want to talk."
"She'll be staying where she belongs," Kaan says with deadly quiet. "With her husband. In case you've forgotten, she's carrying my child."
"A child conceived through forces that destroyed her very sense of self," Zohan replies with matching coldness. "Tell me, Shadow Lord, what kind of husband allows his wife to reach such desperation that she'll drink poison rather than continue living as his possession?"
This time, Kaan doesn't respond with words. The temperature around us drops so quickly that frost begins forming on the grass, and shadows pour from his skin with apromise of violence. I can feel his control fracturing, can sense the violence building inside him like a storm about to break.
"Stop," I say again, but this time I press my hand to his chest, right over his heart. "Please. Not here. Not like this."
The contact seems to ground him, and gradually, the killing frost begins to fade. But his eyes, when they fix on Zohan, promise violence in the very near future.
"This conversation is over," I announce, taking Kaan's hand and tugging him away from my supposed brother. "Zohan, I'll find you tomorrow. We'll talk then."
"Nesilhan—"
"Tomorrow," I repeat firmly, not looking back as I lead Kaan away from the clearing.
We walk in tense silence for several minutes before he finally speaks.
"He's dangerous," he says quietly. "I can smell it on him. Whatever he wants from you, it's not just a reunion with his beloved sister."
"Maybe," I admit, because something about Zohan had felt off in ways I can't articulate. "But he's still family. The only family I can remember having."
"Family isn't always what it seems," Kaan says with bitter experience. "Sometimes the people who share your blood are the ones most willing to spill it."
I glance at him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his shadows continue to writhe with agitation. "Are you speaking from experience?"
"Always," he says simply. "My father's family specialized in betrayal and creative murder. Trust doesn't come easily when you've been raised by monsters."
The casual way he refers to his own family as monsters makes my chest ache with sympathy. Whatever else he might be,whatever darkness lives within him, he's been hurt in ways that run soul-deep.
"I won't let him hurt you," I say quietly, and watch surprise flicker across his features.
"Hatun," he says softly, "I'm the monster in this particular fairy tale. You don't need to protect me from anything."
