Page 8 of Crown of Storm and Silence
Kaan
The Light Court'sdelegation arrives at dawn, which is honestly just insulting. What kind of barbarians schedule a diplomatic crisis before I've had my morning blood sacrifice and existential contemplation? There are rules about these things, unwritten ones, but still. Not that I've been sleeping—sleep is for people who aren't slowly dissolving into their own shadows. But basic etiquette exists for a reason.
They ride through my gates with all the pomp of a funeral procession, which is delightfully appropriate since they're probably here to discuss mine. Twenty riders in armor so pristine it could blind a man at fifty paces, led by General Altin himself—Gün Ata's golden boy and professional pain in my perfectly sculpted ass. I can see him from my throne room window, his hair catching the morning light like a beacon of insufferable righteousness.
Really, the man's commitment to aesthetic perfection is almost inspiring. Almost.
"My lord," Emir ventures carefully, like a man approaching a particularly unstable explosive. "They're requesting an audience."
I don't turn from the window, too fascinated by watching all that gleaming perfection gathered in my courtyard. "Are they now? How delightfully presumptuous. Did they bring gifts? I do so love gifts. Preferably ones that scream when you unwrap them."
"They bear Gün Ata's personal seal," he continues, concern threading through his voice like poison through honey. "This is direct from the God of Light himself."
"Oh, how honored I am." I laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls with all the musical quality of broken crystal. "The immortal bastard himself deigns to notice my existence. And here I thought he was still sulking about that unfortunate incident with his favorite temple."
I turn from the window, and Emir takes a step backward so quickly I'm surprised he doesn't trip over his own feet. Nearly six months of living darkness has done absolute wonders for my complexion—I look gaunt and haunted, like death given artistic form, which suits my dramatic sensibilities perfectly. The shadows have been feeding more aggressively lately, carving sharp angles into my face and adding dark circles that would make court poets weep. But the real change is in my eyes, where something wild and desperate has taken up residence.
The fact that I'm still breathing suggests she might be alive—though with the bond severed in ways that shouldn't be possible, I can't trust any of the usual rules. Nearly six months of searching every shadow, every whisper, every pathetic lead has yielded nothing but false hope and bitter failure. I'd declared the organized search officially over just days ago, much to everyone's visible relief.
"Shall I have them brought to the great hall?" Emir asks.
"Oh, absolutely not. The courtyard will do beautifully. Fresh air is so important for these delicate Light Court flowers, don't you think? Besides, blood is so much easier to wash off cobblestones than marble."
Emir's face goes pale. "My lord?—"
"That was mostly a joke, Emir." I pat his shoulder with paternal affection, enjoying how he flinches. "The stones weren't specially treated. They're just naturally good at absorbing things."
The courtyard is a study in beautiful contrasts when I emerge from the castle's depths. Twenty pristine knights arranged in perfect formation, their mounts stamping nervously as shadows leak from my skin. General Altin dismounts with fluid grace, his movements smooth and deliberate. Everything I used to be before I became this walking advertisement for the dangers of emotional investment.
"Lord Kaan," he says with a formal bow that somehow manages to convey both respect and the overwhelming urge to bathe afterward. "We come bearing urgent communications from the God of Light himself."
"How thrilling," I reply, settling into the throne I've recently had moved to the courtyard. It's carved from black stone and decorated with enough skulls to make interior decorators weep. "I do so adore urgent communications. They have such a delicious sense of impending doom."
Altin produces a scroll bearing Gün Ata's personal seal—a golden sun that actually glows with divine light. "By order of Gün Ata, God of Light and ruler of the Light Court, you are commanded to cease all destructive actions against civilian populations and submit to questioning regarding the massacre at Karanlikköy village."
I blink slowly, processing this information with all the careful consideration it deserves. Which is to say, none whatsoever."Commanded?" I repeat thoughtfully, tasting the word like particularly bitter wine. "By someone who isn't my father. How...adorably optimistic of him."
"Lord Kaan," another delegate speaks up—some minor general whose name I can't be bothered to remember. "Twenty-three villages have been destroyed in the past six months. Hundreds of innocent lives lost. This madness must end."
"Madness?" I lean forward in my throne, shadows coiling around my feet. "My dear fellow, you wound me deeply. I prefer to think of it as 'aggressive urban planning' with creative flair. Truly, you should see some of my latest work—the way I arranged the burning buildings in Karaköy formed the most beautiful spiral pattern."
The horses are becoming increasingly agitated, shying away from the darkness that flows around me. Smart animals. They can sense predators better than their riders.
"Your search is over," Altin states, his voice sharp with authority. "You declared it yourself just days past. Yet the destruction continues."
He's not wrong, which is frankly irritating. I had officially ended the organized search after that spectacular disaster with the false corpse—really, whoever arranged that little performance deserves points for creativity. But ending a search and channeling that energy into destruction are entirely different beasts.
"A man's entitled to change his mind," I say pleasantly.
"Where is your wife, Lord Kaan?" Altin asks, his voice cutting through my artistic metaphors. "Many suspect you've driven her away with your...excesses.”
Now that stings, and not just because there's enough truth in it to fill a moderately sized lake. But I'd rather be flayed alive than admit it to Gün Ata's golden boy. "My wife's whereaboutsare none of your concern, General. Though I do appreciate your touching interest in my domestic affairs."
"It becomes our concern when your domestic affairs involve genocidal rampages across the neutral territories," he replies coolly.
A commotion at the gates interrupts our charming chat. The pitiful remnants of my Shadow Council approach—and they truly are pitiful. Of the five elders who once advised my family, only two remain. Elder Omer and Elder Varis—the ones too stubborn, too loyal, or too stupid to abandon their posts when three of their colleagues fled to the Light Court.
"Perfect timing," I murmur. "It seems I'm to be lectured by both sides today. How festive."
