Page 32 of Crown of Light and Ashes
I sidestep easily, hooking my ankle behind hers and sending her crashing to the ground. Before she can recover, I'm on her, my shadow-sword at her throat, my knee pressing into her sternum.
"And now you're in the dirt again," I whisper, leaning close enough that only she can hear. "Just like that one night in my bed. Tell me, wife, do you dream of him while I touch you? Does it ease your conscience to pretend that wasn't your pulse racing under my hands?"
Her response is unexpected—she laughs, a bitter sound with no humor in it. "Is that what this is about? Your wounded pride because I don't melt at your touch like your whores do?"
It's a direct hit, more effective than any sword stroke. I mask my surprise with a smile that shows too many teeth. "My pride isn't what's wounded,hatun. But you will be if you continue to provoke me."
"Then kill me," she challenges, golden eyes boring into mine. "End this farce of a marriage. Or are you afraid to lose your shiny new political asset?"
I lean closer until our noses nearly touch, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Death would be a mercy you haven't earned yet,hatun. Besides, I'm not nearly done playing with you."
With a controlled surge of light magic, more measured than her earlier display—she creates a barrier that forces me backward. I roll to my feet, genuinely impressed by her tactical use of power, just in time to meet her renewed attack.
Our audience has grown, courtiers abandoning any pretense of their own training to watch the Shadow Lord and his bride try to destroy each other. I'm vaguely aware of Emir at the edge of the yard, his expression concerned, and my advisors nearby, whispering among themselves.
Let them watch. Let them see what happens when light thinks it can challenge shadow.
Nesilhan fights with the desperation of someone with nothing left to lose. Her light magic flares steadily with each exchange, her movements becoming increasingly fluid as she gives herself fully to the battle. She's magnificent in her fury, all golden eyes and deadly grace, her dark hair coming loose from its braid to whip around her face like living shadow. Sweat glistens on her skin, making her almost luminous in the morning light.
My body reacts traitorously to the sight of her like this—wild,powerful, unleashed. A primal part of me wants to throw down my sword and claim that furious mouth with mine, to feel her struggle against me as I press her into the dirt. The intensity of my own desire catches me off guard, and I miss blocking a strike I should have easily deflected.
For a brief, disorienting moment, I find myself caught between lust and something dangerously close to admiration. Her skill is undeniable, her determination almost impressive. In another life, under different circumstances, she might have been—
Her blade slices across my chest, drawing blood through my torn tunic. The pain is sharp, immediate, and utterly shocking. She actually wounded me.
The yard grows quiet, whispers dying away as spectators strain to see what happened.
I look down at the thin line of crimson spreading across the black fabric, then back at her face. Rather than triumph, I see calculation in her eyes—a coldness that speaks of experience with inflicting pain. The diplomat's mask has slipped completely, revealing something much more dangerous beneath.
"You continue to surprise me,hatun," I say softly, my shadows darkening and multiplying around us. "I wonder what other secrets you're hiding."
Her only response is to adjust her grip on her sword, preparing for my inevitable retaliation. She knows what's coming. To her credit, she doesn't back down.
"Unfortunately," I continue, my voice carrying across the now-hushed training yard, "I can't allow such disrespect to go unanswered. The court is watching, after all."
My shadows surge forward, wrapping around her sword arm with crushing force. I hear the small bones in her wrist grind together, seethe flash of pain cross her features, though she doesn't make a sound. Her practice sword falls from fingers that can no longer hold it.
"The first lesson of combat," I tell her, approaching slowly as my shadows continue to constrict around her arm, "is to never wound an opponent unless you're prepared to kill them. Otherwise, you've merely awakened the beast."
With a flick of my wrist, I release her arm and grasp her throat instead, lifting her slightly off her feet. The shadows coil around her neck, not tight enough to choke but enough to demonstrate my complete control.
"The second lesson," I continue, bringing my face close to hers, "is to know your opponent's weaknesses. Yours, my dear wife, is your stubborn pride. Your belief that you can win against me."
I release her suddenly, watching as she crumples to her knees, gasping for breath. The courtyard remains hushed, everyone waiting to see what I'll do next. They expect cruelty, it's what I'm known for, after all.
Instead, I crouch beside her, tilting her chin up with one finger so she's forced to look at me. Her skin burns hot against mine, and the proximity sends an unwelcome jolt of desire straight to my core. Those golden eyes, defiant even now, make me want to claim that mouth until she surrenders completely.
"And the third lesson," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper meant for her ears alone, "is that when you fight a shadow, you must become one. Light can never defeat darkness head-on—it can only transform it."
My thumb traces her lower lip, ostensibly wiping away a smear of blood but lingering longer than necessary. Her breath catches, and through our bond I sense a flicker of confusion—and something else—though her shields muffle the exact emotion. The air between us is charged with a tension that has nothing to do with combatand everything to do with the visceral pull I feel toward her despite my better judgment.
I stand, addressing the subdued audience without looking away from her. I straighten to my full height, offering my hand to Nesilhan with mockingly exaggerated chivalry. She has no choice but to take it or risk further humiliation before the entire court.
As I pull her to her feet, I sweep into an absurdly theatrical bow, addressing the crowd with a showman's flair. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Shadow Court, you've witnessed something truly special today—my lovelyhatunhas managed to draw blood! Let's all savor this historic moment," I announce with a wolfish grin. "The last person who did that now decorates my garden as a rather expressive statue. But since I'm a progressive Shadow Lord and an advocate for marital harmony, I'll merely ensure she can't sit comfortably for a week!"
Murmured reactions and nervous chuckles ripple through the audience. Some look scandalized, others cautiously amused, but all of them unsettled—exactly as I intended.
"Myhatunhas demonstrated commendable skill today," I continue, my voice hardening. "Anyone who mistakes her Light Court heritage for weakness will answer to me personally."
