Page 107 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"Oh?" I press, enjoying his discomfort far too much. "So you weren't staring at her rather shapely posterior during the last council meeting when she flounced in with that message for my wife?"
A flush creeps up his neck, an unprecedented sight in all our centuries together. "I was monitoring a potential threat to your wife."
"Of course you were," I agree solemnly. "Very thorough monitoring, from what I observed. Practically a strategic survey of all her... assets."
"Are you quite finished?" he snaps, finally dropping into the chair opposite me with none of his usual grace.
"Not even close," I reply cheerfully. "I have eight centuries ofyour stoicism to make up for. I intend to savor every moment of this unprecedented lapse in your perfect control."
"You're enjoying this far too much," he grumbles, reaching for the decanter to refill his glass. "And you're one to talk about romantic entanglements. You, who swore never to feel anything again after Isil."
The name sends a jolt through me, though I manage to keep my expression neutral.
"This isn't about me," I deflect, suddenly less comfortable with the conversation. "We're discussing your infatuation with a creature half your size who probably has the life expectancy of a mayfly compared to us."
"Banu is over three hundred years old," he corrects automatically, then winces as he realizes his mistake.
"Ah! So you've researched her lifespan," I crow triumphantly. "How thorough of you. Planning for the long term, are we? Will there be little half-fairy shadows running around the palace soon? I imagine they'd be quite the spectacle, stern little faces with ridiculous sparkly wings."
He actually groans, setting his glass down with a thud. "For the love of darkness, Kaan, enough."
I freeze, my glass halfway to my lips. Kaan. Not "my lord," not "Shadow Lord," just... Kaan. He hasn't called me that since…
"Since before," he says quietly, reading my thoughts as he always could. "Before everything changed."
The playful atmosphere evaporates, replaced by something heavier, laden with centuries of unspoken grief and distance. Once, we had been more like brothers than lord and general. Before Isil. Before I transformed into the monster of the Shadow Court.
"I miss that sometimes," I admit, surprising us both with the confession. "Who we were. Before."
He studies me, centuries of shared historyin his gaze. "You're different since Nesilhan arrived," he observes. "Not like before, but... more yourself than you've been in a very long time."
"Ridiculous," I dismiss, uncomfortable with his perception. "I'm the same delightful tyrant I've always been."
"No," he says with the quiet confidence of someone who has known me at my best and my worst. "You're not. You laugh again. Not just at others' fear or pain, but with genuine amusement. You create beauty with your shadows, not just destruction. You look at her the way you once looked at…"
"Don't," I warn, my shadows darkening around me. "Don't say it."
"Someone has to," he persists with unusual boldness. "You love her, Kaan. It's written all over you, obvious to anyone who remembers who you were before the darkness took you."
Love. Such a simple syllable for so devastating an emotion. I stand abruptly, my shadows whipping around me in agitation.
"Love is a weakness I cannot afford," I say automatically, the words hollow even to my own ears.
"And yet," he persists, rising to stand before me, "you're about to name her your equal before the entire court. Something no Shadow Lord has done in recorded history."
"It's strategic," I argue. "A political maneuver to strengthen…"
"Stop lying," he interrupts, something of our old friendship emboldening him. "If not to me, then at least to yourself."
Before I'm able to formulate a suitably cutting response, a ripple of awareness brushes against my consciousness—Nesilhan, nearby, her emotions a complex tangle I can't quite decipher through our bond. And something else—that distinctive, magical signature that belongs to her fairy companion.
"We'll continue this discussion later," I tell him, already moving toward the door. "It seems my wife requires my attention."
"Of course," he replies, his voice returning to its usual formaltone, though a hint of the old familiarity lingers. "Run away from the conversation, just like old times."
I pause at the doorway, glancing back at him with narrowed eyes. "Careful, old friend. I still turn people into garden ornaments when irritated."
"I'll keep that in mind... my lord," he responds, the hint of a smile touching his lips.
