Page 15 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"We never had a say in our stories, Aslan," I tell him, my voice softening despite my frustration. "Not you. Not me. We were pieces on a game board long before we knew the rules. The only choice we have is how we play the roles we've been given."
"There's another way," Aslan says suddenly, closing the distance between us again. "We could leave—right now. Travel beyond both courts' influence. The Free Territories would welcome skilled fighters like us."
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine it—a life free from court politics and family obligations, just Aslan and I forging our own path. The temptation is stronger than I want to admit.
"My brother would die," I remind him softly. "Kaan made that very clear. And the Light Court would lose any leverage in the ongoing peace negotiations."
"Your brother made his own mistake," Aslan says, then immediately looks regretful. "I'm sorry. I know you love him. But Nesi, this isn't just a mission. This is your life."
"My life has always been in service to my court," I say, the words automatic, rehearsed.
"Has it? Or in service to your father's ambitions?" Aslan challenges. "Think about it. He recommended you to the Order when you were just a child. He's been grooming you for this role for years."
The accusation stings because I know it's true. My father's revelation yesterday confirmed what I've suspected in my darkest moments—that my entire life has been carefully orchestrated to lead me to this exact point. That even my training as an assassin was just another piece in his political strategy.
"It doesn't matter," I say finally. "Whether it's for my father, my court, or my own sense of duty, I'm going through with this marriage."
Aslan stares at me for a long moment, then nods once, reluctantly. "Then at least let me help."
He reaches into his tunic and withdraws a small object wrapped in dark cloth. When he unwraps it, I see a delicate silver chain with a pendant—a crescent moon crafted from a material that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it.
"Shadowstone," he explains, lifting the necklace. "Rare, even in the Shadow Court. It absorbs and stores magical energy—including shadow magic. It won't protect you completely, but if Kaan ever directs his powers against you, this might buy you enough time to defend yourself."
I turn, allowing him to fasten the chain around my neck. The pendant rests just below the hollow of my throat, surprisingly warm against my skin.
"Where did you get this?" I ask, touching it gently.
"Best not to ask." His smile is grim. "Just know that several people would be very unhappy to discover it missing."
I tuck the pendant beneath my collar, out of sight. "Thank you."
Aslan's hands linger on my shoulders, then slide up to frame my face. "There's something else you should know about Kaan," he says, expression serious. "Something that wasn't in any of our briefings."
"What is it?"
"He has a rare form of shadow magic—one that allows him to sense emotions, particularly fear and deception. It's how he's survived so many assassination attempts. He can literally feel betrayal coming."
A chill runs through me. This complicates things significantly. "How did you learn this?"
"A shadow mage defected to our side three months ago. He was part of Kaan's inner circle before falling out of favor. The defector only came to us after your departure for the Shadow Court. Your father decided not to risk sending a message that might be intercepted."
"And you decided I needed to know," I say, understanding the risk he's taken in telling me this.
"I decided I wasn't going to let you walk into that snake pit without every advantage I could give you." His thumbs brush my cheekbones gently. "Be careful, Nesi. Don't underestimate him. He's more dangerous than even the Order realizes."
"I thought I knew his patterns—his arrogance, his cruelty, his intelligence—but this changes things. I'll need to adjust my approach," I say, running through possibilities in my mind. "I'll be prepared."
Aslan's expression softens. "Always so confident. It's what I've always loved about you—your absolute certainty."
"Not always," I admit, allowing myself this small vulnerability. "Right now, I'm terrified."
I look away, ashamed of my confession. Assassins aren't supposed to feel fear, let alone admit to it.
Aslan places a finger under my chin, gently tilting my face up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes, the color of amber honey in sunlight, search mine. He doesn't speak, doesn't offer empty platitudes or false promises. Instead, he leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away if I choose.
I don't.
His lips touch mine with unexpected gentleness. Warm, slightly chapped from the forest air, they move against mine with careful precision. The familiar taste of him, pine and something spicy, like cinnamon, floods my senses. His hand slides from my chin to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
