Page 2 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"STOP!"
A woman's voice, fierce and commanding, cuts through the silence. I turn, the shadow-blade dissipating slightly as my concentration shifts.
She strides into my throne room like she owns it, her white and gold robes billowing around her like captured sunlight. Behind her, an older man hurries to keep pace, his face a mask of diplomatic panic.
I know her immediately, of course—Nesilhan of House Lumina, daughter of Councillor Taren. I've seen her at various peace delegations over the years, always standing proudly at her father's side, always watching me with those piercing golden eyes that give away nothing.
Sweet merciful darkness, she is even more magnificent this close, without the formal distance of diplomatic proceedings between us.
My body responds instantly, shadows pulsing with sudden hunger. The white gold robes hug curves that have haunted my dreams forlonger than I care to admit. Her dark hair cascades down her back like midnight silk, and those lips—full and lush and currently pressed into a thin line of disapproval—make me imagine all sorts of deliciously inappropriate diplomatic scenarios.
I truly began watching her three years ago, during peace negotiations, when she calmly disarmed Lord Veren's aggressive accusations with such precision it was like watching a master duelist. Most Light Court nobles flinch in my presence, but she held my gaze with quiet defiance that has haunted me since.
And now she is storming into my execution ceremony, looking at me like I'm something she's scraped off her shoe.
How absolutely delightful.
"Lady Nesilhan," I purr, not bothering to hide my amusement or the heat in my gaze as I deliberately look her up and down. "What an unexpected pleasure. Have you come to watch? I'm afraid we don't have any seats left, but I'd be happy to have you sit in my lap. For diplomatic reasons, of course."
"Release my brother," she demands, coming to stand between me and the prisoner.
Ah. Lady Nesilhan's brother. I should have noticed the resemblance immediately. The same proud chin, the same impossibly high cheekbones. The family connection explains her passionate intervention—this is more than diplomatic posturing.
"Your brother?" I repeat, raising an eyebrow. "The same brother who turned my advisor into charcoal yesterday? That brother?"
"It was an accident," she insists, her eyes flashing with a defiance that sends a thrill of something dangerous through me. "Zoran is a scholar, not a warrior. His magic discharged when he felt threatened."
"By a sixty-year-old man discussing import tariffs?" I ask skeptically.
"By the shadows your advisor was manipulating under the table," she shoots back. "Zoran sensed them reaching for the treaty documents."
That gives me pause. I hadn't heard this particular detail. I glance at Emir, who gives a slight nod of confirmation. Interesting. Malik had been acting on his own initiative, then. Probably trying to alter the terms before signing. Ambitious of him.
Still, appearances must be maintained.
"Even if that were true," I say, letting the shadow-blade reform to its full, impressive length, "the fact remains that a Light Court diplomat killed a Shadow Court advisor. Under the ancient laws, that requires—"
"Blood for blood," Nesilhan finishes, her voice steady despite the fear I can sense radiating from her. "I know the law, Lord Kaan. But there are alternatives for accidental death."
"Enlighten me," I say, genuinely curious what she might propose.
"A life debt," her father finally speaks, stepping forward. "Councillor Taren," he introduces himself unnecessarily. "Instead of taking my son's life, you may claim a debt of service from our family. This is also permitted under the ancient laws."
I pretend to consider this, though my mind is already racing ahead, calculating possibilities. It is true that the ancient laws allow for substitution in cases of unintentional death. And a life debt from one of the most powerful families in the Light Court could be... useful.
My gaze returns to Nesilhan, taking in the proud tilt of her chin, the fierce protectiveness in her stance as she shields her brother. Something dark and possessive stirs in me—a hunger I've felt glimpses of before when I've seen her at court functions, but never acknowledged fully.
Until now.
A plan forms, perfect in its simplicity and delicious in its implications.
"A life debt," I echo, tapping my chin thoughtfully with one finger. "From your family to mine. That would indeed satisfy the bloodprice." I pause, watching tension drain slightly from their shoulders. "However, I have specific terms in mind."
"Name them," Taren says quickly, relief evident in his voice.
My shadows retreat, coiling back around my body as I approach Nesilhan. She holds her ground, though I can see the rapid pulse at her throat betraying her fear.
"Marriage," I say simply.
