Page 33 of Crown of Light and Ashes
Her fingers are ice-cold against mine, her hatred a tangible thing between us, one of the few emotions that cuts clearly through whatever shields she's erected. As she rises, I pull her closer than necessary, my lips brushing her ear, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her—sweat and light magic and something uniquely her that makes my blood run hot despite my attempts to remain detached.
"Tonight," I whisper, feeling her pulse jump beneath my fingers where they encircle her wrist, "we'll continue this lesson somewhere more private. And believe me, you'll scream my name before I'm done with you."
The shudder that runs through her makes my shadows pulse withanticipation. I could swear her pupils dilate slightly, her breathing quickening—her body betraying her even as hatred remains fixed in her expression. This maddening attraction between us, this clash of repulsion and desire, is becoming my favorite battlefield.
"The demonstration is over. Return to your duties."
As the courtyard slowly empties, I feel Nesilhan's eyes burning into my back. The wound on my chest throbs, a reminder of her unexpected skill and the questions it raises. Where did my diplomatic bride learn to fight like a warrior? What other talents is she hiding? And most intriguing of all—how is she blocking most of our emotional bond while still allowing fragments through?
That strange presence lingers near her like a protective shadow made of light. I can almost taste its magic—wild, ancient, and distinctly not of the Light Court's sterile traditions. It's as if myhatunhas acquired a guardian spirit, one that clouds my perception of her through our bond while still allowing glimpses of her true emotions to slip through.
I make a mental note to have Emir investigate her background more thoroughly. There's more to Nesilhan of House Lumina than meets the eye, and I intend to uncover every secret she's keeping—including whatever invisible ally she's managed to smuggle into my court.
Starting tonight, in the privacy of our chambers, where I'll peel back another layer of her carefully constructed facade. Not just with pain, but with pleasure—the kind she hates herself for responding to, the kind that leaves her confused and furious and craving more despite herself.
I touch the wound on my chest, feeling the sting of torn flesh. The fact that she marked me sends a thrill through my body that I can't entirely suppress. No one has drawn my blood in centuries, and the novelty of it—from her hands especially—awakens something primal in me. I want to return the favor, to mark her inside and out until shebelongs to me so completely that she forgets she ever had another life before me.
This obsession is becoming dangerous. I tell myself it's just the challenge she presents, the satisfaction of eventually breaking her will. But in moments of brutal honesty, I admit there's something more, a fascination that goes beyond mere conquest.
After all, breaking someone's body is simple. Breaking their will, their sense of self—that's an art form.
And I've always considered myself something of an artist.
Chapter Eleven
The Dust of Desire
Nesilhan
I STRIDE AWAY from the training yard with my chin high despite the throbbing pain in my wrist. Blood may be trickling down my lip, but I've drawn his blood today, something, according to the whispers that follow me, no one has done in decades. Small victory, perhaps, but I'll take what I can get in this prison of shadows.
The cool stone corridor offers blessed relief from the eyes of the court. My damaged wrist pulses in rhythm with my racing heart, the bones grinding together when I flex my fingers. The memory of his shadows crushing it makes me clench my teeth. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeking a healer. Pain is nothing new to me.
A sudden movement at the edge of my vision makes me tense, but before I can react, something, someone—tugs me sideways intoa shadowy alcove with a partial opening behind a heavy tapestry. My good hand automatically reaches for a weapon that isn't there.
"Relax, it's just me," Banu's familiar voice whispers as her silver-blonde hair materializes in the dim light. "That was quite the show you put on out there. Watching you cut Shadow Boy was worth enduring this dreary place another day."
I glance nervously toward the corridor. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to leave yesterday."
"I did leave," she grins, her lavender eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I came back this morning when I sensed something delicious was about to happen. I've been hiding in the shadowy corners of this delightfully gloomy palace, watching the drama unfold. It's better than any faerie revel." She circles around me, her movements fluid like water. "Besides, I couldn't leave my favorite human to face the big, bad shadow lord alone, could I?"
"This isn't a game, Banu," I hiss, trying to massage some feeling back into my injured wrist with my good hand. "If Kaan discovers you…"
"Please." She waves dismissively. "That man is so obsessed with you, he wouldn't notice if I danced naked on his dinner table. Though..." Her eyes trail down the corridor with an appreciative gleam. "Annoying as he is, I can see the appeal. Those brooding looks, that dangerous edge—very eye-catching, if you like the murderous-but-pretty type."
"He killed Aslan," I remind her, my voice tight.
Banu's expression softens momentarily. "I know, sweet one. And he'll pay for that." She moves closer, lowering her voice. "But you must admit, there's a certain... intensity between you. The whole court sees it. The way he looks at you like he wants to devour you whole…"
"Stop."
"The way you glare back with equal hunger…"
"I said stop."
"The air practically crackles when you're in the same room," she continues relentlessly. "It's like watching two predators circle each other, neither willing to show weakness first."
I press my palms against my temples. "You're delusional."
