Page 5 of Crown of Light and Ashes
As I leave the throne room, shadows trailing in my wake, I can't help but recall the fire in Nesilhan's eyes as she'd stood between me and her brother. That kind of courage is rare,especially in my court, where self-preservation is the primary religion.
I adjust my robes, uncomfortably aware of how much I want her. My body hums with anticipation at the thought of tomorrownight—of finally having her beneath me, that fierce pride giving way to something else entirely. I'll make her scream my name before dawn, of that I'm certain.
Tomorrow she will be mine: my wife, my possession, my obsession.
In truth, I've contemplated this possibility for longer than I care to admit—finding a way to bring that golden fire permanently into my shadowed court. Her brother's transgression merely provided the perfect opportunity to act on what I've long desired.
And if a small voice whispers that perhaps I want her for reasons beyond political advantage or physical desire—that perhaps I've been watching her for years for reasons I refuse to acknowledge—I silence it with practiced ease.
After all, monsters don't have hearts. Everyone knows that.
And I am the greatest monster the Shadow Court has ever known.
The most patient one, too. Every monster knows that anticipation sweetens the hunt.
I grin to myself as I stalk through the dark corridors. Poor Nesilhan. She has no idea what she's in for.
Then again, neither do I.
Chapter Two
The Assassin's Vow
Nesilhan
THE SHADOW COURT guards escort me through corridors of polished obsidian, their armor absorbing what little light filters through the narrow windows. I keep my chin high, my steps measured, my face a perfect mask of dignified resignation. Years of training have prepared me for this—appearing composed while plotting murder. Yet inside, I've never felt so frazzled.
When we reach my assigned chambers, a guard opens the ornate black door with a bow that might almost seem respectful if not for the smirk playing at his lips.
"Your accommodations, Lady Nesilhan," he says. "Lord Kaan hopes you'll find them... comfortable."
I sweep past him without acknowledgment, entering a room that is surprisingly luxurious—all midnight blues, deeppurples, and silver accents. A four-poster bed dominates one wall, draped with velvet so dark it seems to swallow light. Elaborate tapestries depicting Shadow Court victories hang on the walls. A not-so-subtle reminder of whose territory I'm in.
The door closes behind me with a heavy thud—the lock clicks.
Only then do I let my mask slip. I raise both my hands to see them tremble. My heart hammers viciously against my chest and the room spins, growing smaller, the design seems to suck the air from my lungs with its darkness and deadly beauty. I need to react and not think.
I grab a delicate silver-painted vase from a nearby table and hurl it against the wall. It shatters satisfyingly, water and night-blooming flowers scattering across the floor. My chest heaves as the water touches the tip of my shoes.
I'm shaking with fury, the rage I've been suppressing since Kaan's throne room finally boiling over. The audacity of him—treating my brother's life like a bargaining chip, looking at me like I'm already his possession, making those vulgar insinuations in front of an entire court.
My fingers find the ring on my right hand—my mother's ring—and I twist it rapidly, a nervous habit I've had since childhood—three turns clockwise, three counterclockwise. The familiar motion centers me, but only slightly.
I pace the room, cataloging exits and potential weapons by instinct, a habit ingrained through years of training that few at court would ever suspect. One door, locked. Three windows, narrow but perhaps wide enough to squeeze through if necessary. A forty-foot drop to the courtyard below—survivable with proper technique. The furniture is mostly too ornate to be practical, but there's a letter opener on the writing desk that could serve as a weapon.
From my sleeve, I withdraw one of my hidden daggers—a slim blade balanced for throwing. The weight of it in my palm is comforting. I flick my wrist, sending it spinning across the room to embed itselfin the center of a tapestry depicting a Shadow Court lord standing triumphantly over a fallen Light Court warrior.
A perfect hit. The blade pierces directly through the victorious lord's eye.
A tentative knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I walk briskly and retrieve my dagger before I slide it back into its hidden sheath and let my mask fall into place. "Enter."
The door opens to reveal my father and brother. Zoran looks terrible—his Light Court robes are rumpled, his golden eyes bloodshot, his usually immaculate hair disheveled. My father appears more composed, but I can see the strain in the tight set of his shoulders and the lines around his mouth.
"Nesilhan," Zoran says, rushing forward. "I'm so sorry—this is all my fault. If I hadn't—"
I hold up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "It's done, Zoran. No use dwelling on it now."
"But how can you be so calm?" he asks, searching my face. "He's a monster. Everyone knows what he's capable of."
