Page 43 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"How refreshing," he remarks, taking a deliberate bite of his meal, eyes never leaving mine. "Most of the court only speaks such candid truths behind my back."
I open my mouth to deliver a scathing retort when a familiar scent teases my nostrils, jasmine and something wilder, more ancient. My stomach drops. Banu is near, and from the sudden alertness in Kaan's posture, he senses something too.
A shimmer of silver light dances at the edge of my vision, just behind Kaan's shoulder. I try not to react, but my fingers tighten around my fork.
Not now, Banu. Please, not now.
"Something wrong?" Kaan asks, his shadows coiling more densely around him. "You've gone rather pale."
I force a smile. "Nothing at all. Just... contemplating the many ways I might poison your food without detection."
His laugh is genuine, startling in its warmth. "Points for honesty, though I should remind you of our blood bond. My death would hardly be comfortable for you."
"Some discomforts are worth enduring," I counter, trying to ignore Banu, who has materialized more fully behind him, making obscene gestures that would scandalize even the most libertine courtier.
My eyes widen in horror as she begins a silent but graphicpantomime involving Kaan's shadows and what appears to be an extremely acrobatic position. I choke on my tea.
"Something amusing?" Kaan's eyes narrow, his head beginning to turn.
"Headache," I blurt, pressing my fingertips to my temple. "A sudden, splitting headache."
Banu freezes mid-gesture, then pouts dramatically at my interruption.
Kaan studies me, suspicion evident in his expression. "A headache? How convenient. And here I thought perhaps you were seeing ghosts." His shadows stretch toward the space where Banu hovers, but she darts higher, staying just out of their reach.
"Not ghosts," I say, rising from my chair. "Just the constant, pounding reminder that I'm bound to a monster."
Something flickers in his eyes, a momentary glimpse of hurt that he quickly masks behind familiar mockery. But it vanishes so quickly, I must imagine it.
"I need to lie down," I continue, pressing my advantage. "Unless you'd prefer I vomit across the breakfast table? I'm finding the smell of blood rather... provocative this morning."
Kaan rises with predatory grace, coming around the table. I brace myself, but he keeps a careful distance, his posture mocking rather than accommodating.
"Allow me to escort you to our chambers, then. We wouldn't want you collapsing in a corridor where just anyone might find you."
We walk side by side, but not touching; my awareness of him is heightened by the careful space he maintains between us. The blood bond pulses despite the physical distance, a constant reminder of our unnatural connection.
"Your concern is overwhelming," I say dryly.
"Anything for my beloved bride." His smile is as sharp as glass. "Though I wonder…is it truly a headache, or merely an excuse to escape my company?"
"If I wanted to escape your company," I reply, fighting to keep my expression neutral, "I would need a far more elaborate plan than feigning illness."
"Such as?"
"Elaborate requires planning. Planning requires privacy. Privacy is something you've denied me."
We walk in silence through the palace corridors, the tension from breakfast still crackling between us. Perhaps seeking to defuse it, or maybe from genuine curiosity, he says suddenly, "Tell me about your childhood."
The request catches me off guard. "Why would you care about that?"
He shrugs, a surprisingly human gesture for someone who works so hard to present himself as monstrous. "Consider it an attempt at conventional marital conversation. Unless you prefer our usual discourse of threats and violence?"
"I—" I falter, unsure how to respond to this apparent olive branch. "It was... normal, I suppose. Until it wasn't."
"Normal by whose standards? The Light Court nobles hardly live ordinary lives."
"We had gardens," I hear myself saying, memories surfacing unbidden. "My mother would take me there in the mornings. We'd name the birds that came to feed, making up elaborate stories about their secret lives when they flew away."
