Page 90 of Crown of Light and Ashes
A cold dread seeps into my bones. Not for myself, but for the child the prophecy mentions—a child who doesn't yet exist but who already has enemies eager for its destruction—a child of shadow and light who would carry both Kaan's darkness and my magic.
"And if the child is already conceived?" Emir asks, voicing my own fears.
Another silence, longer this time. "A child has no place in this world," Kaan says, the admission softer, tinged with something that sounds almost like fear.
The door closes, and moments later, the bed dips as Kaan returns.His arm slides around my waist, pulling me close like he's shielding me from threats he cannot yet see. I sense something I never expected to feel from him—fear. Not for himself, but for me. For us.
I should tell him about the vial Aslan tried to force on me—the potion he claimed would break our bond. In the chaos of the cottage, I saw Banu slip it into her pocket when no one was watching, her quick fingers securing the dangerous magic before we left. The knowledge of its existence weighs on me now. Should I tell Kaan? Should I ask Banu to return it? But the words stick in my throat. Too many revelations for one day. Too many broken certainties.
Tomorrow. I'll tell him tomorrow, when I've had time to process everything. When I understand my own heart better.
For now, I let myself sink into the comfort of his arms, the steady beat of his heart along my back lulling me toward sleep. The questions—about the prophecy, about my father's manipulation, about the strange territory my heart wanders into—can wait until morning.
As consciousness slips away, I find myself wondering which is the greater danger: the enemies who want me dead because of what I might bring into the world, or the realization that I'm no longer entirely certain I want to kill the man holding me close to his heart.
Chapter Twenty-five
Obsession and Surrender
Kaan
THE SHADOW COUNCIL'S chamber has always been a place of power and manipulation. Five ancient shadowlords sit around a table of polished obsidian, their faces partially obscured by darkness as they scheme and plot. Today, as I stand before them, their usual masks of deference can't hide their agitation.
"This prophecy changes everything," Elder Malik says, his withered fingers steepled before him. "If word spreads—"
"Word already spreads," I interrupt, pacing before them like a caged predator. My shadows mirror my restlessness, lashing against the walls in agitated patterns. "Which means someone in this room talked."
A tense silence follows. No one meets my gazedirectly.
"The question," I continue, "is not how the information was leaked, but what we intend to do about it."
"The solution seems obvious," Elder Varis suggests, his voice carrying that particular tone of false concern that makes my shadows twitch with irritation. "Separate you from the Light Court bride until we can determine the prophecy's authenticity."
"And the political implications," Elder Sarif adds, the youngest of the five yet somehow the most calcified in his thinking. "If the Light Court believes we're trying to fulfill this prophecy—"
"Then what?" I stop pacing to fix him with a stare that makes him shrink back in his seat. "They'll accuse us of attempting to unite our realms through a legitimate marriage alliance? Of trying to end centuries of pointless bloodshed? What a devastating accusation."
"You know it's more complicated than that, my lord," Elder Nira interjects, the only woman among them and typically the most reasonable. Today, however, even she treads carefully. "The neutral territories already send inquiries. Lady Ayla is quite... persistent in her questions about your marriage."
Of course, she is. The twilight clans thrive on maintaining the division between shadow and light, positioning themselves as essential mediators. Unity would render them irrelevant.
"And your recommendation?" I ask, though I already know what's coming.
"Distance yourself from Lady Nesilhan," Elder Malik states bluntly. "Send her to the southern palace for her protection. Just until we can contain the political fallout."
My shadows explode outward without warning, engulfing the chamber in darkness so complete that even shadowlords flinch. The temperature drops precipitously, frost forming on the obsidian table beneath their hands.
"She stays," I say, my voice dangerously soft, "with me."
The shadows retreat slowly, revealing five pale faces. Even Emir, standing silently by the door, looks surprised by the intensity of my reaction.
"My lord," Elder Varis begins cautiously, "surely you understand the strategic advantage of—"
"She. Stays. With. Me." Each word falls like a blade. "My wife remains under my protection at all times. Anyone who suggests otherwise is volunteering to join our collection of particularly vocal statues in the garden—former council members who forgot their place."
Elder Malik exchanges glances with the others. "May we inquire as to the reason for your... attachment to the Light Court bride? Beyond the obvious political considerations."
The question catches me off guard. What is the reason? Why does the thought of Nesilhan leaving—even temporarily, even for her protection, fill me with a rage so consuming it threatens to swallow the room?
