"An oversight," I admit grudgingly.
"An expensive one," Yasar observes. "Though I suppose that's what makes it so characteristic."
Before I can respond with violence, our guide interrupts: "The Twilight District is just ahead. You'll find it much more suited to shadow magic."
But as we follow the golden path deeper into Queen Morwenna's perfectly designed prison, I find myself calculating not alliance terms or military strategy, but something far more immediate and frustrating:
How exactly am I going to stop my cousin without being able to kill him?
The binding means any harm I do to Yasar reflects back on Nesilhan. Every violent impulse, every shadow that wants to tear him apart, every instinct screaming at me to end his manipulation—all of it useless. He knows it, and I know it,which makes his casual touches and possessive words even more infuriating.
I'm trapped by my own protective instincts. The perfect prison for someone like me.
The Twilight District might be more suited to shadow magic, but it's still a cage. And I've never been particularly good at accepting captivity, no matter how beautiful the bars.
CHAPTER 26
HUNGER AND SUBMISSION
KAAN
Days we've been trapped in this realm where beauty has teeth, and every moment feels like exquisite torture. The Fae quarters that house us pulse with living magic—walls of rose quartz that breathe, furniture that offers unsolicited commentary on our relationship, and a ceiling that records our every word like some demented court scribe. The mirror keeps suggesting ballads about tragic love. The bed purrs when we sit on it. I've threatened to turn the wardrobe into kindling twice already.
But none of that matters compared to the woman pacing by the window.
Nesilhan moves like a caged predator, her twilight magic crackling with restless energy. The truth-curse forces honesty from her lips at the worst moments, and I've watched her bite back words that would shatter what little control we've both maintained.
The sexual tension between us has been building like pressure in a sealed vessel. Every accidental touch, every heated glance, every moment our bodies come too close in this intimate space threatens to detonate whatever's left of our restraint.
"The Queen is playing games," she says, not turning from the window where impossible geometries of the Grove stretch beyond crystal panes. "Four days since we arrived, and she's calling it 'consideration time' while she prepares her next move."
"Probably," I agree, though my attention is focused on the way her gown clings to curves I've been trying not to think about. "Morwenna strikes me as someone who enjoys psychological warfare."
The bed murmurs in an ancient Fae dialect: "Tensions weave through this space like spider silk."
"No one asked you," I growl.
The mirror's surface ripples: "Desire shadows truth shadows desire."
Nesilhan finally turns, and the look in her golden eyes makes my breath catch. There's hunger there—raw, desperate need that's entirely her own choice, entirely real.
"I can't stop thinking about that night in the demon realm," she says suddenly, the truth-curse dragging the admission from her lips. Her cheeks flush crimson, but she doesn't look away. "How it felt when you put your mouth on me. How you made me come apart in that hellish place."
Blood surges straight to my cock at her raw honesty. Fuck, I love this version of her—bold and demanding instead of the shy creature who used to blush at my heated looks.
"I want it again," she continues, the curse forcing brutal transparency. "I want you to strip me bare and worship me with your tongue until I can't remember my own name. I want to feel your shadows holding me up while you devour me."
The admission detonates something feral in my chest. Hours of careful distance since we arrived in this realm evaporate completely.
"Do you know what you're saying?" My voice drops to something dangerous, shadows already coiling around my arms in response to the spike of arousal flooding my system.
"I know exactly what I'm saying." She moves toward me, her eyes never leaving mine. "I know that we're probably going to accept the Queen's terms. And I know that right now, in this moment, I need you to fuck me like you'll never get the chance again."
The raw honesty in her voice, the desperate need I can feel through our bond, obliterates whatever control I've been clinging to. I close the distance between us in two strides, capturing her throat in my hand—not squeezing, just claiming.
"Then you're going to get exactly what you asked for," I growl against her ear. "I'm not stopping until you're screaming my name and begging for mercy."
"Yes," she breathes, and then the truth-curse forces more: "I'm so desperate for you I ache. I wake up wet from dreams of your hands on me, your mouth on me. I need you to make me forget everything except how good you can make me feel."
