"The fae warriors might still come," Yasar interjects smoothly, moving to stand beside Nesilhan with that easy grace that makes my shadows writhe with jealousy. "Time works differently between realms, cousin. Queen Morwenna's four days in the Veil translated to two months here. The reverse could also be true."
"That's absurd logic," Elçin cuts in sharply, her storm-gray eyes narrowed in calculation. "Time distortion doesn't work symmetrically. Just because we experienced temporal acceleration doesn't mean?—"
"Doesn't mean it's impossible either," Yasar counters, his gaze gleaming with that infuriating confidence. "The Queen promised her armies would march when the terms were met. We met them. She's bound by fae law to honor that bargain."
"Fae law is notoriously flexible when it suits them," Elçin snaps back.
"Children," I interrupt, pinching the bridge of my nose, "this is delightful. Really. The tension, the barbs, the simmering resentment—it's like watching my parents' marriage all over again. But unless one of you is about to produce a solution to the seven faction lords currently plotting my murder, perhaps we could table the bickering?"
Nesilhan's lips twitch—not quite a smile, but close enough that something in my chest loosens slightly. She steps closer, her movements careful, deliberate. Without the bond, I can't read her emotions, but I've spent enough time learning her body language to recognize when she's choosing her words carefully.
"Yasar's not entirely wrong," she says. "Queen Morwenna struck a binding bargain. Fae are many things, but oath-breakers? That has consequences even for them. The warriors could arrive tomorrow. Or next week. The timing is unpredictable, but they will come."
"And if they don't come in time?" I ask, watching her face for any hint of what she's thinking. "If they arrive after the Light Court has already claimed half my territory and executed every lord who remained loyal?"
"Then we fight with what we have," she replies simply. Her amber eyes meet mine directly—no accusation, no grief, just pragmatic assessment. "You've built this court from nothing once before. The lords who fled did so out of fear, not malice. Prove you're still the Shadow Lord they submitted to, and they'll return."
"Such touching faith in my ability to inspire terror," I say dryly.
"Not terror." She pauses, considering. "Respect. Fear is cheap and temporary. Respect is what makes lords risk everything to stand with you even when the odds look impossible."
The words hit harder than I expected. This is the Nesilhan I fell in love with—not the diplomat's mask or the grieving mother, but the woman who sees through political theater to the truth beneath.
"The war council happens tomorrow night," I decide, my shadows responding to the shift in my resolve. "Every lord who claims loyalty to the Shadow Court will be summoned. I want them here where I can see them, assess them, and remind them exactly why they bent the knee in the first place."
"Smart," Elçin says with approval. "Gather them quickly before they have time to second-guess their allegiances. Strike while you still have momentum from simply being alive."
"Though you might want to clean up first," Yasar adds with that sardonic smile that makes me want to strangle him. "You look like you've been through a fae bargain. Which, to be fair, you have. But the lords don't need to see their Shadow Lord looking quite so... weathered."
"Your concern for my appearance is touching, cousin," I reply with poisonous sweetness. "Try not to die of worry."
"I'll do my best." His gaze shifts to Nesilhan, something complicated flickering in his expression. "Though perhaps you should rest as well. The bargain took its toll on both of you."
The casual endearment makes my shadows coil tighter. The binding between them forces proximity, forces a connection neither of them asked for. The Queen broke what Nesilhan and I had. She severed our bond. The fact that Yasar now stands in the space I used to occupy is my own fault.
That doesn't make it any less corrosive to watch.
"I'm fine," Nesilhan says, though I notice the exhaustion shadowing her eyes. "We both need to prepare for this war council. If the lords are coming tomorrow, we don't have time for rest."
"Ever the pragmatist," I murmur. "Very well. Let's reconvene in a few hours. That gives everyone time to make themselves presentable and for Emir to send the summons."
Elçin nods crisply. "I'll coordinate with the household staff on arrangements. We'll need to make this throne room functional enough to host?—"
"No," I interrupt. "Not here. The war room. Let them see the throne room's devastation on their way in—it'll remind them exactly what we're fighting against. But we hold the actual council in the war room where we can be strategic instead of theatrical."
"Smart, cousin," Yasar observes. "Nothing like a ruined throne room to motivate loyalty through shared fear."
"I'm glad you approve," I say with exaggerated sincerity. "Your opinion means so very much to me."
His smile is sharp and knowing. "Liar."
Nesilhan's expression shifts—something almost like amusement flickering across her features before she schools it back to tactful neutrality. "We should all prepare."
She moves toward the doors, Elçin falling into step beside her with the easy synchronization of long practice. Yasar follows, but not before catching my eye with an expression I can't quite read. Warning? Challenge? Simple acknowledgment that we're on the same side even if we hate each other?
Whatever it is, it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
I start to follow, but Nesilhan pauses at the doorway. "Kaan? A moment?"
