He goes very still. "Nesilhan?—"
"You're just another chain, aren't you?" The words come out poisonous, designed to hurt. "Another decision made for me by other people. Another way to control me."
It's not fair. I know it's not fair even as I say it. Yasar didn't choose this bond any more than I did. But the rage needs somewhere to go, and he's here, and I'm tired of being grateful for scraps of kindness in a world that keeps taking everything from me.
My hand moves before I can think, cracking across his face in a sharp slap that echoes off the stone walls.
Yasar's head snaps to the side, but he doesn't move away. Doesn't retaliate. Just takes it, the way he's taken everything else I've thrown at him since this bond formed between us.
"Feel better?" he asks mildly, turning back to face me.
The question makes me want to hit him again. I draw back my hand, fury blazing through me like wildfire, but this time he's ready. His fingers close around my wrist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to stop me.
"Take your hands off my wife."
Kaan's voice cuts through the hallway like a blade, deathly quiet and absolutely deadly . I turn to see him standing in the doorway of the war room. His dark eyes are fixed on Yasar with an intensity that promises violence.
Yasar releases my wrist immediately, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. But there's something like amusement in his gaze, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth that suggests he's not particularly intimidated by Kaan's threat.
"Of course," Yasar says smoothly, getting to his feet. "She's all yours."
The grin he flashes me before he walks away is pure mischief, as if he's enjoyed this entire dramatic scene. As if my breakdown and fury were somehow entertaining to him. I want to be angry about that, but somehow the sight of his irreverent smile makes me feel a little more human. A little less like I'm drowning in other people's lies.
Then Yasar is gone, and it's just Kaan and me in the hallway. Just my husband and the wreckage of everything I thought I knew about my life.
Kaan approaches slowly, the way he might approach a wounded animal. His shadows have calmed, no longer lashing around him like whips, but I can see the tension in every line of his body. The fear.
"Nes," he says softly. "Talk to me."
I look up at him from where I'm still kneeling on the cold stone, and something breaks inside me all over again. Not with fury this time, but with exhaustion. With the bone-deepweariness of someone who has been fighting for too long and learned that the war was rigged from the start.
"You were right," I whisper. "My suspicion, it was right. He took her."
Kaan kneels beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body but not touching. Not yet. Waiting for permission.
"We'll get her back," he says with quiet conviction. "We'll find a way."
"What if she doesn't want to be saved?" I ask. "What if she truly believes I'm the enemy?"
"Then we show her the truth," Kaan says simply. "The same way you showed me."
I reach for him then, my fingers finding his hand in the dim light of the hallway. His skin is warm, real, anchoring me to something solid in a world that's suddenly full of quicksand.
He cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing away tears. I didn't realize I was still crying. In the shadow-dimmed hallway, his dark eyes look almost gentle.
"They think they've broken you," he says quietly. "They think they've destroyed everything you care about and left you helpless. But they made one crucial mistake."
"What's that?"
"They left you alive." His power pulses around us, not threatening but protective, wrapping us both in living darkness. "And now you know exactly what they took from you. Your sister. Your family. Everything you thought was real."
I lean into his touch, drawing strength from his unwavering certainty. "They think they've won by bringing forward their chosen heir."
Kaan's smile is sharp as a blade. "They have no idea what they've unleashed."
I think of my sister, the girl I never knew, the weapon my father forged in secret. Does she know who she really is? Does she know she has a sister who mourned her? Or has my father buried that truth so deep she'll never find it?
It doesn't matter. I'll dig it up myself. I'll tear through every lie he's ever told her until she sees the truth.
