My throat tightens. The bond between us, that frayed and damaged thing, pulses once with something that isn't hatred. It's not forgiveness either. But it's not nothing.
I could kiss her. If she wouldn't immediately stab me for trying.
"Lord Riza," I say, unable to stop my smile, "I believe my wife just called you an idiot in the most tactful way possible. It's really quite impressive. She gets that from me—the creative insults, not the diplomacy. I have none of that."
A few lords actually crack smiles. The tension breaks slightly.
Nesilhan meets my eyes for the first time in days, and there's something there. Not forgiveness. Not even liking. But maybe... acknowledgment. That we're on the same side in this, at least.
The moment stretches. Her golden eyes hold mine, and through the damaged bond I feel it—a flicker of something that isn't pure hatred. Respect, maybe. Or just exhaustion with all the rage.
Then it's gone, and she turns to leave.
"My brother will lead your defense," she says, still looking at me. "He knows Light Court tactics better than anyone in this room. He knows my father's mind, his strategies. And he will protect this realm because protecting it means protecting me." She pauses. "Use him. Trust him or don't, but use him. Because we need every advantage we can get."
Elçin steps forward as Nesilhan turns. "I'll escort you back."
Nesilhan's expression softens fractionally at her cousin's presence. "Thank you."
They leave together, Elçin's hand briefly touching Nesilhan's elbow in quiet support. Her midnight blue dress trailing shadows, Nesilhan disappears through the doorway, and Elçin follows a step behind—protective, vigilant, the warrior-guardian she's always been.
The lords stand in stunned silence.
"Well," I say into the quiet. "That was arousing. Does anyone else need to question my authority, or can we move on to actual war planning?"
No one speaks.
"Excellent. Dismissed. Prepare your armies. Try not to die immediately. It would devastate me. Not really, but I'm told I should say that."
They file out slowly. Only Emir and Zoran remain.
Zoran's staring at the door Nesilhan disappeared through, his expression raw.
"She defended me," he says quietly. "After everything I did, she?—"
"She defended her own choice," I correct. "There's a difference. But..." I pause, considering. "Take it. Because my wife gives very little these days, and what she does give is hard-won."
Zoran looks at me then. Really looks at me.
"Why did you let me stay?" he asks. "After I betrayed her. After I nearly destroyed everything. Why not kill me?"
I consider the question. The honest answer is complicated—something about understanding betrayal and desperation, about recognizing when someone has already punished themselves more than I ever could.
"Because you make excellent bait," I say instead. "And because watching you suffer is mildly entertaining. Also, my wife would be upset if I killed you, and our marriage is already strained enough without adding 'murdered my brother' to the list."
It's not the real answer. But it's close enough to the truth that Zoran nods, accepting it.
"I won't fail," he says. "I won't fail her again."
"See that you don't. Because unlike her, I won't give second chances. I'll just kill you in increasingly creative ways. I have a list. It's very detailed."
He almost smiles. Then he bows and leaves.
Emir waits until we're alone.
"That went better than expected," he observes.
"My wife defended her brother's honor in front of seven skeptical lords while wearing my colors and looking like she wanted to murder everyone in the room. Yes, I'd call that a qualified success." My hand finds my chest again, pressing against where the bond aches. A habit I can't break.
