She nods, understanding. "I should check on the wounded anyway."
But before we can part ways, a familiar figure steps from the shadows.
"Cousin dearest." Yasar's voice makes me turn before I can enter the command tent. He stands at the entrance, still covered in ash and blood, those black eyes slowly fading back to violet. The demon-fire has retreated, but I can still see traces of it flickering beneath his skin.
"Leaving so soon?" I ask, my shadows coiling instinctively. "I seem to recall promising to kill you. Slowly. With significant creativity involved."
"You did." He doesn't flinch. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I know what I did to her—the binding, the manipulation. I know what I am."
"And yet you're still breathing." I step closer, letting him feel the weight of my power. "Care to explain why I shouldn't rectify that right now? Battlefield chaos makes for excellent cover. 'Tragic accident with demon-fire,' I'll say. Very sad."
"Because you need me alive." His smile is bitter. "Erlik taught me things—about the demon realms, about his plans. Kill me now, and you lose that intelligence."
"I could torture it out of you."
"You could try." He meets my eyes without fear. "But we both know I learned pain tolerance in Kara Cehennem. You'd get nothing but screaming."
We stare at each other—two predators measuring, calculating.
"This isn't mercy," I say finally. "This is a strategic delay. You helped win the battle. That buys you time to run, to hide, to figure out what the fuck you've become. But cousin?" My shadows wrap around his throat—not squeezing, just resting there like a promise. "The next time I see you, if you've done anything—ANYTHING—to hurt her again? There won't be enough of you left to burn."
"Understood." His voice doesn't waver even with darkness at his throat. "For what it's worth... I genuinely believed I was saving her. From you. From herself. I was wrong."
"Congratulations on your self-awareness. It won't save you." I release him. "Now get out of my sight before I change my mind about the whole 'strategic delay' thing."
He nods once, then vanishes into shadow without another word.
The command tentis quiet now. Outside, victory celebrations rage—songs, laughter, bonfires fed by Light Court banners. Inside, it's just Emir and me, a bottle of shadow wine that's already half-empty, and blood still drying on both our armor.
"Three expeditions," I say, refilling both our goblets. "To rescue a fairy."
Emir's jaw tightens. "Strategic reconnaissance."
"Strategic my ass. You were lovesick." I drink, savoring the burn. "It's almost endearing. In a pathetic, 'I've-forgotten-how-to-function-as-a-rational-being' sort of way."
"I was ensuring a valuable asset?—"
"Was still alive so you could fuck her again." I lean back. "Let's not pretend this is complicated. You want her. She clearly wants you, given how much time she spends insulting you. The sexual tension is so thick I'm surprised you haven't just bent her over a war table and resolved it."
He drains his goblet. "You're insufferable."
"I'm your oldest friend. There's a difference." I pour more wine. "Besides, you drew steel on me when I threatened her. In all our years together—through wars, massacres, that incident with the brothel fire—you've never done that. Not once."
"She was innocent."
"So were half the people I've killed, and you've never stopped me before." I study him. "This isn't about innocence. This is about you being absolutely fucked over a four-foot fairy who calls you 'emotionally constipated' in front of the entire war council."
Despite himself, his mouth twitches. "She's not wrong."
"She's definitely not wrong." I grin. "So what's the plan? More brooding silence while hoping she figures it out? Because I've got to tell you, as someone who tried that approach—it doesn't work. You need actual words. Terrifying, I know."
"I don't know what to say to her." The admission comes rough, the wine finally loosening his usual iron control. "I'm a soldier. I kill things. She's... she's chaos and laughter and life, and I'm?—"
"A brooding disaster who's forgotten how to be happy." I interrupt. "Until she showed up and reminded you. So stop being a coward and tell her."
"My wife died four hundred years ago." His voice goes quiet. "I'm not good at this anymore."
Ah. There it is. The real issue.
