Her laughter is like chimes in the wind, incongruously bright against the Shadow Court's somber elegance. Several heads turn our way, surprised perhaps to hear such a sound in these halls.
"You should laugh more often," I tell her. "It suits you.”
“It’s strange to do it so freely.” Solene looks almost shy in her words.
“Here, you can be yourself."
"Myself," she repeats, testing the word like it's foreign. "I'm still figuring out who that is."
"That's the fun part." I steal chocolate from her plate. "You get to decide."
She swats at my hand, too late. "You're the Shadow Lady. Shouldn't you be above petty theft?"
"I'm the Shadow Lady. I'm above getting caught." I pop the chocolate into my mouth. "There's a difference."
Her laughter draws more stares. I decide I don't care.
"It's strange," she says after a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. "I spent my whole life fearing the Shadow Court, hearing stories of its cruelty and darkness. But since I've been here..." She pauses, searching for words. "I've seen kindness. Real kindness, not the performance of it that Father's court specialized in."
I follow her gaze that stops at Kaan who’s engaged in conversation with Emir.
"Do you love him?" Solene asks suddenly, the teasing fading to something softer. "Truly?"
The question catches me off guard with its simplicity.
"Yes." The truth comes easily now, no longer tangled with grief and blame. "I love him more than I ever thought possible. Even when we lost our son, even when I blamed him and pushed him away—I never stopped loving him. I just... forgot how to show it."
Solene squeezes my arm gently. "Then I'm glad you remembered."
Before she can say anything else a change in the music signals the next phase of the celebration. Tables that had been pushed to the edges of the ballroom are brought forward, laden with elaborate dishes. The feast is about to begin, and protocol demands I take my place beside Kaan at the high table.
Solene releases my arm with an understanding smile. "Duty calls."
"It does." I start to turn, then pause. "Try the shadow wine. It tastes like something bitter at first but then sweet."
"That sounds awful."
"It absolutely is. But everyone pretends to like it, and watching you try to hide your reaction will be the highlight of my evening."
Her outraged sputter follows me as I cross the ballroom, and I find myself smiling—really smiling—as I navigate through the crowd.
Kaan stands as I approach. He holds my chair with careful attention, and when I sit, his hand brushes against my shoulder in a touch that seems almost casual but speaks volumes to anyone watching.
Mine, that touch says.And I am hers.
The high table offers a view of the entire ballroom, every corner visible from this elevated position. A reminder that even in celebration, we remain vigilant. But tonight, the vigilance feels less like a burden and more like purpose.
Across the room, I catch Zoran's eye. My brother raises his glass slightly. I nod in return.
Elçin is engaged in what appears to be a spirited debate with the head chef. Knowing her, it's about the medicinal properties of something that absolutely should not be in the desserts. Her expression is fiercely academic, her hands moving in emphatic gestures. The chef looks terrified.
Banu catches my eye and winks—a flash of mischief that promises trouble later. Beside her, Emir stands with his usual stoic expression, though it softens into something almost embarrassingly tender whenever he glances her way. She has him thoroughly wrapped around her finger, and everyone knows it except possibly Emir himself.
And Kaan sits beside me, his shadows curling contentedly around our joined hands beneath the table, his presence asteady warmth at my side. We have lost so much. Our son. Our innocence. The simple belief that love alone could protect us from the cruelty of the world. Half our palace lies in ruins around us, a monument to the war we barely survived.
But we have found something else in the ashes.
A love tempered by grief. A partnership forged in fire. A future that, despite everything, still holds hope.
