"Disgustingly happy," she admits with a laugh. "Though I still want to strangle him at least once a day. Yesterday he reorganized my entire potion cabinet 'for efficiency.' Everything was inalphabetical order, Nesilhan. Do you know how long it took me to establish my system?"
"Your system being 'wherever you last dropped it'?"
"It was amethod," she says primly.
"That's love," I say, and we both dissolve into giggles.
The afternoon passes in gentle conversation, interrupted only when a healer arrives to remind me of my appointment. The verification stone at her neck glows steadily as she approaches.Banu accompanies me, her hand in mine as the healer examines me with glowing hands and careful magic.
"The baby is strong," the healer pronounces, satisfaction in her voice. "And your magic has stabilized beautifully, my lady. The twilight energies are in perfect balance."
Relief floods through me, as it does every time we receive good news. "Thank you."
Back in our chambers that evening, I find Kaan waiting, having dismissed his advisors early. He helps me undress with reverent hands, his lips tracing the curve of my shoulder. His touch is different now—no longer desperate or possessive, but gentle in a way that makes my heart ache.
"What did the healer say?" he asks, his voice a rumble against my skin.
"That everything is perfect," I reply, turning in his arms. "That we're going to have a beautiful, healthy daughter."
The joy in his eyes is tempered with caution—neither of us take anything for granted anymore—but he allows himself to hope. It's a gift I've watched him slowly give himself over these past months.
Moonlight spills through the windows, painting his skin in silver and shadow as he lowers me to our bed. There's something sacred in the way he touches me now, each caress an act of worship, each kiss a promise. His hands map the changes in my body with wonder—the fuller curves, the swell of my belly where our child grows.
"You're beautiful," he whispers against my throat, and I feel the words vibrate through me like music.
We move together in the silver-bathed darkness, finding each other anew. The shadows in the room respond to his emotions, swirling and dancing around us in elegant patterns I've never seen before. My light rises to meet them, gold and silver intertwining above us like the physical manifestation of what we've become together—neither purely shadow nor light, but something entirely new.
There is no hurry tonight, no desperate need to claim or possess. We have all the time in the world now, a luxury we once thought lost to us. His fingers lace with mine as we move as one, and I see in his midnight eyes all the words he's struggled to say these past months.
I love you. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I would die for you. I would live for you. I choose you, every day, every moment, in a way no magical bond could ever compel.
When we reach the height of pleasure together, it's not just physical release but something deeper—a communion of souls that transcends the physical. My magic flares golden-bright, illuminating the room for one breathless moment, and I see his face above me, transformed with an emotion so raw and pure it brings tears to my eyes.
After, as we lie tangled in sheets and shadows, I trace the scars on his chest with gentle fingers—each one a story, each one proof of his survival. The largest, a jagged line that runs from sternum to hip, came from the battle where he nearly lost his life defending me. I touch it reverently, remembering how close I came to losing him.
"I forgive you," I whisper, the words that have been forming in my heart for months finally finding voice. "For choosing me. For everything."
His body goes still beneath my touch. I feel the wave of emotion that crashes through him without needing any magical connection to know what he feels.
"Nesilhan—" His voice breaks on my name.
"I understand now," I continue softly. "There was no right choice. Only impossible ones."
He pulls me closer, his face buried in my hair. I feel the dampness of tears against my skin and hold him tighter, my own eyes blurring.
"I love you," he says, the words rough with emotion. "More than shadow or light or anything between."
I kiss him, pouring everything I cannot say into the press of lips, the tangle of breath. "I know."
We fall asleep tangled together, and morning finds us wrapped around each other, peaceful in a way that once seemed impossible.
The day unfolds with routine tasks—council meetings, treaty negotiations, meals shared with those we love. It's in these ordinary moments that I find the greatest joy, the simplest evidence that we've survived the storm.
Evening approaches with a crimson sunset, painting the palace in blood-red light. I'm in our private study, reviewing reports from the border villages, when the door crashes open with enough force to send papers scattering across the floor.
Elçin stands in the doorway.
Blood streams from a gash above her eyebrow, cutting a red path through the ash smeared across her face. Her clothes are torn and scorched, reeking of smoke and something worse—burnt flesh. Dark bruises bloom along her jaw and cheekbone, and her knuckles are split and bleeding. Ash coats her hair, her skin, turning her into something gray and ghostlike. The verification stone at her throat still pulses with that familiar soft pink glow, even as she sways on her feet.
