He chose me, and I will never forgive him for it.
"One week," I repeat, stepping back, putting distance between us before the grief drowns me again. "Emir, take whatever you need. I want daily reports on your progress."
"Of course, my lady." Emir bows, relief evident in his features. "I'll depart at first light."
I turn toward the door, needing to escape this room with its frosted windows and cracking table, needing air.
"Nesilhan," Kaan calls after me, and against my better judgment, I pause at the threshold.
"I would make that choice again," he says quietly, and the confession is brutal in its honesty.
I don't turn around. Can't look at him. Can't let him see the tears that burn behind my eyes—because I don't know if I'm crying for our dead child, my missing friend, or the man I used to love before everything turned to ash.
"I know," I whisper. "That's what makes it unforgivable."
Then I walk away, leaving him standing in the frozen war room, surrounded by the ruins of everything we used to be.
CHAPTER 5
THE COUSIN'S LETTER
Kaan
Emir entersmy study just after dawn, a sealed letter in his hand that makes my shadows stir with recognition before I even see the seal.
I know what it is the moment he sets it on my desk. The wax seal bears the mark of the eastern territories—a crescent moon bisected by a blade—and underneath it, a secondary seal I haven't seen in decades. My cousin's personal sigil.
"When did this arrive?" I ask, though my shadows are already reaching for it, drawn by whatever magic Yasar wove into the parchment.
"An hour ago." Emir's expression is carefully neutral. "The courier collapsed immediately after delivery. We're keeping him in the healing chambers, but he's... changed. Whatever he experienced carrying that message through the realms left marks."
I break the seals with more violence than necessary, ignoring how the paper hisses like something alive. The elegant script inside mocks me with its civility:
Cousin Dearest,
Word has reached me of your recent troubles. Light Court invasion, territorial disputes, the tragic loss of your heir—my condolences on that particular misfortune. Family should support family in such difficult times.
I write to offer military assistance. The eastern territories have remained neutral in court politics for too long. Perhaps it's time we remembered where true loyalty lies.
I'll arrive within the fortnight with a modest retinue. I trust accommodations can be arranged, despite the obvious strain on your resources.
Your devoted cousin,Yasar
"Devoted," I repeat, the word tasting like poison. "He hasn't spoken to me in decades, and now he surfaces just as everything falls apart," I mutter. "Banu disappears, the Light Court invades, my marriage crumbles, and suddenly my long-lost cousin wants to help. How convenient."
Six hundred years ago. The eastern territories.
"You're doing it wrong."
Yasar's voice cuts through my concentration, making the shadow-construct I'm building collapse into formless darkness. I whirl on him, still young enough that pride stings harder than wisdom counsels.
"Wrong? I'll be heir someday. My magic is?—"
"Powerful but crude." He steps forward, his own shadows moving like silk around his feet. "Watch."
He gestures, and darkness gathers in his palms—not with the forceful command I use, but with something that looks almost like invitation. The shadows shape themselves into a perfect replica of a hunting falcon, wings spread, every feather defined in exquisite detail.
"Shadow magic isn't just about dominance," Yasar says quietly. "It's about understanding what the darkness wants. Cooperating with it rather than forcing it to obey."
