"The servants will show you to the eastern wing," Kaan says with deadly softness. "Dinner is at sunset. Don't be late."
The dismissal is absolute. Yasar bows—a gesture that manages to be both respectful and mocking—and allows a palace attendant to lead him away. But not before his gaze finds mine one more time, eyes holding a promise I can't decipher.
The moment he's gone, the pull lessens. Not disappears—I can still feel it thrumming beneath my skin, a magnetic awareness that seems to point east—but it becomes manageable. Breathable.
"Well," Elçin says softly beside me. "That was... interesting."
"Don't." I shake my head, fighting the confusion and unwanted desire still coursing through me. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."
"I was just going to suggest you might want to change for dinner," she continues innocently. "That dress makes you look like you're attending a funeral, not hosting a political ally."
"It's appropriate for mourning." My hand moves unconsciously to my abdomen, to the scars hidden beneath black silk. "Which is what I'm still doing, in case anyone has forgotten."
Kaan approaches, his shadows retreating but his expression thunderous. The possessive fury radiating across the thread between us makes my teeth ache. "We need to talk."
"No." I turn away, heading toward the doors with measured steps. "We don't. I'm attending dinner because political necessity demands it, not because I suddenly give a damn about your family dynamics."
"Nesilhan—"
"Don't." The word comes out raw, exhausted. "Just... don't. I felt your jealousy through the bond. I know what you think you saw. But whatever this is—whatever just happened—has nothing to do with you and me. There is no you and me anymore. There's just this cursed bond neither of us can break and the corpse of what we used to be."
I don't wait for his response. Can't bear to see the pain I know will be written across his face, mixing with that deadly possessiveness that's defined him since the night I lost everything that mattered.
In my chambers, I stand before the mirror and try to understand what just happened. The woman staring back looks haunted—dark circles under golden eyes, too-sharp cheekbones, black silk that drowns her frame. The widow of her own happiness.
But beneath the grief, something else stirs. That inexplicable heat when Yasar's eyes met mine. The pull that felt almost like...
No.
I force the thought away. Whatever attraction I felt was stress. Exhaustion. The desperate need for anything other than the endless cycle of grief and hatred that's consumed me.
It had nothing to do with genuine connection. Nothing to do with the way his voice wrapped around my name like a prayer. Nothing to do with how his presence made me feel, for just a moment, like I could breathe again.
Liar,whispers some treacherous part of my mind.You felt it. That pull. That recognition. Like finding water in a desert you didn't know you were dying in.
Elçin enters without knocking, carrying a deep green gown I haven't worn since before... everything. "You're wearing this tonight."
"I'm wearing black."
"You're wearing color." Her tone brooks no argument. "You're a queen of the Shadow Court, not a ghost. And whatever game that man is playing—whatever he wants—you need to face him as a woman of power, not a grieving widow too broken to fight back."
The dress is beautiful. Emerald silk that will bring out the gold in my eyes, fitted to show I'm a woman, not a girl. Strategic armor disguised as fashion.
I hate that she's right.
"Fine." I begin unlacing my mourning gown. "But only because I refuse to give Kaan's family the satisfaction of seeing me weak."
"Of course," Elçin agrees, though her eyes hold knowledge she isn't voicing. "That's the only reason."
As she helps me dress, I catch my reflection again. The green transforms me—brings life back to my skin, emphasizes the curves I've tried to hide beneath shapeless black. I look like a woman who could rule a court. A woman who could destroy kingdoms.
Not a broken doll mourning what she lost.
The formal dininghall is a masterwork of shadow architecture—vaulted ceilings that disappear into darkness, walls of polished onyx that reflect fractured versions of ourselves, and a table carved from a single piece of midnight stone that could seat fifty but tonight hosts only five.
Kaan sits at the head, naturally. I'm placed to his right, the position of highest honor for a consort. Yasar sits directly across from me, close enough that I can see gold flecks in his eyes when candlelight catches them. Elçin flanks me on my other side—loyal guard whether she intends it or not. Two of Yasar's lieutenants complete the arrangement, their presence a reminder that he didn't come alone.
It's intimate and terrible, this forced proximity to the man I hate and the stranger who makes my pulse race for reasons I don't understand. The absence of Emir and Zoran feels like missing armor—they're out there searching for Banu while I sit here pretending to play politics with a man whose eyes I've been dreaming about for weeks.
