The compliment is perfectly delivered, humble and gracious, but I watch Emir's expression sharpen with something harder than simple neutrality. Unlike the others, he's not charmed—he's been commanding real battles while Yasar's been conveniently absent from actual combat.
"Actually," Emir says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who's earned authority through blood and steel rather than smooth words, "I have concerns about Yasar's proposed strategy." He moves to the map, shadows gathering around his scarred hands. "The infiltration plan assumes our forces can maintain positions at the eastern fortifications while simultaneously executing covert operations. But we're stretched too thin."
"Thin, but capable," Yasar interjects smoothly. "With proper coordination?—"
"We don't have proper coordination," Emir cuts him off with unusual bluntness. "Kaan is miles away at the eastern fortifications, about to engage three battalions of Light Court warriors. We've been bleeding resources there for days." Hisfinger traces the eastern border. "This plan splits our focus when we need concentration of force."
I feel a chill of recognition. Emir's right—I've been so focused on Yasar's manipulations that I hadn't considered the fundamental tactical flaw.
"What are you suggesting?" I ask.
"We don't follow Yasar's plan," Emir states flatly. "We reinforce the eastern fortifications with everything we have. No infiltration teams, no divided attention. We hold our ground and make them bleed for every inch." He looks directly at Yasar. "Your intelligence about their command structure is valuable, but the timing is wrong. We can't afford clever gambits when we're barely holding the line."
Yasar's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders. "A defensive strategy? That's remarkably... conservative."
"It's realistic," Zora interjects, studying the maps with professional assessment. "Emir's right. The eastern fortifications are where this war will be won or lost in the immediate term. Everything else is a distraction."
"Lord Malachar," Emir addresses the general directly, "you've been at the front. What's the situation at the eastern fortifications?"
The scarred general nods grimly. "We've held, but barely. Another coordinated Light Court push and we'll collapse. We need reinforcements, not depleted forces running infiltration missions."
The silence that follows feels heavy with inevitability. Yasar's plan—however brilliant on parchment—assumes resources we don't have and time we can't spare.
"Then it's decided," I say, meeting Emir's eyes with approval. "We commit to the eastern fortifications. Full strength, immediate deployment." I turn to Yasar with something thatmight be sympathy. "Your strategy has merit, cousin. But we're fighting the war we have, not the one we'd prefer."
"Of course," Yasar agrees, his tone perfectly gracious. But through my bond with Nesilhan, I feel her sudden spike of relief—as if some invisible pressure has just lessened.
The meeting continues for another hour, but the fundamental decision has been made. Emir's judgment, earned through weeks of actual combat, carries more weight than Yasar's tactical brilliance. And as war leaders begin discussing deployment logistics for the eastern reinforcement, I notice something telling.
Yasar says he'll join them at the front lines tomorrow, once he's "finalized troop logistics" with the eastern battalions.
Of course he will. Always tomorrow. Always after the real fighting is done.
Finally, mercifully, the council adjourns. War leaders disperse to their duties, leaving me alone with the maps and my thoughts about cousins who appear at convenient moments and generals who've proven their loyalty through blood rather than words.
"That went well." Elçin's dry observation makes me turn to find her leaning against one of the columns, Nesilhan notably absent. "By which I mean Emir just prevented a spectacular disaster by trusting his instincts over polish."
"Where is she?" I don't need to clarify who.
"Gone to the training grounds. Again." Elçin studies me with uncomfortable perception. "She's pushing herself too hard. Fighting like she's trying to exhaust something inside her."
Or trying to avoid me. Probably both.
"I should speak with Yasar," I say, though the words taste like poison. "Clarify certain boundaries regarding my wife."
"You mean threaten him."
"I prefer 'establish clear parameters of acceptable behavior through unambiguous communication.'"
Elçin's smile is sharp. "That's an elaborate way to say you're going to pin him to a wall with shadows and explain why looking at Nesilhan makes you homicidal."
"I'm not that predictable."
"You absolutely are." She pushes away from the column. "But for what it's worth? Yasar's playing a longer game than you realize. Whatever he wants, it's not just a military alliance."
I already know that. Can feel it in the way he watches Nesilhan, the calculated charm he deploys like weaponry.
"Find out what you can about his movements over the past fifty years," I tell Elçin. "His intelligence sources. Where he's been training. Anything that might explain how he knows so much about Light Court operations."
