"You think he's compromised?"
"I think my cousin has always been ambitious, and his timing is suspiciously convenient." I gather shadows around myself like armor. "And I think there's something unnatural about the attraction between them. Whether Yasar knows what's happening or is being used himself, I can't tell yet."
Elçin nods, already calculating her approach. "I'll be discreet."
"Be thorough. Discretion is optional."
She leaves me alone in the war room, surrounded by maps marking territory I'm losing and strategies proposed by a cousin I can't trust.
CHAPTER 8
THE TRAP
NESILHAN
The palace feels wrong without Kaan's oppressive presence.
It's been two days since he rode out with Zoran and half the Shadow Court's forces toward the eastern border fortifications, leaving me here with skeleton guards and the persistent ache of that damnable bond. I should feel relief at his absence. Freedom from his constant watching, his possessive shadows, the way he looks at me like I'm something precious he destroyed.
Instead, I feel exposed. Vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with physical danger.
And then there's Yasar.
He left with Kaan, but returned to the palace the very next day—keeping respectful distance during meals, offering thoughtful commentary during war councils, never pushing the strange magnetism that pulls me toward him like tide to moon. His excuse was vague: he needed to "finalize troop logistics" withthe eastern battalions. He claims he'll rejoin Kaan at the front lines tomorrow morning.
But his shadows tell a different story. They move wrongly—not the fluid darkness I've grown accustomed to in this realm, but something else. Something with an ethereal quality, edges that shimmer and shift like dreams given form. Embers flicker in their depths when he thinks no one is watching, tiny sparks of fire that shouldn't exist in pure shadow magic.
I'm studying maps in the war room, trying to understand the scope of my father's invasion, when my eyelids grow impossibly heavy. The lines of territories blur beneath my fingertips. I fight it—this weakness, this human need—but the days of sleepless nights and constant vigilance exact their toll. One moment I'm tracing the border between realms, the next my cheek is pressed against the cold table, consciousness slipping away like water through cupped hands.
I dream of darkness, but not emptiness.
There, in the void, a small figure materializes—Banu, my dearest friend, her fairy form curled into herself. She's hurting, her face contorted in pain I can feel as my own. When she looks up, her luminescent eyes are filled with terror.
"Nesilhan," she whispers, her voice echoing strangely. "Help me. Please help me."
I try to reach for her, but my arms won't move. I try to speak, but my voice is trapped. She's right there, just beyond my grasp, suffering.
"They're hurting me," she sobs. "Find me before it's too late."
The darkness swallows her again, and I'm screaming, fighting against invisible bonds.
When I open my eyes again, I jolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. The war room is bathed in shadow-light, the orbs dimmed to their nighttime glow. Sweat drenches my back, and my hands shake uncontrollably.
"Banu," I whisper, the name a prayer and a wound.
Was it just a nightmare? Or something more? After everything I've seen in this realm, I can't dismiss the possibility that it was real—that somehow, my missing friend is alive and calling for help.
I need to tell someone. Elçin will know what to do.
I glance at the chronometer on the far wall—well past midnight. I've been asleep for hours, but there's no time to waste. If there's even the slightest chance that wasn't just a dream...
I sit up, rubbing the back of my neck. Elçin should have woken me. She never lets me sleep this long, especially not hunched over a table like some exhausted scribe. Her absence strikes me as wrong—another disruption to the patterns we've established over these painful months.
"Elçin?" My voice echoes in the empty chamber, sounding smaller than I'd like.
No response.
I rise, steadying myself against the table as my legs protest the sudden movement. The palace feels different at this hour—vacant, a skeleton of itself with most of its guards and courtiers gone to war. My footsteps echo down the corridors as I make my way toward Elçin's chambers, the sound bouncing off stone walls that seem to lean inward, watching.
