Nesilhan waits in the courtyard, and the sight of her steals my breath despite everything between us. She's dressed in formal Shadow Court attire—midnight blue that matches my own colors—but her posture screams tension. Her light magic flickers around her fingertips in agitated sparks.
The moment our eyes meet across the courtyard, I feel her emotions through the bond: relief that I'm alive, warring with anger, fear, and something else I can't quite identify. Betrayal? No, that's not quite right. It's more like... wounded trust.
"My lord." Her voice is carefully controlled as we dismount. "Welcome home."
The formality cuts deeper than any blade. We used to greet each other with different words, different touches. Now we're strangers performing a court dance.
"My lady." I approach her, keenly aware of Yasar watching our interaction with those too-sharp eyes. "We were victorious."
"Good." The word is clipped. Her gaze flicks past me to where Yasar dismounts, then immediately back to me—too quick, too deliberate. "The eastern wing needs your assessment. Now."
It's not a request. There's an edge to her voice I don't recognize, an urgency that has nothing to do with battle damage.
Yasar steps forward. "My lady, if I might?—"
"Captain Kael will brief me." Nesilhan's interruption is sharp, final. "Alone."
Through the bond, her pulse hammers. Her emotions are a chaotic storm of fear and anger and something that feels dangerously close to panic.
They're not looking at each other. Very deliberately not looking at each other, the kind of aggressive avoidance that screams something happened while I was gone.
Zoran shifts beside me, and I catch his frown as he registers the same wrongness I'm feeling. Whatever occurred in our absence, Nesilhan and Yasar are both intimately aware of it—and desperately trying to hide that awareness.
"Where were you, Lord Yasar?" Elçin asks with her characteristic directness, emerging from the palace entrance with her hand resting on her sword hilt. "The battle could have used your strategic genius in practice rather than theory."
"Handling complications," Yasar replies smoothly, though his gaze keeps sliding toward Nesilhan before he catches himself. "The eastern situation required... personal attention."
"How personal?" I step closer to him, shadows coiling with threat. "Personal enough to explain why you're unmarked while we're covered in Light Court blood?"
His gaze meets mine with something that might be challenge. "Some battles are fought with swords, cousin dearest. Others require more subtle weapons. I'm sure you understand the distinction."
"I understand that you missed the fighting." My shadows grow colder. "Again."
"And yet our victory was assured without me." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps my absence was intentional—letting you claim the glory while I handled less glamorous necessities."
"Necessities." I taste the word, finding it bitter. "Like what?"
"Supply lines?—"
"Fuck your supply lines." The snarl escapes before I can stop it. "You appeared the moment war began, you vanished during battle, and now you're here with clean clothes and vague explanations. If you think?—"
"Kaan." Nesilhan's voice cuts through my building rage. "We're in public."
She's right. The returning soldiers are watching, probably placing bets on whether I'll murder my cousin in the courtyard. Bad for morale to kill family members in front of the troops, no matter how suspicious they are.
"We'll continue this at dinner," I say with forced calm. "War council meets in an hour."
"Of course." Yasar bows with mocking perfection. "I look forward to sharing my insights about the eastern... complications."
Through the bond, dread coils tight, edged with the kind of panic that comes from losing control of a situation.
Something happened while I was gone.
Something that has my fearless wife terrified.
Something that involves my conveniently-absent cousin.
The troops disperse behind us, heading to barracks with victory songs and promises of celebration wine. But I barely notice. My attention is fixed on Nesilhan, who's already turning away.
