For a long moment, we simply breathe. My body feels claimed, used, marked in ways that have nothing to do with Yasar's binding and everything to do with choice. My choice.
I roll away from him slowly, suddenly unable to bear the physical contact now that the frenzy has passed. My body feels like it belongs to me again—sore and used and thoroughly fucked and mine—but my heart is still locked away behind walls neither of us can breach.
"That changed nothing," I say into the darkness, making sure he understands. Making sure I understand. "I still hate you. I still won't forgive what you did."
"I know." His voice is rough, destroyed, barely recognizable. "But thank you. For letting me give you that control. Even if it's all I can ever give you."
I don't respond. Can't respond. Because part of me knows he's right—something did shift between us tonight, even if I can't name what it was.
Something about reclaiming my body by using his. About choosing violence and pleasure on my own terms. About proving that despite Yasar's binding, despite Erlik's manipulations, I still have agency.
But I'll never admit it. Not to him. Maybe not even to myself.
I close my eyes and will myself to feel nothing.
It doesn't work.
Because I can still feel his release inside me, warm and claiming. Can still feel the phantom sensation of his shadows in places they had no right to be. Can still taste my own power in the air, mixed with his darkness.
My body is mine again.
But the cost of reclaiming it might be more than I can bear.
CHAPTER 12
STORM AND SHADOWS
Kaan
I waketo cold sheets and the distinct sensation that my life has become a cosmic joke.
The bed beside me is empty. Still warm, but empty—Nesilhan must have slipped away before dawn, retreating to her own chambers like she's done every night since our bond shattered. I stare at the indent her body left in the silk, the way the pillow still holds the ghost of her scent, and something in my chest twists with a familiar ache.
Then I remember what she told me last night.
Yasar kissed me. Your father bound him to me.
My father's binding. Erlik reached Kara Cehennem and tied my cousin's soul to my wife's.
And Yasar—that perfectly polished, poetry-quoting bastard—let it happen.
Wonderful. Truly. Just when I thought my family couldn't possibly find new ways to make my existence more complicated, my father decides to play puppet master with souls. With my cousin. For my wife.
I should commission a tapestry commemorating this moment. "The Shadow Lord Discovers His Family Has Somehow Gotten Worse." I'll hang it in the throne room.
My shadows scorch the stone floor, leaving black marks that smoke and writhe. They're hungry. Restless.
I'm out of bed before I've fully decided to move, pulling on trousers and boots with the kind of focused rage that usually precedes significant property damage.
"YASAR!"
The roar tears from my throat, echoing through corridors. Servants scatter. Doors slam. I storm through the palace—war room first, kicking the door open hard enough to crack stone.
Empty.
His chambers next. I don't knock. Shadows rip the lock apart. Pristine. Every fucking thing perfectly organized.
I want to burn it all.
