He's right. About all of it. And I hate him for it.
"Well." I turn toward the palace, rolling my shoulder and wincing when something grinds that shouldn't. "That was enlightening. And therapeutic. Mostly therapeutic."
I stride past the training ground, past soldiers who immediately avert their eyes. Smart.
Zoran appears, falling into step. Doesn't say a word. Also smart.
Emir materializes on my other side, his expression carefully neutral.
"My lord," he says carefully, "should I summon a healer?"
"For what? A few broken ribs and a bruised ego?" I flash him a smile that probably looks terrifying given the blood covering my face. "I've had worse from breakfast."
Through the crowd of guards, servants, soldiers—all watching, all silent. Bearing witness to their Shadow Lord covered in bloody mud.
Let them watch.
Let them see what happens when someone touches what's mine.
I'm halfway across the courtyard when I feel it through the bond—a spike of awareness. Her attention.
I look up.
There. In the window of our chambers. Third floor, east wing.
Nesilhan stands framed by darkness, golden eyes fixed on me across the distance. Even from here, I see her expression—unreadable, guarded, that careful mask she wears that tells me nothing and everything at once.
We lock eyes.
For one suspended moment, the world narrows to just us. Her in the window. Me covered in her binding-partner's blood.
Through our damaged bond, I feel it—the war raging inside her. Relief that I'm alive. Terror at what I've done. Fury at the binding. And underneath it all, buried so deep she probably doesn't even know it's there:
A tiny, treacherous spark of something that might be hope.
I hold her gaze. Let my shadows writhe around me like a dark promise.
You're mine,I tell her through the bond, through our connection, through the look alone. Binding or no binding.Cousin or no cousin. You're mine, and I will burn down everything—including him, including myself—before I let you go.
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't look away.
Just stares back with those golden eyes that have haunted me since the moment I first saw her.
Then she turns.
Walks away from the window.
I force myself to keep walking. Past soldiers. Past servants. Into the palace. My ribs scream with every step, but pain is just another reminder that I'm alive. That I can still fight. That I haven't lost her yet.
The doors close behind me with a sound like judgment.
My shadows trail behind me, leaving black marks on marble.
No one speaks.
No one dares.
Smart.
