"I thought not." I turned toward the bed. "Now leave us. All of you."
"You cannot simply—" Lady Zehra began.
A voice from the bed cut through the tension like a blade through silk.
"She can." My father's words were quiet, but they carried the weight of millennia. "And she is right. Leave us."
The advisors fell silent immediately, years of conditioning overriding their petty power plays. Even the healers paused in their ministries, heads bowed in automatic deference.
One by one, they filed out, their faces masks of barely concealed resentment. The healers gathered their implements and retreated to the antechamber. High Priest Mehmet lingered longest, his eyes fixed on me with an expression I could not read, before finally bowing his head and following the others.
The door closed behind them and I exhaled sharply, diminishing my light magic.
I crossed to my father's bedside and took his hand in both of mine. His fingers were cool, and the skin felt thinner than I remembered.
"Baba." I kept my voice steady, though my heart was racing. "Tell me what is happening. The truth."
He studied my face for a long moment, and I saw pride flicker in those tired eyes. "You handled them well. Better than I would have at your age."
"Baba."
A small smile touched his lips. "Always so impatient." He shifted against the pillows, grimacing slightly. "This illness, whatever it is, seems determined to push me toward the eternal light soonerthan I had planned. The healers cannot explain it. My power fades a little more each day, like a candle burning down." He squeezed my hand. "I have ruled for three thousand years, little light. Perhaps it is simply time."
"Do not speak like that."
"Why not? It is the truth." But there was no self-pity in his voice, only acceptance. "I was already ancient when the divine mark found me, you know. A thousand years I ruled this court as a mortal king — well, mortal by our standards. Building what I could with ordinary hands. Erlik was already a god by then. Had been for longer than I care to remember. I used to wonder if the Light Realm would ever answer the way the darkness answered him." His gaze grew distant. "And then one morning I woke and my skin was golden and the halls were singing and I understood that the realm had chosen me — not because I was worthy, but because I was willing." He squeezed my hand. "Two thousand years I have carried that mark. I have watched civilizations rise and fall. I have loved and lost and loved again.”
“Oh Baba.”
His eyes softened. "I watched you grow from a fierce little girl into a woman strong enough to face down my entire council without flinching. That alone would be enough of a legacy."
I bowed my head, pressing my forehead to our joined hands. "Baba, I came because something happened. In the Border Forest. We were attacked. Masked men, twelve of them. They would have killed me."
The change in him was immediate. His eyes sharpened, the cloudiness burning away as something ancient and terrible stirred beneath the surface. For a moment, I saw not my fatherbut the god who had razed entire kingdoms, who had once turned a rival lord's bloodline to ash for a lesser slight than threatening his daughter.
"Who?" The word was soft, but the temperature in the room dropped. "Who dared touch you?"
"I don't know. They wore masks. Shadow Guards, perhaps, but I cannot be certain." I swallowed. "Hakan killed them. All twelve. His magic... it erupted. Shadows, Baba. Not light. He didn't know what he was until that moment."
My father was silent for a long moment. But I saw something shift in his expression—not just concern for me, but a dawning, terrible realization.
"When did this happen?"
"Two days ago."
His jaw tightened. "Two days." The words came out flat, dangerous. "My daughter was nearly murdered two days ago, and not one of my advisors thought to inform me. Not one healer. Not one guard." He tried to push himself up against the pillows, and I saw the effort cost him—saw the tremor in his arms, the way his light flickered and dimmed. But his eyes burned with a fury that had nothing to do with illness. "They think because I am confined to this bed that I am already dead. That they can keep secrets from me. Make decisions without my knowledge."
"Baba, you need to rest?—"
"I need to know what is happening in my own realm." He gripped my hand with surprising strength. "What else? What else have they kept from me?"
I hesitated. "Serkan has issued a decree. Any shadow-wielder found within Light Court borders is to be executed on sight. No trial, no defense. He is using your illness to?—"
"Serkan issued a decree?" My father's voice went deadly quiet. "Under whose authority?"
"He claims he is acting as regent during your... recovery."
For a moment, the room filled with light—not the warm, golden glow I had grown up with, but something harsher, more ancient. The shadows in the corners fled. The windows blazed. I felt the heat of it against my skin, the raw power of a god who had ruled for millennia remembering exactly what he was.
