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Hakan

Six Years Ago

T he parchment crumpled in my fist when I read Levent’s formal challenge for the third time, my shadows responding to my fury by darkening every corner of my study.

The bastard had timed this perfectly, questioning Ada’s fitness to rule just as her father’s light continued to fade, when doubt could destabilize everything she’d worked toward.

“Lady Ada’s judgment has been compromised by her association with shadow magic and its practitioners. With His Majesty’s light dimming, we cannot afford uncertainty about our next ruler…”

My first instinct was to crush him. One word from me, and Levent would find his business ventures mysteriously failing, his allies abandoning him, his very name whispered with fear throughout both realms. I’d spent years building my reputation as a shadow lord to be reckoned with—not through birthright alone, but through sheer determination and political cunning.

That power could solve this problem in a matter of days.

But as my rage peaked, Ada’s face flashed through my mind—not as she’d look grateful for my intervention, but as she’d appear devastated that her uncle’s accusations held even a grain of truth. That her love for me had cost her the crown she deserved.

I’d visited her father just days before, seen how his once-brilliant light had dimmed to barely more than candle flame.

The great Gün Ata, who had ruled the Light Court for centuries, was preparing for his eventual ascension to a higher realm, though that remained uncertain.

Which meant Ada needed to be ready to take his place, and Levent was using this uncertain transition period to strike at her most vulnerable moment.

I set the letter down carefully and forced my shadows to recede. Ada didn’t need me to fight her battles. She needed me to ensure they fought fairly.

The study door opened without ceremony—only one person would dare enter uninvited when my magic was this agitated.

“Well,” Sarp drawled, and surveyed the frost covering my bookshelves, “someone’s in a delightful mood. Should I come back when you’re less likely to accidentally freeze me solid?”

“Levent’s challenging Ada’s succession.” I slit the letter across my desk. “Now. While her father’s light fades and the realm is most vulnerable.”

Sarp read it quickly, his expression growing darker with each line. “Pompous bastard. Though I have to admire the timing, right when the Council has to make succession decisions without Gün Ata’s full guidance.”

“I’m going to destroy him,” I said flatly.

“Obviously,” Sarp agreed, then paused. “Wait. You said that too calmly. What are you planning?”

I leaned back in my chair, the decision crystallizing when I spoke. “I’m going to submit myself to the Light Court judgment. Publicly. Under truth magic.”

The silence stretched for a full ten seconds before Sarp started laughing—not his usual sardonic chuckle, but full-bodied, genuine amusement.

“Oh, you’re serious,” he realized when I didn’t join in. “Hakan, that’s—no. Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what that would mean?”

“It means Levent can’t claim Ada’s judgment is compromised without proof,” I replied. “It means the Council can examine my intentions directly rather than relying on fear and prejudice.”

“It means every political enemy you’ve made will see you at your most vulnerable,” Sarp countered, his amusement evaporating. “Light magic truth-telling doesn’t just reveal lies—it exposes everything. Every thought, every motivation, every moment of doubt or weakness.”

“Good,” I said. I surprised us both with my vehemence. “Let them see. Let them know exactly how I feel about Ada, about this alliance, about everything. The truth is the only thing that will satisfy the Council when they’re deciding the realm’s future.”

Sarp stared at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. “The Shadow Lord who built his reputation on calculated mystery wants to bare his soul to his enemies. For a woman.”

“Not for a woman.” I stood up and moved to the window where I could see the Light Court’s crystalline spires gleaming in the distance. “For the woman I love. For her future. For her happiness.”

“And if they find you unworthy? If the Light Court decides your very nature compromises her?”

The question hit deeper than I’d expected, striking at fears I hadn’t fully acknowledged. What if they were right? What if loving me truly did damage Ada’s chances at the crown she deserved?

“Then I’ll walk away,” I said quietly. “If that’s what’s best for her, I’ll walk away and never look back.”

“Hakan—”

“Ada’s light deserves to shine,” I continued, my voice strengthening. “Even if it means I can’t stand beside her.”

The next morning dawned clear and bright as I made my way to the Light Court’s formal chambers. I’d dressed carefully—black leather, and silver, shadow lord formal wear, but muted rather than intimidating. I wanted them to see exactly what I was without feeling threatened by it.

The Eternal Council Chamber felt different without Gün Ata’s commanding presence.

His light had been fading for months—not death, but a gradual decline that signaled his time as active ruler was drawing to a close.

The chamber itself seemed dimmer, the crystal walls less brilliant, as if responding to their king’s condition.

The High Council of seven now bore the weight of succession decisions, which made this moment all the more crucial.

At the chamber’s heart sat the Council members who would decide Ada’s fate: Councilor Aydin, whose tactical brilliance had guided the Light Court through countless conflicts; Councilor Merin, master of truth magic; and five others whose combined wisdom would determine the realm’s future.

When I entered, conversations halted, dozens of Light Court nobles turning to stare at the shadow lord who dared enter their most sacred space during such a delicate time.

Ada sat in the gallery with her family, her face carefully neutral, though I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her light flickered with anxiety.

“Lord Hakan,” Councilor Aydin’s tone carried easily through the vast space, her tone carefully measured. “Your presence here is…unexpected, given the delicate nature of our proceedings.”

I bowed formally, shadows rippling with the movement. “Honored Councilors. I come to request judgment.”

Murmurs rippled through the assembled nobles. Levent, seated with his daughters, looked less pleased than I’d expected—clearly, this wasn’t part of his plan.

"Judgment?" Councilor Merin leaned forward, curiosity evident in her tone. "On what matter?"

"On the accusations made against Lady Ada," I replied, my words carrying clearly to every corner of the chamber.

"Lord Levent claims her judgment has been compromised by her association with shadow magic.

I request the right to submit to the truth examination, so the Council may judge the validity of these concerns directly. "

The silence that followed was deafening. In the gallery, Ada’s hand flew to her throat, shock evident on her face. Even the seasoned Council members appeared momentarily speechless.

“Lord Hakan,” Councilor Aydin said finally, “Though His Majesty's condition was stabilizing for now, the Council needed to address potential succession plans while he could still guide such decisions.” She paused, studying me intently.

“Truth magic examination is…invasive. It would expose not just your conscious thoughts, but your deepest motivations, your hidden fears, your most private desires. No shadow lord has ever submitted voluntarily to such a process.”

“Then perhaps it’s time one did,” I replied. “If my presence in Lady Ada’s life truly compromises her fitness to rule, let the Council see the truth of my intentions and judge accordingly. The realm’s future is too important for doubt or speculation.”

“And if we find those intentions wanting?” Councilor Merin asked, her light magic already stirring in preparation. “If we determine you are indeed a corrupting influence?”

The question I’d been dreading. I forced myself to meet Ada’s eyes across the chamber before answering.

“Then I will remove myself from Lady Ada’s life completely. I will renounce all claims to her affection, withdraw from any alliance between our realms, and ensure she never sees me again.”

Ada’s face went white. In the front row, Sarp shook his head in disbelief.

“You would sacrifice everything for this?” Councilor Aydin asked, something like respect creeping into her voice. “With His Majesty unable to guide us as fully as before, the Council bears greater responsibility for choosing his successor. You understand we cannot afford to be wrong?”

“For her happiness? For her future? For the good of the realm?” I turned to look directly at Ada. I let her see the truth in my eyes. “I would sacrifice anything.”

The Council conferred in hushed tones before Councilor Aydin nodded gravely. “Very well. The Council will examine Lord Hakan under truth magic. All present will witness his responses and judge their validity.”

Councilor Merin approached, her hands beginning to glow with pure white light. “This may be…uncomfortable,” she warned. “Light magic and shadow magic are opposing forces. The contact will create friction.”

“I understand,” I replied, though my heart hammered against my ribs. “Proceed.”

The moment her hands touched my temples, fire raced through my veins. Not painful exactly, but overwhelming—as if every shadow I’d ever commanded was being examined, weighed, judged. The light magic burrowed deeper, seeking the core of my being, and I had to fight the instinct to resist.

“State your name and nature,” Councilor Merin commanded, her tone echoing strangely in my head.

“Hakan Bürsin, a student of the shadow arts.” The words emerged without conscious thought—truth magic making deception impossible.

“Do you seek power through your union with Lady Ada?”

“No.” The answer flowed immediately, accompanied by images from my mind projected for all to see—Ada laughing in sunlight, Ada challenging me intellectually, Ada’s light calling to my shadows not as conquest but as completion.

“Do you intend to use her position for shadow realm advantage?”

“Never.” More images—conversations where I’d actively discouraged Ada from political compromises, moments where I’d put her interests above those of my realm.

“What do you desire from this relationship?”

The question hit deeper, dragging up emotions I rarely examined even in private. The truth magic seized them, displaying them for the entire Council to witness.

“Her happiness,” I breathed, the words torn from the depths of my soul.

“Her laughter. Her light.” The magic dug deeper, showing them moments of tenderness—Ada sleeping in my arms, the peace I felt only with her, the way her very presence made me want to be better than I was.

“I want to protect her dreams, support her goals, and stand beside her as she changes the world.”

“And if she achieves more without you?”

The question I’d feared most, the one that struck at the heart of my deepest insecurity. But under truth magic, there was no room for comfortable lies.

“Then I want that for her, too,” I whispered, the admission feeling like I was tearing out my own heart. “If my love becomes a burden, if my nature compromises her future, then I want the strength to let her go.”

The images flowing from my mind now were raw, unguarded—my terror that I wasn’t good enough for her, my desperate love, my willingness to endure any pain if it meant her happiness. I felt utterly exposed, stripped bare before enemies and allies alike.

But I also felt free.

The examination continued, question after question revealing layer after layer of my feelings for Ada, my hopes for our future, my genuine respect for the Light Court and its traditions. Finally, Councilor Merin stepped back, her hands trembling slightly from the magical exertion.

“It is done,” she announced. “We have seen the truth of his heart.”

The Council conferred in hushed tones while I struggled to regain my composure. My entire focus narrowed to Ada, whose face showed wonder, shock, and something that might be hope.

Councilor Aydin rose, and the chamber fell silent.

“Lord Hakan, the Council has reached a decision.”

My fate—our fate—hung in the balance. After everything I’d revealed, after laying my soul bare before friend and enemy alike, would it be enough?

Would Ada be allowed to choose her destiny, or would my love for her destroy everything she’d worked to achieve?

The Councilor’s next words would determine whether our future began…or ended forever.