Page 25

“Get out,” I commanded, my patience at its end. “Tell my father whatever you wish. But remember my warning about Ada. It wasn’t a threat—it was a promise.”

“Your father will be disappointed to hear of your…attachment.” He smiled, vicious and knowing. “As will your little light-bearer when I tell her the truth about what you plan to do to her.”

I lunged forward, but Sarp caught my arm.

“Perhaps I’ll mention it to her in the gardens,” Midas continued.

He backed toward the door. “Or shall I send Martha to tell her instead? The women might find they have much in common—both betrayed by men they trusted, both destined to be used and discarded. Though your Ada still has her light…for now.”

That he would use Martha’s pain as a weapon pushed me to the edge of control. “You speak of betrayal,” I said, my tone dropping dangerously, “yet you were the one who destroyed her when she tried to escape with your secrets.”

A flash of genuine rage crossed Midas's face.

"Careful, Hakan. Some might think you're developing a conscience.

I wonder," he continued, "what she would do if she knew her purpose in your grand ritual?

" His shadows coiled at his feet like vipers.

"Don't mistake possession for control, Hakan.

Your light-bearer's chains are slipping.

I'd tighten them before she realizes her true worth—or before someone else shows her a different path. "

"Did it ever occur to you, Midas," I said, my words deadly quiet, "that perhaps I've found another path myself?" The statement emerged before I could stop it, dangerous in its implication.

Midas paused, genuine surprise flickering across his features before his mask of disdain returned. "Watch yourself, Hakan. Some paths lead only to destruction."

He was gone before I could respond, leaving behind the metallic scent of blood mingled with his shadow magic. I let him go—stopping him now would only confirm his suspicions about my feelings for Ada. Better to let him think he’d gained the upper hand.

“That went about as well as expected,” Sarp said. “Though I thought you might actually kill him when he mentioned Ada.”

“I should have,” I growled.

“I spotted him lurking near the gardens earlier today,” Sarp added. “Before he came to see you.”

My head snapped toward him. “You saw him near her and said nothing?”

“I confronted him immediately,” Sarp corrected. “But he claimed he was merely observing the palace grounds as your father’s envoy. He never got close enough to speak with her directly—I made sure of that.” His mouth tightened. “Though he was watching her intently enough to unsettle me.”

“Then he was lying about their conversation?”

“Most likely,” Sarp admitted. “He’s trying to get under your skin, and it’s working. But his interest in her is real enough. That’s why I’ve been keeping a closer watch on her movements.”

“It’s complicated,” I said, unable to deny the accusation.

“It always is with you.” Sarp leaned against the wall, his eyes unusually serious. “She’s getting stronger, you know. Recovering from whatever you did to her in the dungeons. Plotting her next escape, I’d wager.”

“Let her try,” I said, though the threat sounded hollow even to my ears.

“You know what happens if she succeeds,” Sarp reminded me. “Without her, the ritual fails. Without the ritual, your father remains in power. And his patience with your…methods is wearing thin. We both know that you won’t be able to go through with it. You want her alive.”

I said nothing. Sarp knew as well as I did what would happen if I failed to complete the ritual. Erlik would not tolerate a weak heir.

“There are ancient texts,” Sarp said suddenly, his voice dropping to ensure only I could hear, “in the forbidden archives beneath the palace. Texts that speak of the original rituals between shadow and light, before the great divide. Before rituals of consumption replaced rituals of balance.”

“What are you suggesting?” I asked, though I already knew.

“I’m suggesting,” Sarp replied carefully, “that perhaps there is another way. One that doesn’t require Ada as a sacrifice.”

Hope—dangerous, treacherous hope—flickered in my chest before I ruthlessly suppressed it. “Such texts were destroyed centuries ago.”

“Not all of them,” Sarp said with quiet certainty.

“Some things even Erlik couldn’t erase. You need to decide what you truly want, Hakan, because we both don’t want her dead.

She doesn’t deserve this,” he continued, moving toward the door.

“And while you’re at it, maybe decide who you want to be.

Because the man I’ve seen glimpses of lately and the man who plans to sacrifice Ada for power can’t coexist forever. ”

He left me then, alone with thoughts I’d been avoiding since the moment Ada re-entered my life. Thoughts of possibilities I had no right to consider, futures I had sacrificed long ago when I chose power over love.

I moved to the window, gazing out over the courtyard below.

Ada walked among the flowerbeds, her face turned toward the sun, but her movements seemed disconnected, uncertain.

Even from this distance, I could see her pause frequently, pressing her palm against her forehead as if fighting confusion or pain, lingering effects from what I'd done to her mind in the dungeons.

I stepped back instinctively, though I knew she couldn't see me from this distance. For a moment, it felt as though she peered directly into my soul, seeing the war being waged there.

Even from this distance, her light called to something within—something that had survived my father’s spell, my cruelty, five years of separation.

A connection that transcended the binding ritual, perhaps even predated it.

The ancient texts spoke of such bonds between shadow and light—rare pairs who could bridge realms, whose powers strengthened rather than consumed each other.

As I watched Ada, a flash of auburn hair caught my eye.

Martha stood near the palace entrance, her gaze fixed on the gardens where Ada walked.

What was she doing there? Was she drawn to watch Ada out of curiosity, or perhaps she saw something in the light-bearer that reminded her of her past?

I considered having her removed, but hesitated.

There was something in her stance—not threatening, but melancholy.

Another woman who had suffered at the hands of shadow lords.

The parallel between them unsettled me deeply. Was this truly the fate I wanted for Ada? To become another Martha—broken, bitter, a hollow reminder of what happened when light encountered shadow?

“Fuck,” I muttered, slamming my fist into the wall hard enough to crack the stone. Blood smeared the surface, but I welcomed this new pain, as it masked the turmoil coursing through my veins.

The Crown of Ashes Ritual had once been my purpose, my destiny. But watching Ada in the gardens, seeing the parallel between her potential fate and Martha’s broken existence, I knew I couldn’t follow through with it.

It wasn’t just desire—not the simple, animal need I’d told myself I felt. Looking at her, even from this distance, I’d recognized what I’d tried so hard to forget: that Ada’s light had never been something to possess or consume, but to protect, to cherish, to stand beside.

“There might be another way,” I whispered to the empty room, Sarp’s words echoing in my mind. Even saying it felt like treason, like challenging the foundations of everything I’d been taught about shadow and light.

But for Ada, I would risk it. For Ada, I would risk everything.

I wanted to possess Ada more than I wanted to hold the crown of ashes in my hands, more than I wanted my father’s power, more than I wanted my next breath.