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My father had sought this for centuries—the Crown of Ashes Ritual would prove my worthiness to rule Kara Cehennem. Erlik had decreed that whoever could successfully harvest a divine light-bearer’s essence would inherit his throne. It was the ultimate test of shadow mastery.

I stood, allowing shadows to crawl up the walls, extinguishing torches while they spread.

The air grew cold as breath misted before startled faces.

All the while, Ada’s emotions churned through our connection—rage, despair, and something that might have been longing, though I told myself I imagined that last part.

“Do you wish to challenge my authority directly? Because that would mean challenging Erlik’s will—and we all know how that ends.” I let darkness consume the room’s remaining light. “I am here by his design, carrying out his centuries-long plan. Question me, and you question him.”

None met my gaze. They understood now—this wasn’t about my authority, but Erlik’s, channeled through me.

“You refuse us, then?” Kaya asked, caution in every syllable.

“I refuse you,” I confirmed. “And should any of you attempt to circumvent my decision—should Ada report even the slightest unwelcome approach—I will consider it an act of rebellion.”

They nodded, some more reluctantly than others. Lord Yilmaz shifted in his seat, his ambition warring with caution.

“The Karanliko?lu faction will not be pleased,” he murmured, referring to the ancient shadow clan that had served Erlik for generations, the purists who believed in shadow supremacy above all else. “They’ve waited centuries for this opportunity.”

“The Karanliko?lu serve me now,” I replied coldly. “Their loyalty to my father transfers to me as his heir—especially once I prove my worthiness through the Crown of Ashes Ritual. They’ll accept my methods or face the consequences.”

When the Council dispersed, I remained at the table, waiting until the last of them had gone before allowing my rigid control to slip slightly.

Ada's torment hammered against my consciousness through our bond—rage, grief, determination burning as fiercely as her former love. The truth clawed at my insides: every tear she shed was a wound I'd inflicted on myself, and still I couldn't cut out this love that devoured me from within.

I stood in the shadows outside her chamber, despising myself for each second I remained. What was I doing here? What was I, some lovesick fool? I should focus on consolidating power, not wasting time watching her as if five years hadn't passed, as if we were still madly in love.

Yet I couldn’t tear myself away while Ada methodically brushed her hair—the same irritating ritual she’d always performed. One hundred strokes. I told myself I was merely observing a potential threat, nothing more.

Lies. Even to myself.

I clenched my jaw when unwanted memories surfaced—memories I’d spent years trying to bury beneath shadow and ambition. Her hair wrapped around my fist in the darkness. The sound of her laughter. Worthless sentimentality that deserved to be burned away.

As I watched her, my body betrayed me in ways my words never would—heartbeat accelerating, fingers twitching with the desire to touch her, breath catching when she tilted her head in that achingly familiar way.

When she sighed softly, I found myself unconsciously stepping forward, only catching myself at the last moment.

I hated her for making me feel anything at all.

Hated how even now, after everything, some traitorous part of me still responded to her.

The darkness my father had cultivated warred constantly with recovered memories, creating this maddening contradiction between what I'd been trained to feel and what I actually felt.

She wore a simple white nightgown—deliberately modest, no doubt to spite me. To deny me even the satisfaction of looking at what was rightfully mine.

Her brush paused mid-stroke. Her spine stiffened, and I realized my mistake. The bond between us—despite my efforts to suppress it—flowed both ways.

“I can feel you watching me,” she said without turning. “Like a cold draft on my soul.”

I pushed the door open, irritated at being discovered. “You should be resting.”

“And you should be in whatever hell spawned you.” She resumed brushing, her knuckles white around the handle. “Yet here we are.”

I moved closer, trying to ignore how her addictive scent affected me. “The Council met today,” I said, my tone deliberately cold.

“How fascinating.” Her voice dripped venom. “Did you all compare notes on your latest atrocities?”

“They wanted access to you. To study your light magic.”

Now she did turn, eyes narrowed. “And what did the mighty Golge Bey say to that?”

“It was a simple fucking no.” The words came out before I could stop them, revealing a protectiveness I despised in myself.

Something flickered across her face—surprise, perhaps—before her expression hardened again. “How noble. Keeping your possession all to yourself.”

I circled her, studying her as the tool she was to me. "You're not a possession."

“Then what am I, Hakan?” She turned to follow my movement, brush still clutched in her hand. “Your prisoner? Your victim? Your sacrificial lamb?”

“My wife,” I said, the word bitter on my tongue. A reminder of the chain that bound us both.

She laughed, a brittle sound that stirred unwelcome feelings I immediately crushed. “A title taken by force means nothing.”

“You’re right, but you’re still my wife.”

“Why don’t you go back to your father’s pits,” she spit. “Leave me here. We don’t need to be close to each other.”

I stopped directly before her, close enough to see the pulse flutter in her throat. “You never could control that tongue of yours.”

“And you never could accept that I’m not yours to control.”

We faced each other. Dangerous tension crackled between us.

Her scent filled my lungs, her light called to my darkness.

I loathed how my body responded, how even now, I craved what I should destroy.

I did not know what she’d suffered after I’d driven her away—my father’s spell had ensured that any concern for her fate had been wiped clean from my mind until recently.

I wasn’t prepared for her hand transforming the brush—magic flowed through it, hardening the wooden handle to a lethal point. I wasn’t prepared for the speed with which she lunged, driving the makeshift weapon toward my heart with deadly precision.

The improvised stake pierced my chest, the pain white-hot and familiar. Blood bloomed across my shirt as a memory crashed over me?—

The marketplace five years ago, the fury in her eyes when she discovered what I’d done. We had grown up together, childhood sweethearts who became lovers. Back then, I was nobody—just a student apprenticed to Lord Kaya, unaware of my true heritage, unaware that Erlik’s blood ran in my veins.

I had gotten her cousin, Ferit, drunk, goaded him into insulting a high-ranking official.

It was petty revenge for how he’d spoken to Ada, but the consequences were severe—Ferit imprisoned for disrespecting authority.

It was one of many deliberate acts I’d begun committing, testing and growing my power.

“You set him up,” she’d hissed, blade buried in my side, her body pressed against mine in a mockery of an embrace. “He’s rotting in a cell because of your wounded pride.”

My hand had closed around her throat then, too. “Your cousin should have watched his tongue. Be grateful the punishment wasn’t worse.”

“Be grateful I missed your heart,” she’d whispered, twisting the blade ? —

I staggered back, the wooden weapon still embedded in my flesh. Instead of rage, something like admiration flickered through me. Even now, facing the heir to darkness itself, she resisted.

“Still trying to reach my heart,” I said, and yanked the stake free with a grimace. Dark blood dripped onto the floor between us. “You always were fearless.”

“You don’t have one,” she gasped, her light magic flaring beneath her skin in defensive spirals. “It’s an empty muscle, and I fucking hate you.”

The defiance in her eyes, the way she stood her ground despite everything—it stirred memories I’d tried to bury. This was the woman who had once challenged me to races across rooftops, who had laughed in the face of danger. The woman I’d fallen in love with precisely because she was unbreakable.

“The feeling is mutual.” I stepped back to give her space. “And I should kill you for this.”

“Do it,” she challenged, eyes blazing. Her chin lifted in that stubborn way I remembered. “I dare you.”

Her courage in the face of certain death should have disgusted me, but instead, my chest tightened with something dangerously close to pride. Even broken, even hating me, she was still Ada—still the woman who would rather die than submit.

The wound would heal—they always did as my magic grew. The damage to whatever was left of my soul was another matter entirely. Through our newly formed bond, I felt an echo of her satisfaction at drawing my blood, her emotions bleeding into mine despite both our efforts to maintain barriers.

“Next time,” I said, shadows gathering around me, “aim better.”

“Next time,” she replied . “I won’t miss.”

I turned and left without another word, the taste of her light like ashes on my tongue. The darkness within me howled for her destruction, even as every fiber of my being screamed to protect her. I was being torn apart from within, and I deserved every moment of the agony.

For Ada’s sake, I hoped she would keep her promise. A clean death by her hand would be kinder than this endless, exquisite torture of loving what I needed to destroy.