I stepped into the Shadow Court to save my brother. I didn't expect to walk out as the bride of the monster who killed the man I loved.

Kaan is the ruthless Lord of Shadows—ancient, merciless, and terrifyingly beautiful. He murdered Aslan with a smile on his lips and my name on his tongue. Then he claimed me as payment for a blood debt.

Now, I'm his wife in black silk and silver chains. Owned. Caged. Watched.

And on our wedding night, he doesn't ask. He takes—my body, my breath, my resistance—until I break. His mouth. His rules. His shadows, wrapping around me like a noose.

I swore I'd kill him. Instead, I'm moaning his name in the dark.

Because monsters like him don't make love. They unmake you. But Kaan doesn't want love. He wants devotion. He wants me to beg.

And the worst part? I think I will.

Chapter One

The Blood Debt

Kaan

THERE IS A certain artistry to execution that most people fail to appreciate.

I lounge on my obsidian throne, one leg draped casually over the armrest, examining my nails with feigned disinterest as the prisoner continues his tedious begging. The courtiers who line the vast chamber watch with bated breath, their faces a delightful mix of fear and morbid fascination.

"My lord, please," the prisoner sobs, his Light Court robes now filthy and torn, "it was an accident. I never meant to—"

"Never meant to kill Advisor Malik with uncontrolled light magic in the midst of peace negotiations?" I interrupt, flicking an invisible speck of dust from my sleeve. "How clumsy of you. I hate when that happens. One moment you're discussing border taxes, the next—whoops!—you've incinerated someone's heart."

Laughter ripples through the court, though it quickly dies when I glance up, my gaze sweeping the crowd. Even my most loyal subjects know better than to laugh too enthusiastically at my jokes. It might give the impression that I am entertaining rather than terrifying, and that simply won't do for the reputation I've so carefully cultivated.

"I wish to appeal to your mercy," the prisoner continues, his chains rattling as he prostrates himself before me.

I sigh dramatically and finally deign to look at him properly. He isn't particularly impressive—perhaps thirty years old, with the soft hands of a diplomat and the golden eyes typical of the Light Court nobility. What is his name again? Something predictably virtuous and boring.

"Emir," I call to my Shadow General who stands just to my right, perpetually alert despite the relaxed atmosphere I prefer to maintain. "Remind me who this is?"

"Lord Zoran of House Lumina, my lord," Emir replies, his voice as steady and reliable as always. "Son of Councillor Taren. Killed Advisor Malik yesterday during the border discussion. The circumstances were... somewhat unclear, my lord."

"Ah, yes. Zoran the Incandescent, they call you, don't they?" I smile, showing just enough teeth to make him flinch. "Though I've found your light rather dim today. Perhaps confinement has dampened your... spark?"

More nervous laughter. I truly am wasted on this audience.

"It was an accident," Zoran repeats, his voice cracking. "My magic reacted to a threat—"

"Was my advisor threatening you with his extensive knowledge of tax law?" I ask innocently. "How terrifying that must have been for you."

"No, I sensed a—"

"I don't actually care," I cut him off, finally swinging my legs down and sitting up straight. The movement alone is enough to silence the entire hall. "The fact remains that you, a Light Court representative sent to discuss peace, murdered one of my most valued advisors."

I stand, and shadows immediately gather around me, coiling like living smoke. This, at least, never grows tedious—the way fear blooms in their eyes when confronted with my power. The darkness responds to my will, condensing and sharpening into a blade that extends from my hand.

"Under the old laws, your life is forfeit," I say, my voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. "Blood for blood, or a life of service in exchange. It's all very primitive, but tradition does have its charm. Four centuries of conflict between our courts, and we still cling to laws written when the first Shadow Lord and Light Sovereign divided these lands. Like decorative throw pillows or public executions. They really tie the kingdom together."

I descend the steps from my throne, the shadow-blade trailing beside me, leaving a trail of frost on the polished black marble floor. The courtiers shrink back, creating a perfect pathway to the prisoner.

"Any last words, Lord Zoran? Something poetic, perhaps? Your kind usually prefers to exit with a flourish. A limerick might be nice—I do enjoy a good limerick before breakfast."

"I beg for mercy," he whispers, trembling as I approach. "In the name of the treaty between our courts—"

"The treaty you violated when you turned my advisor into a smoldering corpse?" I laugh, the sound echoing coldly. "Try again. Though I must admit, Malik did look rather dashing as a pile of ashes. Really brought out his cheekbones."

Several courtiers choke on surprised laughter. Others look horrified. I love that combination.

"Then in the name of my family," he says desperately. "My father—"

"Is not here," I finish, now standing directly before him. I lift his chin with the tip of my shadow-blade, careful not to pierce the skin. Not yet. "And frankly, I'm growing tired of this conversation. I had a late night planning a particularly devastating tax increase—tedious work even after decades of rule, but someone must maintain the Shadow Court's coffers."

I raise the blade, shadows swirling more intensely around us both. The prisoner closes his eyes, a single tear tracking down his dirt-stained face. Pathetic. Most Light Court nobles at least attempt to maintain their dignity in death. If you're going to die, at least do it with the poise your kind is known for. I make the effort to look fabulous while killing people; the least they could do is die interestingly.

The doors to the chamber burst open with a sound like thunder.

I pause, blade still raised, irritation flaring at the interruption. Who would dare?

"STOP!"

A woman's voice, fierce and commanding, cuts through the silence. I turn, the shadow-blade dissipating slightly as my concentration shifts.

She strides into my throne room like she owns it, her white and gold robes billowing around her like captured sunlight. Behind her, an older man hurries to keep pace, his face a mask of diplomatic panic.

I know her immediately, of course—Nesilhan of House Lumina, daughter of Councillor Taren. I've seen her at various peace delegations over the years, always standing proudly at her father's side, always watching me with those piercing golden eyes that give away nothing.

Sweet merciful darkness, she is even more magnificent this close, without the formal distance of diplomatic proceedings between us.

My body responds instantly, shadows pulsing with sudden hunger. The white gold robes hug curves that have haunted my dreams for longer than I care to admit. Her dark hair cascades down her back like midnight silk, and those lips—full and lush and currently pressed into a thin line of disapproval—make me imagine all sorts of deliciously inappropriate diplomatic scenarios.

I truly began watching her three years ago, during peace negotiations, when she calmly disarmed Lord Veren's aggressive accusations with such precision it was like watching a master duelist. Most Light Court nobles flinch in my presence, but she held my gaze with quiet defiance that has haunted me since.

And now she is storming into my execution ceremony, looking at me like I'm something she's scraped off her shoe.

How absolutely delightful.

"Lady Nesilhan," I purr, not bothering to hide my amusement or the heat in my gaze as I deliberately look her up and down. "What an unexpected pleasure. Have you come to watch? I'm afraid we don't have any seats left, but I'd be happy to have you sit in my lap. For diplomatic reasons, of course."

"Release my brother," she demands, coming to stand between me and the prisoner.

Ah. Lady Nesilhan's brother. I should have noticed the resemblance immediately. The same proud chin, the same impossibly high cheekbones. The family connection explains her passionate intervention—this is more than diplomatic posturing.

"Your brother?" I repeat, raising an eyebrow. "The same brother who turned my advisor into charcoal yesterday? That brother?"

"It was an accident," she insists, her eyes flashing with a defiance that sends a thrill of something dangerous through me. "Zoran is a scholar, not a warrior. His magic discharged when he felt threatened."

"By a sixty-year-old man discussing import tariffs?" I ask skeptically.

"By the shadows your advisor was manipulating under the table," she shoots back. "Zoran sensed them reaching for the treaty documents."

That gives me pause. I hadn't heard this particular detail. I glance at Emir, who gives a slight nod of confirmation. Interesting. Malik had been acting on his own initiative, then. Probably trying to alter the terms before signing. Ambitious of him.

Still, appearances must be maintained.

"Even if that were true," I say, letting the shadow-blade reform to its full, impressive length, "the fact remains that a Light Court diplomat killed a Shadow Court advisor. Under the ancient laws, that requires—"

"Blood for blood," Nesilhan finishes, her voice steady despite the fear I can sense radiating from her. "I know the law, Lord Kaan. But there are alternatives for accidental death."

"Enlighten me," I say, genuinely curious what she might propose.

"A life debt," her father finally speaks, stepping forward. "Councillor Taren," he introduces himself unnecessarily. "Instead of taking my son's life, you may claim a debt of service from our family. This is also permitted under the ancient laws."

I pretend to consider this, though my mind is already racing ahead, calculating possibilities. It is true that the ancient laws allow for substitution in cases of unintentional death. And a life debt from one of the most powerful families in the Light Court could be... useful.

My gaze returns to Nesilhan, taking in the proud tilt of her chin, the fierce protectiveness in her stance as she shields her brother. Something dark and possessive stirs in me—a hunger I've felt glimpses of before when I've seen her at court functions, but never acknowledged fully.

Until now.

A plan forms, perfect in its simplicity and delicious in its implications.

"A life debt," I echo, tapping my chin thoughtfully with one finger. "From your family to mine. That would indeed satisfy the blood price." I pause, watching tension drain slightly from their shoulders. "However, I have specific terms in mind."

"Name them," Taren says quickly, relief evident in his voice.

My shadows retreat, coiling back around my body as I approach Nesilhan. She holds her ground, though I can see the rapid pulse at her throat betraying her fear.

"Marriage," I say simply.

Silence falls like a blade. Even my courtiers seem to collectively hold their breath.

"What?" Nesilhan whispers, her composure finally cracking.

"You heard me perfectly well," I reply, circling her slowly. "A marriage alliance between our houses. You, to be specific, as my wife. That would satisfy the blood debt."

"That's absurd," she hisses. "Marriage alliances are for political arrangements, not blood debts."

"Are they not both a form of contract?" I ask reasonably. "Besides, I'm being quite generous. One life for a lifetime of service seems rather balanced to me."

"You can't seriously—" she begins.

"The alternative," I continue, voice hardening, "is that I separate your brother's head from his shoulders right now, and we risk open war between our courts. Is that your preference, Lady Nesilhan?"

Her hands clench into fists at her sides, and I can practically feel her hatred radiating like heat. It is intoxicating.

"Why me?" she demands. "There are other daughters of Light Court nobility. Why demand specifically—"

"Because you're the one standing in my throne room," I interrupt smoothly. "Because you had the courage to face me directly. Because," I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her, "I find your defiance... entertaining."

She recoils slightly, her golden eyes widening.

"And," I add, raising my voice for the court to hear, "because as the sister of the offender, your service most directly balances the scales of justice."

I turn to Councillor Taren, who looks ashen. "What say you, Councillor? Your daughter's hand in marriage to save your son's life and prevent war? Seems a rather obvious choice to me."

Taren looks between his children, naked anguish on his face. Political calculation wars with paternal protectiveness. But we all know which will win. It always does.

"Father, you can't—" Nesilhan begins.

"I accept the terms," Taren says heavily, unable to meet his daughter's eyes.

"Excellent!" I clap my hands together, shadows dancing around me in response to my satisfaction. "We shall hold the ceremony tomorrow at sunset. How fitting—the threshold between day and night for the union of shadow and light."

"Tomorrow?" Nesilhan gasps. "That's impossible—there are preparations, arrangements—"

"I'm a rather spontaneous person," I reply with a sharp smile. "Besides, the sooner we satisfy the blood debt, the sooner your brother is officially pardoned. And," I add, letting my gaze travel slowly down her body, "I find I'm suddenly quite eager to be married."

Gods, she is magnificent. The way her chest heaves with indignation, the flush of anger on her cheeks, the proud set of her shoulders even in defeat. I want to possess every inch of her, to see that defiance transform into something else entirely. The urge to claim her immediately, right here on the cold marble floor, strikes me with unexpected force.

Nesilhan must have read something of my thoughts in my expression. She takes an instinctive step back, eyes widening slightly.

Perfect. Let her see exactly what awaits her.

Speaking of her brother... I turn to where Zoran still kneels, chains binding him to the floor. He stares at us in horror, clearly understanding that he is being spared at the cost of his sister's freedom.

"Release Lord Zoran," I command the guards. "He is a guest now, not a prisoner. See that he's given quarters befitting his station." I pause, then add with deliberate cruelty, "Near my personal chambers, I think. So he can be close to his beloved sister after the wedding. He might even hear us if we're feeling particularly... enthusiastic."

Several courtiers cough to hide their laughter. I don't bother hiding my smirk.

The guards move to obey, unlocking Zoran's chains. He stumbles to his feet, looking broken in a way that has nothing to do with physical mistreatment.

"Nesilhan," he whispers, reaching for her.

She takes his hands, her face a mask of determination. "It's alright," she murmurs. "I choose this."

Her words, meant to comfort him, send a spike of irritation through me. She doesn't choose this—I do. She is mine now by right of ancient law, by blood debt, and most importantly, because I want her. The sooner she accepts that, the easier her transition to Shadow Court will be.

"Emir," I call, "see that Lady Nesilhan is escorted to appropriate chambers and provided with everything she needs for tomorrow's ceremony." I pause, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "And send up my grandmother's wedding dress. The black one with the plunging neckline. I believe it will suit my bride perfectly."

Emir's eyebrows shoot up slightly, but he controls his expression quickly. "Your grandmother's wedding dress, my lord? The one reserved for true mates? It hasn't been used for a political marriage in generations."

"Yes, that's the one," I confirm, enjoying the ripple of surprise that passes through the court. That particular dress is reserved for shadow lords' true mates, not political arrangements. Let them gossip. Let them wonder.

"Yes, my lord," Emir replies, bowing slightly.

"You can't be serious," Nesilhan says, glaring at me. "I will not wear a Shadow Court wedding dress."

"Would you prefer to marry me naked?" I ask innocently. "I'd be amenable to that alternative, though perhaps not for your first introduction to my court."

Her cheeks flushed a delicious scarlet. "You're impossible."

"I prefer 'creatively flexible,’” I counter with a grin.

As my guards move to escort her away, I catch her arm, leaning close once more. The scent of her—like sunlight on fresh snow—fills my senses, making my shadows curl with anticipation. I want to devour her whole.

"One more thing, future wife," I murmur against her ear, letting my lips brush the sensitive skin there. "If you attempt to escape, if you try to renege on our agreement, I will not only execute your brother, but I will ensure his death is remembered in the histories of both our courts for its... creativity. And then I'll hunt you down myself, which, trust me, you'll find far less pleasant than our wedding night."

She jerks away from me, eyes blazing with hatred. "You are exactly as monstrous as they say."

I press a hand to my chest in mock gratitude. "Thank you. I think you have a crush on me, and to be honest, if I were you, I would have one, too." I wink at her. "Don't worry, we'll work through your obvious attraction to monsters during our long, intimate marriage."

"I would rather die," she spits.

"Dramatic," I observe cheerfully. "But entirely unnecessary. You'll find I can be a very generous husband. Provided, of course, that you're an obedient wife."

"I will never obey you," she promises, her voice vibrating with conviction.

My smile widens, showing too many teeth. "Oh, I was hoping you'd say that." I reach out, trailing one finger down her cheek, shadows dancing at my fingertips. "Breaking your resistance will be the most entertaining project I've had in centuries."

She tries to slap my hand away, but I catch her wrist, bringing her knuckles to my lips for a mocking kiss. "I do enjoy your spirit, Nesilhan. Keep it. It makes everything so much more interesting."

As she is led away, I return to my throne, a profound sense of satisfaction settling over me. This is an unexpected turn of events, but one that plays perfectly into my hands. Marriage to one of the Light Court's most prominent daughters will strengthen my position, give me leverage in negotiations, and—most intriguingly—provide me with a new form of entertainment.

Breaking Nesilhan's proud spirit will be a challenge worthy of my attention.

"My lord," Emir approaches once the hall has begun to clear, his voice pitched low for privacy. "Are you certain about this course of action? The Council might not approve of such an... impulsive decision."

"The Council serves at my pleasure," I remind him coolly. "Not the other way around."

"Of course," he concedes. "But a marriage alliance with the Light Court will have significant implications. Political, magical... personal."

I raise an eyebrow at his last word. "Personal? You think I've developed tender feelings for the girl? How amusing."

"I think," Emir says carefully, "that you've been watching her at peace negotiations for years. That your attention always finds her in a crowded room. That perhaps this 'impulsive' decision has been brewing longer than you admit—even to yourself."

I wave a dismissive hand. "She's a political asset, nothing more. An entertaining diversion in an otherwise tedious existence."

Emir, who has known me since childhood and is the only person permitted to speak to me with such frankness, merely gives me a knowing look. "As you say, my lord."

"Besides," I continue, stretching languidly in my throne, "can you think of anything that would infuriate the Light Court elders more than seeing their precious daughter bound to the monster of the Shadow Court?"

"No," Emir admits. "Though I wonder if making enemies of the entire Light Court is wise, even for you."

"They were already my enemies," I remind him. "Now they'll simply be my in-laws as well. Isn't that how family works? Thinly veiled hostility wrapped in obligation?"

Emir suppresses a smile. "I wouldn't know, my lord. My family is remarkably functional."

"Boring," I declare, rising from my throne. After nearly eight hundred years of life, with the last fifteen spent as Shadow Lord since overthrowing my predecessor in what the court historians delicately call “an unexpected transfer of power,” I've learned that dysfunctional is far more entertaining. "Now, I believe I have a wedding to arrange. Something suitably impressive yet tasteful. After all," I add with a sharp smile, "I'm nothing if not a considerate bridegroom."

As I leave the throne room, shadows trailing in my wake, I can't help but recall the fire in Nesilhan's eyes as she'd stood between me and her brother. That kind of courage is rare,  especially in my court, where self-preservation is the primary religion.

I adjust my robes, uncomfortably aware of how much I want her. My body hums with anticipation at the thought of tomorrow night—of finally having her beneath me, that fierce pride giving way to something else entirely. I'll make her scream my name before dawn, of that I'm certain.

Tomorrow she will be mine: my wife, my possession, my obsession.

In truth, I've contemplated this possibility for longer than I care to admit—finding a way to bring that golden fire permanently into my shadowed court. Her brother's transgression merely provided the perfect opportunity to act on what I've long desired.

And if a small voice whispers that perhaps I want her for reasons beyond political advantage or physical desire—that perhaps I've been watching her for years for reasons I refuse to acknowledge—I silence it with practiced ease.

After all, monsters don't have hearts. Everyone knows that.

And I am the greatest monster the Shadow Court has ever known.

The most patient one, too. Every monster knows that anticipation sweetens the hunt.

I grin to myself as I stalk through the dark corridors. Poor Nesilhan. She has no idea what she's in for.

Then again, neither do I.