POV: Soraya
Zehrael feels different with them here. Not worse, not better—just… louder inside my chest.
Kaide’s laughter echoes through the training courtyard, mixing with Tazir’s dramatic complaints about Zehrael weapon styles. Vienne hovers at my side, trying to absorb every new sight, every shimmering rune carved into the marble walls.
Their presence fills the air like warm sand after a cool night—familiar, grounding, a reminder of the life I once lived.
But the quiet between Raevan and me is a storm waiting to break. One I’m terrified to step into. One I’m terrified to avoid.
He stands far on the opposite side of the terrace, speaking with Baltimus. Or trying to. My husband listens with casual politeness, arms crossed, posture relaxed, as if Raevan’s tension doesn’t reach him at all.
But it reaches me. Always has.
Even from here, I feel Raevan’s gaze flicker toward me like a spark, catching and burning before he looks away again. Neither of us approaches. Neither of us speaks. We circle each other in silence, breathing the same air and pretending it doesn’t pull us closer.
I tell myself it’s for the best. I tell myself I’m content.
But the ache in my chest says otherwise.
We walk through Zehrael’s marketplace together—Vienne, Kaide, Tazir, and me. Raevan remains behind with Baltimus, discussing alliances, the war on the horizon, Zarek’s threats.
Or perhaps Baltimus just wants him far from me. I don’t know. I’m afraid to consider it too long.
“Your land is… incredible,” Vienne says for the tenth time, turning slowly in place as she takes everything in. “It’s like walking through starlight.”
“It’s magic,” I say simply.
“Feels like more than magic,” Tazir mutters, eyeing a floating lantern drifting overhead. “Feels like a dream I shouldn’t touch.”
Kaide nudges him with his shoulder. “Then keep your hands to yourself.”
They laugh. I smile. But inside, my wolf presses against my ribs, restless.
Because I can feel Raevan’s emotions even from across the city. Because his presence in Zehrael stirs something inside me I buried for a year. Because every instinct demands I run to him—and every memory reminds me why I can’t.
He’s married. He’s a father. His life moved on without me.
Baltimus senses everything, too. He always does.
My husband’s voice from last night echoes across my thoughts:
The heart is allowed to be complicated, Soraya. You do not owe simplicity to anyone.
But simplicity would be easier. Safer.
***
As the day fades into evening, the sky turns violet and silver, streaked with runic light that only Zehrael can summon. We sit in the palace gardens—me and my friends—on silk cushions near the moon-pool where the water glows from within.
Kaide stretches out his legs, sighing deeply. “Zehrael hospitality is terrifying. They fed us five meals today. I feel attacked.”
Tazir snorts. “Attacked by luxury.”
“It’s better than being attacked by your Alpha’s wrath,” Vienne adds gently.
Silence follows those words. Not painful—just heavy. Because we all know what she means. We all saw Raevan tonight. Calmer, yes. But not whole.
“Raevan looks…” Kaide pauses, searching for the right word.
“Alive again,” Vienne finishes.
My heart stutters.
They don’t say more, but the meaning hangs thick in the air. Because Raevan hasn’t looked alive for a year. And my friends aren’t blind.
I swallow a knot of emotion and stand abruptly. “I should check on the moon pool—Baltimus mentioned a ritual tonight.”
They nod. They don’t question it. They’re kind that way.
I walk alone through the garden paths, the stones softly glowing beneath my bare feet. Night blooms release silver pollen that glitters in the air like stars.
And I feel him before I see him.
Raevan steps from behind a carved pillar, breath uneven. He must have been waiting. Or searching.
I freeze. He stops. The world holds its breath.
His voice finally breaks the silence. “Soraya.”
Just my name. A whisper.
“I didn’t know if you’d speak to me,” he admits, his jaw tense. “You’ve avoided me since we arrived.”
I tilt my head slightly. “We both know talking would only complicate things.”
His pain flickers. “Complicated is better than silent.”
Is it? My heart argues.
My mind disagrees.
“You’re married,” I say quietly. “You have a son.”
He flinches—barely—but I see it. He swallows something sharp.
“That doesn’t—”
“It matters,” I snap, more harshly than intended. “Your life moved on. I had to do the same.”
He steps closer. Too close.
My pulse stumbles.
“You married Baltimus,” he says bitterly. “You lie in his bed. You wear his mark.”
I stiffen. “You have no right to judge that.”
“I know,” he breathes. “I know. And yet…”
He stops himself. Fists clenching. Chest rising and falling too fast. The tension between us is a rope pulled tight, fraying at the edges. I can feel every emotion swirling in him—desire, anger, grief, longing— and my wolf responds to each one.
I close my eyes. “Raevan… please.”
He doesn’t touch me. But he stands so close that heat radiates from his skin to mine.
After a long moment, he steps back.
Not far.
Just enough for both of us to breathe.
“There are two days left of our visit,” he says quietly. “If you want distance, I’ll keep it. But don’t shut me out completely.”
I say nothing.
I can’t.
He turns and walks away—slowly, as if tearing himself from the ground.
And when he disappears into the shadows, I finally exhale.
Quiet returns. But it isn’t peaceful.
It’s the kind that holds heartbreak inside its ribs and pretends it doesn’t hurt.
I look up at Zehrael’s glowing sky and whisper to no one:
“I missed him… badly.”
But missing someone doesn’t mean you can have them. Not in this world. Not in this war. Not when the heart is bound to two different futures— and neither one belongs fully to me.