POV: Raevan
Two days. Forty-eight hours. A handful of sunrises and sunsets. That’s all the time we’ve spent in Zehrael—and yet it has been the longest torment of my life.
Because everywhere I turn, Soraya is there. And everywhere she stands, Baltimus is close.
Not clinging. Not possessive.
Just… present.
A steady shadow beside her. A constant warmth at her back. A man who does not need to reach for her to make his place known.
And Soraya—she lets him.
She moves easily around him, speaks comfortably beside him, breathes without fear or hesitation.
I watch it with a rage that burns slow and lethal in my veins.
Not the explosive kind that once made kaid rip chains off my wrists. Not the brutal fury I drowned in after she died—or I thought she did.
This is quieter.
More venomous.
Jealousy so sharp I taste iron when she smiles in his direction.
***
The morning begins with Zehrael rituals.
Their palace grounds glow with white fire runes and swirling mist, the air humming with magic more ancient than anything in Ashra.
Soraya walks between the floating lanterns as if she were born from this land.
Her silver hair catches the runelight. Her eyes hold the calm of someone who finally stopped running. Baltimus walks at her side, speaking softly. She laughs—a soft breath of sound I haven’t heard in years.
Years without her. Years believing her dead. Years clawing my way through grief until only the monster remained.
And now she stands there, alive and changed, her smile belonging not to me but to another man.
Kaide murmurs from beside me, “Stop glaring. You’re terrifying the apprentices.”
I force my jaw to unclench. “I am not glaring.”
“You are. If Soraya looked this direction, the runes would probably crack beneath your feet.”
I shoot him a look.
He smirks.
But there is pity in his eyes, too.
During weapons demonstration, I stand with Vienne and Tazir while Soraya and Baltimus oversee the trainees.
Baltimus moves with fluid precision, every gesture respectful but intimate. He adjusts her stance with a light touch to her elbow.
Soraya doesn’t flinch. She leans into him naturally. Something inside my chest twists so violently I almost stagger.
Tazir whistles under his breath. “Their bond is… strong.”
Vienne elbows him sharply. “Shut up.”
Then she looks at me and softens. “Raevan… don’t torture yourself.”
I don’t answer.
What would I say?
That my mate—the woman I tore the desert apart for—now stands with another man’s mark on her skin?
That I had a child with a woman I never loved, while the only woman who ever mattered built a new life without me?
That when Soraya looks at Baltimus, there is peace in her gaze?
Something she never had with me.
My silence stretches.
Vienne touches my shoulder briefly, then steps away. Smart.
The air around me feels ready to shatter.
Later, as afternoon heat settles into the stone, Zehrael wolves gather for the bonding rites. Soraya helps place ceremonial stones on younglings learning to focus their magic. Baltimus kneels beside her, their shoulders touching lightly as they work. They murmur quietly to each other—nothing intimate, but everything effortlessly… theirs.
Soraya glances up. For a heartbeat, our eyes lock. My chest stops. Her breath catches.
A small, startled flicker of emotion crosses her face—yearning, regret, something deeper—before she looks away quickly.
And Baltimus notices. Of course he does. He watches her with a calm, unreadable gaze, then lifts her hand gently, grounding her. She steadies. She smiles at him.
I nearly break.
***
Kaide finds me again as the sun dips low, painting Zehrael gold.
“You haven’t said more than three words all day,” he mutters.
“I didn’t realize you were counting.”
“I count when you look like you’re preparing to murder someone.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not.”
Kaide raises a brow. “Then stop staring at Baltimus like he stole your entire life.”
“He did,” I snap.
Kaide exhales slowly. “No, Raevan. Soraya made choices. Hard ones. Alone. Hurt. Without you.”
I hate how much his words land. I hate how much truth they carry.
“She thought I was dead,” I whisper.
“She married him because she thought I was dead.”
“No,” Kaide corrects softly. “She married him because she needed safety. She needed someone stable, protective, gentle. Someone who wouldn’t rip their own kingdom apart for her.”
I close my eyes. The words knife through me.
Kaide touches my arm. “And she needed to live. You weren’t living. You were burning.”
I swallow a broken breath. “I still am.”
“I know,” he murmurs. “But Soraya isn’t fire anymore. She’s moonlight.”
And I am a storm. A beast.
A dread wolf carved from rage and longing.
What right do I have to touch her now?
***
Night falls. Zehrael palace glows with soft white magic, light drifting like snow through the air.
Soraya and Baltimus walk through the garden below, speaking quietly. I watch from a balcony high above. Baltimus hands her a cloak when the wind shifts. She thanks him softly. He smiles.
Not possessive. Not greedy. Just steady. Reliable.
Everything she needed.
Soraya glances up toward my balcony as if sensing me. Her gaze lingers a second—two—then she looks away, turning back to Baltimus with a soft expression. And that small, tender moment… hurts more than any blade ever could.
Because she is peaceful here.
Whole here. Alive here.
She doesn’t tremble. She doesn’t ache. She doesn’t break under the weight of impossible love.
Not like she did with me. Not like I always made her.
My hands grip the railing until stone cracks beneath my palms.
I whisper into the night, voice low and raw:
“I can’t touch her. I can’t claim her. I can’t have her.”
A breath shakes through me.
“But gods… I still want her.”
The yearning sinks into my bones, deeper than any wound. And for the first time, I understand a brutal truth:
Maybe loving her means letting her breathe. Even if she never breathes beside me again. I bow my head. The night does not answer.