POV: Soraya
Zehrael always hums with quiet magic, but today it hums with something softer—anticipation, nervousness, the fluttering heartbeat of a friend who doesn’t quite know what to do with her own happiness.
Vienne walks beside me through the moonlit corridor, fingers twisted tightly together, eyes darting everywhere except at me. I watch her for a moment, amused. She’s a warrior, a healer, a survivor of countless battles—but the idea of dinner with Tazir has her trembling like a pup during its first transformation.
“You’re going to snap your fingers off if you keep wringing them like that,” I tease gently.
She jumps. “I’m not wringing anything.”
“You’re wringing everything.”
Vienne exhales shakily, then groans and covers her face with both hands. “Soraya, what am I supposed to do? He asked me. Me. For dinner. Alone. Without Kaide. Without Raevan. Without anyone. Just… me.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
My heart softens. I reach out and squeeze her hands. “Vienne… you’ve loved Tazir for years.”
She closes her eyes. “I know.”
“And he sees you,” I continue softly. “He always has. The only difference now is that he finally admitted it.”
Her cheeks flush crimson. “He didn’t admit anything, Soraya. He just asked for dinner.”
I raise a brow. “Vienne. He asked you as soon as he learned we would return to Ashra soon. He followed you around all morning pretending he needed help carrying weapons. And when Baltimus offered to show him Zehrael steel-forging techniques, he said he was too busy watching ‘warrior stances.’ Which was a lie because you weren’t even training today.”
She squeaks, burying her face in her hands again. “Gods, Soraya, stop. He’ll hear you.”
“He’ll hear nothing,” I assure her. “He and Tazir went with Baltimus to inspect the northern runes. They won’t be back for an hour.”
She peeks at me through her fingers. “So… I have an hour to become someone worthy of Tazir?”
I frown. “You’re already worthy.”
Vienne blushes deeper, glancing down. “I’m not elegant like Azhara. I’m not powerful like you. I’m not diplomatic like Kaide. Tazir deserves someone—”
“Vienne,” I cut her off, gripping both her shoulders. “Tazir deserves someone who makes him smile when the world is burning. Someone who steadies him in battle. Someone who actually understands him. That someone is you.”
She swallows hard, eyes shining. “Do you really think he feels something for me?”
I smile. “I know he does.”
For a long moment, she simply breathes. In. Out. As if absorbing my words into her bones. Then she nods slowly, determination replacing panic.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. Then help me not embarrass myself.”
“Gladly,” I grin, pulling her toward the Zehrael guest chambers.
Zehrael mirrors shimmer with a faint silver glow when touched by wolf aura. Vienne stands before one now, staring at herself with the fascination of someone who rarely examines her own reflection.
She tugs at her braid. “Should I undo it?”
“Absolutely.” I step behind her and gently unravel the tight plait, letting her long dark hair fall in soft waves. “You always look fierce in braids, but tonight you need softness.”
She blushes. “Softness. Right.”
We dig through the garments Zehrael seamstresses gifted her—robes of midnight blue, flowing linen dresses, silken tops embroidered with crescent symbols.
She holds up a sheer silver shawl. “Too much?”
“Tazir might pass out,” I say thoughtfully. “Which might be a good thing.”
She glares. “Soraya!”
“Fine, fine.” I take the shawl from her. “Maybe something less dramatic. Something that says ‘I’m beautiful and I didn’t even try.’”
“That’s the hardest type,” she mutters.
But we find it—a simple pale blue dress with thin straps and a soft, flowing skirt that moves like water. She slips it on and looks at the mirror again. Her breath catches.
“Oh,” she whispers. “Is that me?”
“That’s you,” I confirm.
“You sure?”
“Vienne,” I say firmly, “Tazir will not know what hit him.”
She bites her lip. “Soraya… do you ever think about what life could’ve been? If things went differently?”
I know what she means.
She doesn’t need to say it.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Every day.”
“With Raevan?” she asks.
I close my eyes briefly. “With Raevan. With Ashra. With everything.”
She touches my arm softly. “You’re doing well, Soraya. You built a kingdom of your own. You survived what no one else could. And you’re still you.”
Am I?
I wonder. Or am I someone stitched together from loss, power, and duty?
I don’t answer aloud.
Vienne turns back to the mirror, smoothing the dress nervously. “Soraya?”
“Yes?”
“Stay close when I talk to him. Just in case I faint.”
I laugh. “Vienne, you fought raiders with knives strapped to your boots. You’ll survive a dinner date.”
She groans softly. “I was hoping you’d say something comforting.”
“That was comforting.”
Before she can retort, a knock sounds at the door.
Vienne jumps.
I grin. “Your knight awaits.”
She inhales sharply, then exhales. “Okay. I can do this. I can do this.”
“You already are,” I whisper.
When she opens the door, Tazir stands there—dressed better than I’ve ever seen him, dark hair tied back, eyes widening as he sees Vienne.
He doesn’t speak for a full three seconds.
Just stares.
In awe. In shock. In something deeper.
Finally, voice low, he murmurs:
“Vienne… you look—”
She cuts him off shyly. “Don’t say anything dramatic.”
He smiles faintly. “Then come with me before I do.”
Their fingers brush—accidentally, maybe, maybe not—and he leads her down the hall.
I watch them go.
Warmth fills my chest. Love grows even in war. Even in uncertainty.
Even in a world torn apart by kings and wolves and destiny. And tonight, Vienne’s heart finally gets a chance to bloom.
As she disappears around the corner with Tazir, I whisper:
“You deserve this, my friend. You deserve everything good.”