CHAPTER 119 — Last Night Before War
POV: Soraya
The night before war tasted like iron and sand.
Ashra’s fortress lay wrapped in silence—too still, too expectant. The torches along the stone corridors flickered as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. War preparations echoed faintly from the training grounds far beyond the courtyard, but inside the palace, everything felt suspended. Waiting.
I walked alone through the long corridor leading toward the moon balcony, Kaide’s earlier words echoing in my mind.
“Rest tonight. Tomorrow, everything changes.”
Rest. As if such a thing existed anymore.
My hands trembled as I gripped the stone railing; the desert wind rushed through my hair, cold and sharp. The moon above looked too bright, too full, too aware of everything about to break.
I closed my eyes. Breathed. Failed.
Footsteps approached—silent, deliberate, unmistakable.
My heart stuttered.
Raevan didn’t speak when he stepped beside me. He simply stood there, arms at his sides, jaw tight, breathing uneven—like the air itself was strangling him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly.
“I could say the same to you,” he murmured.
Silence stretched painfully between us.
His voice softened, barely audible. “You leave for Zehrael at dawn.”
“Yes.”
“And then war begins.”
“Yes.”
Raevan exhaled, the sound sharp. “I wish tonight wasn’t the last time I see you before everything burns.”
My throat tightened. “It doesn’t have to be the last time.”
“That depends on whether you come back.” His eyes slid toward mine. “And whether I do.”
I looked away quickly. “Raevan… don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make this harder.”
“It’s already hard.” His voice cracked. “It’s been hard since the night you died in front of me. Since the moment I thought I lost you. Since the moment I realized I never stopped—”
“Stop,” I whispered. “Please.”
He stepped closer, his chest brushing my shoulder. My pulse jumped violently. His scent hit me—desert storms, wildfire, and something I had spent a year trying to forget.
“Why do you push me away?” he asked, voice low, painful.
“You’re married. You have a son.”
His jaw clenched. “A marriage forced by magic. A child conceived through betrayal. I never chose any of it.”
“That doesn’t change reality.”
“Reality?” he hissed softly. “Reality is that I haven’t slept in peace since the day you left my life. Reality is that everything inside me is twisted and broken because I can’t stop wanting you. Reality is that I watch you walk through Zehrael’s halls beside another man and pretend it doesn’t tear my soul apart.”
He grabbed the railing, knuckles white.
“And reality is that tomorrow you might die.”
My breath caught. I didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Raevan swallowed, voice rough. “I can’t go into war without saying it—not again, not this time.”
“Raevan—”
He turned toward me, eyes burning, and everything inside me froze.
“I want you,” he said. “I have always wanted you. Even when I tried not to. Even when I lied to myself. Even when I came home every night knowing you were gone. And when I saw you again—alive—it felt like my heart finally remembered how to beat.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Don’t say these things.”
“Why?”
“Because they hurt.”
He stepped closer.
“Then hurt with me,” he whispered.
I backed up a step. “No.”
He followed. “Soraya—”
“No, Raevan.”
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
His fingers brushed my chin, lifting gently. “Look at me.”
I made the mistake of obeying.
The moment our eyes met, something shattered. All the walls I built around my heart—the ones made of betrayal, fear, guilt, confusion—they cracked under the force of him.
Raevan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please… don’t push me away tonight.”
My breath trembled. He leaned in. Too close. Too dangerous. When his lips brushed mine lightly—barely a breath of a kiss—I froze.
I pushed him back with trembling hands. “I can’t do this. Not with everything between us.”
Raevan’s breath shook, but he didn’t step away.
“You can,” he whispered. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Raevan—”
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me you don’t think about me at night. Tell me you don’t ache when I’m near.”
“Stop—”
“Soraya, tell me.”
My voice cracked. “I can’t.”
He swallowed hard. “Then let me stay.”
My heart fractured. “You shouldn’t.”
“But I need to.” His forehead rested softly against mine. “If tomorrow comes and either of us falls, I don’t want regret to be the last thing between us.”
His lips brushed mine again—this time firmer, trembling, desperate.
I broke.
My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him in with a sound halfway between anger and longing. The kiss deepened—devouring, bruising, drowning. He gasped into my mouth; I pushed him back against the stone wall; his hands slid over my waist, gripping like he was terrified I’d disappear again.
“Soraya,” he breathed against my lips.
“Don’t talk,” I whispered. “Don’t ruin it.”
He kissed me like he was starving.
And I kissed him like I had been starving longer.
Desire wrapped around us like wildfire, heat rising between our bodies until thinking became impossible.
“I missed you,” he murmured against my throat.
“Raevan…” My voice trembled.
His hands slid to my hips, drawing me closer. “Tell me to stop.”
I didn’t.
The night swallowed everything after that.
The kiss. The desperate touches. The way his breath shuddered every time I said his name. The way he held me as if this was the only moment we had left in the world.
And when it was over—when our breaths were soft, our bodies tangled, and the moon dipped behind the dunes—I felt his hand brush gently across my cheek.
“I’ll protect you tomorrow,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
“You can’t promise that,” I said.
“No,” he murmured. “But I will try.”
The night ended in silence. Not peace. Not closure. Just silence. The kind that comes before a war.