POV: Soraya
The battlefield shifts—one breath, one heartbeat—and everything goes still.
Not silent. No. The Moonsand is still full of groans, panting wolves, the clatter of armor, the last echoes of clashing steel. But the movement stops. It’s as if the entire war inhales at once.
I look up from the wounded Ashra wolf whose ribs I just mended. His chest rises with steady new breath. His eyes flutter open, dazed. But my gaze isn’t on him.
It’s on the figure walking toward the center of the battlefield as though he owns every grain of sand underneath him.
Zarek.
The King of Saren moves through the parted warriors like a blade slicing water—unhindered, unchallenged. The desert sun reflects off his obsidian armor, patterned with those cruel golden lines that mimic cracks in cooled lava. A ceremonial cloak drapes behind him, trailing black and gold across the Moonsand.
His soldiers bow their heads as he passes.
Ashra and Zehrael wolves growl, but none attack. Even Raevan, who stands panting in his wolf form, covered in blood that isn’t his, freezes mid-prowl. His ears flatten. His golden eyes burn with pure hatred.
And Zarek smiles.
Like he planned this moment down to the breath.
Vienne grabs my arm.
“Don’t you dare move,” she hisses.
But my body is already reacting—standing, heart hammering, one foot sliding into the sand as if pulled by invisible force. Something old and instinctive tightens in my chest. Not attraction. Not fear.
Recognition.
Zarek stops a few yards away, gaze locked onto mine.
“Soraya,” he says softly.
My stomach twists. Hearing my name from his lips after all these years feels like chains tightening around my spine. His voice is honeyed, dripping with that familiar false affection.
“It has been too long.”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to steady.
“You should turn around and leave, Zarek.”
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head as if I’m a child refusing vegetables.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Raevan shifts back into human form in a crack of bones and shadows, stepping closer to me, naked except for blood. Tazir tosses him a cloak from the edge of the crowd, but Raevan doesn’t look away from Zarek long enough to catch it. Kaide joins him, both forming a silent barrier between me and the King of Saren.
Zarek ignores them.
His eyes never leave me.
He speaks loud enough for all armies to hear.
“Call your wolves off, Soraya Zehrael.”
I straighten fully.
“I am not yours to command.”
He gives a soft, patronizing hum.
“And yet you stand here leading a war because you refuse to accept what I offer.”
My breath stops.
“What you offer,” I repeat flatly.
Zarek spreads his arms, as if presenting the battlefield itself.
“Peace.”
A ripple goes through both armies.
“An end to all this bloodshed,” he continues. “Your wolves need not die. Ashra need not die. Saren need not suffer another day of war.”
His eyes darken, burning with sickening certainty.
“All I ask… is you.”
Vienne’s hand clutches my sleeve. Raevan’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening visibly. He doesn’t even breathe.
Zarek takes one more step, sand swirling around his boots like stirred smoke.
“Surrender, Soraya. Come to Saren as my wife. My Luna. My queen. You will rule beside me. You will have children strong enough to unite the desert forever.” He smiles as if offering a gift wrapped in silk. “Your destiny is with me.”
My chest constricts so tight I can barely inhale.
Images flash behind my eyes—
My mother’s blood on the floor.
Zarek’s hands grabbing my chin the first time he called me “breeding stock.”
The way he watched me shift in terror under the moon.
The way he claimed me publicly like I wasn’t human.
And then—
Baltimus.
Baltimus’s gentle smile.
Baltimus reading scrolls with me under Zehrael’s pillars.
Baltimus bleeding out in my arms.
My breath shakes violently.
Zarek keeps talking, unaware—or uncaring—that I’m reliving a year of buried agony.
“You belong in Saren,” he says softly. “You always have. You always will. Come willingly, Soraya, and I swear this war ends today. Come as my wife, and all of this…” He gestures around him. “All this death… disappears.”
My fingers curl into fists.
“You killed Baltimus.”
Zarek blinks, then presses one hand to his chest, feigning offense.
“I gave him an opportunity to step aside. He refused.”
Raevan snarls, actually snarls like a wolf, and Kaide grabs his arm to keep him from lunging.
Zarek continues calmly, as if discussing weather.
“You were safer with me. I know you don’t see it yet, but you will. You are Zehrael—too powerful to remain hidden, too rare to remain unclaimed.”
His words slice under my ribs.
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“No,” he corrects gently. “I’m inevitable.”
He points at the ground between us.
“Surrender, Soraya. Come home. Accept what fate has carved for us. Let our nations unite through your womb, and I will swear off war for the rest of my reign.”
Vienne gasps.
Kaide growls.
Raevan takes a step forward despite Kaide’s grip.
“Don’t speak another word,” Raevan snarls.
Zarek doesn’t even look at him.
His gaze remains solely on me, unwavering.
“You have one chance, Soraya. Say yes. Say the word, and your people live.”
He extends his hand.
Moonsand swirls around his fingers like the desert itself answers him. My heart roars in my ears. Baltimus’s dying breath burns behind my ribs. My mother’s last scream echoes.
Every night in Saren’s palace flashes—me chained, humiliated, caged in silks.
I inhale shakily.
“You want an answer,” I say.
Zarek’s eyes gleam with triumph.
“Yes,” he whispers.
The entire battlefield holds its breath.
Even the desert wind stops.
Everything in the world narrows to one impossible moment—and Zarek waits, smiling… waiting for my surrender.
Waiting for my answer.