POV: Raevan
The morning light filters through the window like pale gold, softening the sharpness of the past days. I sit at Soraya’s bedside, my fingers loosely interlaced with hers. She’s asleep again—her breathing steady but fragile, as if any shift in the wind might disturb her peace.
Last night’s confession still hangs between us. Heavy. Hopeful. Dangerous.
But for once, I’m not afraid of the danger.
A soft knock echoes at the doorway. I straighten, instinctively protective. The door opens—not enough for a threat, just enough for a timid face to peek in. It’s Mara, one of the younger maids. Her arms are full.
Full of a child. My child. Ragan.
My body tenses the way it always does when I see him—memories rising like claws. The night Azhara drugged me. The way she locked me into a hallucination of Soraya’s scent. The moment I realized I’d been tricked, violated, manipulated.
And then Ragan was born. A life I never chose. A life I tried to avoid because looking at him felt like drowning in everything I failed to protect.
But today…
Today feels different.
“M-my Alpha,” Mara stammers. “Azhara insisted that the young heir should see you. I know you’re busy but—”
Her eyes flick nervously toward Soraya.
I exhale slowly. “Bring him in.”
Mara looks stunned for a second, then steps in fully. Soraya stirs in her sleep but doesn’t wake. The maid hesitates at the foot of the bed, unsure if approaching is safe.
I motion her forward.
Ragan is small—much smaller than I remember. Maybe because I barely let myself look at him before. A tuft of dark hair curls against his forehead. His wide eyes—amber, not mine—blink up with innocent confusion.
Mara whispers, “He’s quiet today. Maybe he senses the battle is over.”
I doubt a child senses war. But he might sense his father’s fear.
Mara shifts awkwardly. “Would you… like to hold him?”
My chest tightens, instinct screaming no. For so long, I couldn’t even be in the same room as him without feeling sick. He was a reminder of betrayal, of everything Azhara stole from me.
But then Soraya shifts again, her fingers brushing mine even in sleep.
And something in me softens.
“Give him to me,” I say.
Mara gasps softly but obeys. She places Ragan carefully into my arms, as if she expects me to drop him or push him away.
But I don’t.
He’s light. Warm. Fragile.
He grabs my shirt with tiny fingers, eyes blinking slowly, curiously. There’s no accusation in his stare. No expectation. No memory of how he came to be.
He’s just… a child.
My son.
Something cracks inside me.
“He looks like you, Alpha,” Mara whispers.
I shake my head automatically. “He shouldn’t.”
Mara bites her lip and steps back. “I’ll wait outside.”
The door clicks shut, leaving us alone.
I exhale, long and tense.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” I mutter softly.
Ragan doesn’t answer, of course. He only places his small hand against my chest, right over my heart. A simple gesture—but it hits me harder than any blade.
The door shifts again—quiet, hesitant.
Soraya is awake.
Her eyes are still heavy with exhaustion, but she lifts her head slowly, taking in the sight in front of her. Me. Holding Ragan.
Something inside her melts at the edges.
She whispers, “Is that…?”
“Yes,” I murmur. “This is Ragan.”
Soraya pushes herself upright, wincing at the strain. I immediately move closer, terrified she’ll fall. “Don’t sit up too fast.”
“I’m fine,” she insists, even though she’s clearly not. “Bring him closer.”
I hesitate only a moment before I carefully step toward her bedside. Soraya reaches out with trembling fingers, brushing Ragan’s hair tenderly.
“He’s beautiful,” she whispers.
My throat tightens. “He’s Azhara’s son.”
“That doesn’t make him his mother’s crimes,” she says calmly. “Look at him. He’s innocent, Raevan.”
Her words sink deep.
Ragan gurgles softly, reaching toward her. Soraya smiles and lets him grab her finger. “Hello there, little one.”
The tenderness in her voice is something I didn’t expect. Something that feels like another blow to the wall I built around my heart.
“You don’t… hate him?” I ask, barely breathing.
“Hate a child?” she murmurs. “Why would I? He didn’t choose how he was born.”
My chest feels too tight to hold all the things breaking inside it.
“And you don’t hate me because of him?” The question escapes before I can filter it.
Soraya looks up—right into me. “I hate what was done to you. And I hate that you suffered alone because of it.” Her voice is soft but steady. “But I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”
A shuddering breath leaves me—half relief, half disbelief.
Ragan reaches again, this time toward my face. His small fingers touch my cheek clumsily. Soraya smiles. “He likes you.”
“I’m not sure what I am to him,” I murmur.
“You’re his father,” she says.
“I don’t know how to be one.”
“You’ll learn,” Soraya whispers. “Not because Azhara demands it. But because it’s the right thing to do.”
Ragan coos softly.
Soraya gently touches his foot, her gaze warming. “He deserves a father who doesn’t fear him.”
Fear.
Yes. That’s what it was all along.
Fear of the past. Fear of betrayal. Fear of loving something that reminded me of everything I lost.
But looking at him now… I don’t see betrayal. I see a beginning.
Tentatively, I sit beside Soraya on the bed. She leans slightly toward me, shoulder brushing mine. Not a declaration—not yet. But a presence.
We look at Ragan together.
I swallow hard. “Soraya… I don’t think I can do this alone.”
“You won’t have to,” she says quietly.
The air between us shifts—gently, finally.
Ragan yawns, eyes fluttering closed. I hold him a little tighter, no longer afraid he’ll shatter something inside me. Soraya watches with soft eyes, a faint smile pulling at her lips.
For the first time…
I don’t feel resentment. I don’t feel guilt. I don’t feel trapped. I just feel something warm. Something almost peaceful.
I look at her, voice low. “Thank you.”
Soraya shakes her head softly. “You accepted him. That was you, Raevan.”
Maybe so. But I couldn’t have done it without her. And as Ragan settles against my chest, something inside me finally settles too.
Not healed. But beginning.