POV: Soraya
I’ve never seen the Ashra palace shine the way it does tonight. Lanterns glow from every archway, casting warm gold across the marble. Long tapestries ripple from the ceilings. Musicians tune stringed instruments in the corners of the grand hall, and the scent of spiced meats carries through the air like a promise.
“It’s a celebration,” Vienne explains as she fixes the sash at my waist. “Successful treaty renewal. Also, nobles like excuses to drink.”
“Does Raevan like excuses to drink?” I ask lightly.
“He likes excuses to look threatening,” she replies. “Both will happen tonight.”
The dress she insisted I wear is simple but elegant—soft dune-silver fabric, fitted at the waist, flowing at the ankles. My hair is braided back with thin gold thread. When I see myself in the polished bronze mirror, I hardly recognize the girl staring back.
The girl looks… almost confident.
Almost.
Vienne grabs my wrist. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Too late.”
***
The hall bursts with life. Laughter, clinking goblets, musicians playing desert melodies that curl through the air like smoke. Nobles in rich colors fill every corner. I stay close to Vienne, breathing slowly, reminding myself that no one here can drag me away.
“Look lively,” she whispers. “Tazir at our nine.”
Before I can brace myself, Tazir appears with a grin that could melt dunes.
“Stormborn,” he says, bowing dramatically. “You look like moonlight decided to take human form.”
Vienne snorts. “Subtle.”
Tazir ignores her. “May I steal you for a dance?”
“I don’t dance,” I say.
“Good,” he says cheerfully. “I don’t either.”
He takes my hand without waiting for a real answer, pulling me toward the center where couples swirl. His grip is warm, light, and surprisingly careful.
“You’re tense,” he teases.
“I wonder why,” I mutter, glancing around.
Then I make a mistake.
I glance toward Raevan.
He stands near the upper dais beside Kaide, surrounded by nobles. His posture is rigid, arms crossed, eyes unblinking—
and locked on me.
Heat rises under my skin. Tazir spins me lightly, oblivious.
“He’s watching,” I whisper.
“That’s because he hates fun,” Tazir replies.
But Raevan’s gaze isn’t cold.
It’s sharp.
Possessive.
Jealous.
“Stormborn,” Tazir murmurs, lowering his voice. “If he keeps staring like that, I’m going to combust.”
I elbow him. “Stop calling me that.”
“Gladly,” he says. “If you stop looking at Raevan like you’re afraid and hungry at the same time.”
My cheeks blaze.
Then a nobleman—drunk to the point of swaying—stumbles toward me as the song ends.
“Well, well,” he slurs. “The little Zehrael girl.”
Tazir steps between us instantly. “Walk away.”
The noble pushes him. “She’s dangerous. Shouldn’t even be here. Heard she killed her own mother—”
The world tilts. My breath falters. Tazir lunges, but the noble grabs my arm first, fingers digging hard.
“Let go,” I say, trying to pull back.
He sneers. “Or what? You’ll witch me dead—?”
A shadow slams into him.
Raevan hits the man so hard the noble crumples against a pillar. Gasps ripple through the hall. Raevan’s hand clamps around the noble’s throat, pinning him with terrifying ease.
“She. Is. Under. My. Protection.” His voice is ice and thunder. “Touch her again, and you forfeit the hand.”
“Raevan,” Kaide warns from behind him.
He doesn’t release.
Not until the noble’s face turns purple. Then he throws him aside like refuse.
The hall goes silent. Everyone stares. At Raevan. At me. At the space between us that burns like a storm waiting to break.
He steps toward me—slowly, carefully—eyes softening as if only I exist.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice low.
“No,” I whisper.
But something inside me is shaking.
“Come with me,” he murmurs.
I shouldn’t. But I follow.
***
He leads me into an empty side chamber. Lanternlight spills across stone walls and heavy curtains. The door shuts with a soft thud.
“Are you all right?” he says again.
“I told you—”
He steps closer, too close.
“You should stay away from drunk nobles,” he mutters.
“You should stay away from me,” I counter.
“I can’t.”
My breath stutters.
“Raevan—”
He cups my jaw.
And then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is not gentle. Not hesitant. It is months of tension, arguments, fear, longing—igniting all at once. His hands grip my waist, pushing me back against the wall. My fingers tangle in his hair. Every part of me melts and sparks under his touch.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes against my lips.
I don’t. His mouth trails down my neck. My pulse roars. His hands roam lower—
And reality slams into me.
Azhara. The betrothal. The ceremony.
I shove him back, breath ragged. “No.”
Raevan freezes, chest heaving.
“I can’t,” I whisper, voice breaking. “I won’t be something you reach for while belonging to someone else.”
“Soraya—”
I slap him. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough. His eyes widen, pain flickering there.
I step away, trembling. “Stop leading me into flames you won’t put out.”
And I leave him standing alone in the dark.