POV: Soraya
Morning light is cruel.
It finds every bruise, every whisper of guilt, every truth I don’t want to face. I pull my shawl tighter around my shoulders as I leave the alcove, replaying every moment of last night.
Raevan’s hands. His voice. The way he looked at me like he needed me more than breath.
It should have felt like victory. Instead, it feels like drowning.
The corridor is empty, but Raevan’s scent lingers—ash, desert cedar, heat. My wolf curls into the smell instinctively, wanting to follow him. I force her down.
No more. I won’t be his shadow. I won’t be the girl he chooses only when the moon is high and his control is low.
I head toward the inner courtyard, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Servants pass me quickly, eyes lowered. They can probably smell what happened. Shame prickles under my skin.
Vienne finds me first.
She storms toward me with a look that could slice bone. “Storm girl—where were you last night?”
My cheeks flush. “Around.”
Her eyes narrow. “Around? During the full moon? Alone?”
I cross my arms tightly. “It’s fine.”
Her expression shifts. Softens. “It wasn’t fine, was it?”
I shake my head.
She sighs heavily. “We’ll talk later. And drink tea that burns your throat. And maybe scream at the moon. But first—breakfast. You look faint.”
I manage a weak smile.
We head toward the stairs down to the lower hall.
A figure steps into our path.
Azhara.
Her hair is perfectly arranged, her white robes pressed, her expression a mask of glassy calm. But her eyes—her eyes burn like venom.
She looks me up and down, gaze flicking between my flushed cheeks, the faint scent of Raevan still clinging to my skin, and the way I avoid her eyes.
Her lips curl.
“Well,” she murmurs. “How interesting.”
Vienne stiffens beside me. “Walk away, Azhara.”
“Oh no,” Azhara says softly, stepping closer. “I insist on addressing the… aroma in the corridor.”
My stomach drops.
She leans in, voice sharp and cruel. “You smell like him. Again.”
Heat floods my face. “Leave me alone.”
She tilts her head. “Does he tell you sweet things when he touches you? Does he pretend the bond he has with me doesn’t exist?”
My breath catches painfully.
Vienne steps in front of me, fury simmering. “Back. Away.”
But Azhara is not listening. Her voice lowers to a whisper meant to cut.
“You think you’re special, little stray? You think a king sacrifices a kingdom for a girl he touches only in the shadows?”
My chest tightens painfully. “Stop.”
“No,” Azhara says. “You are nothing but a distraction. A mistake. And mistakes get corrected.”
She moves past us toward the staircase—too smoothly.
Something feels wrong. Too wrong.
Time slows. Azhara stops at the top step, glancing back over her shoulder with a brittle smile.
“You should be more careful on these old stairs, Soraya.”
Before I can speak—
She throws herself backward.
Her body tumbles violently down the stairs, limbs hitting stone with sickening thuds, robes twisting around her like shredded wings.
Vienne screams.
My heart stops.
Azhara lands in a crumpled heap at the bottom, groaning loudly, one hand clutching her stomach.
Footsteps thunder from every direction. Wolves rush toward her—warriors, healers, elders. The hall erupts in shouts.
“It was her!”
“I saw her push Azhara!”
“Zehrael witch!”
My vision blurs.
“I didn’t touch her!” I cry out, stumbling to the railing. “She jumped! She did it on purpose!”
But no one listens.
A healer kneels beside Azhara. “Lady Azhara—who did this?”
Azhara sobs weakly, pointing a trembling finger upward—
At me.
Whispers hiss across the hall like snakes.
“She attacked the future Luna!”
“Cursed girl!”
“Arrest her!”
Vienne lunges in front of me. “BACK OFF—she didn’t do anything!”
Kaide appears behind the crowd, pushing through with lethal focus. “Move!”
My hands tremble.