POV: Soraya
The healing hall smells of crushed mint, warm oils, and the metallic edge of fear. Too many people crowd the space—elders, healers, guards, nobles pretending to be concerned while whispering behind their sleeves. Every pair of eyes flicks toward me the moment Kaide pushes me inside. Their gazes burn hotter than desert noon.
“Sit,” Vienne orders, tugging me toward a cot. I obey because my legs shake too much to hold me upright. She presses a cool cloth to my cheek, wiping away blood I didn’t know was there.
Across the room, Azhara lies stretched delicately over a mound of pillows. Her robes are torn artfully at the seams. A bandage wraps her arm. Another circles her head. Her golden hair spills across the cushions in a way that looks too perfect to be accidental. She looks like a wounded goddess carved for pity.
And she knows exactly how she looks.
The moment she sees me, her breath hitches—loud enough for the room to hear. Eyes widen. Lips part. She radiates frailty.
“Please,” she whispers, reaching toward the nearest elder, “tell me Soraya isn’t hurt.”
My stomach twists.
A healer kneels beside her. “Lady Azhara, rest. You’ve endured a terrible shock.”
Shock. Yes. Throwing yourself down a staircase counts as that.
Elder Darric clears his throat. “We must determine exactly what happened. Alpha Raevan demands truth.”
Azhara stiffens just slightly at his name, but she keeps her voice soft. “Of course. I never want harm to fall on the pack.”
A murmur of admiration ripples through the room.
Vienne mutters under her breath, “I am going to put my fist through something.”
Raevan stands near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes carved from stone. He hasn’t spoken since entering, but his presence is heavier than the walls around us. His expression is unreadable—rage buried beneath discipline.
Kaide leans against a support pillar, watching everyone too carefully. He hasn’t stepped more than three feet away from me.
A healer approaches Azhara again. “Lady, can you recount the fall?”
She hesitates, perfectly timed. “I… can try.” Her voice trembles. “Soraya and I spoke at the top of the stairs. She was upset. I tried to comfort her.”
My fists clench.
“That is a lie,” I whisper.
“Quiet,” Vienne warns under her breath. “Let her slip. She always does.”
Azhara continues, “I turned to leave. My foot caught. I slipped.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “It was no one’s fault. Please don’t punish her for my clumsiness.”
The room reacts exactly as she intends: gasps, pitying murmurs, wolves pressing hands to hearts. She becomes a symbol of mercy, forgiving her “attacker” even as she buries me further under suspicion.
Someone mutters loudly enough for me to hear, “Such grace. And this is who Soraya nearly killed?”
My breath stutters. “I didn’t—”
Darric raises a hand. “We all understand emotions run high.”
Raevan steps forward, voice like a blade. “We do not understand anything until truth is spoken.”
Azhara’s lashes flutter. “Raevan… please. Don’t be angry on my behalf.”
He barely looks at her. His gaze pins the elders instead. “If she claims she tripped, then she tripped. This matter ends here.”
Shock ripples through the hall.
Azhara stiffens—just for a heartbeat—before schooling her expression. “Alpha, I only seek peace. But perhaps Soraya should be… watched. For her own safety.”
The way she says “watched” feels like “caged.”
“Enough,” Raevan growls, stepping between us. “She said it was an accident. That stands.”
Elders stiffen at his tone. Azhara bows her head, tears sliding silently.
“This isn’t fair,” I whisper. “She hates me. You all know she hates me.”
“No,” Azhara says softly. “I only fear for the pack. For Raevan. For what distractions can do to him.”
Distractions. She means me.
Azhara turns away, weeping delicately into her bandaged arm.
“She’s suffering,” a healer scolds. “Have some compassion.”
“For the liar?” Vienne spits. “Not likely.”
“Vienne,” Raevan warns.
She curses under her breath but steps back.
Azhara lifts her gaze to Raevan. “I only ask that you keep the pack safe. Please don’t let anyone be punished because of me.”
“I don’t punish without cause,” he replies coldly.
Her lower lip trembles. “Then you believe I’m telling the truth?”
He inhales sharply. “I believe the truth is buried. But this conversation ends now.”
Azhara flinches.
He gestures to the guards. “Escort her to her wing. No one enters without my leave.”
Azhara looks betrayed. Perfectly betrayed. “Raevan…”
He doesn’t answer. Two guards lift her carefully. She places a weak hand on one guard’s shoulder, subtly guiding the angle so her bandages show to the entire room.
Her gaze shifts to me as they carry her past.
Triumph glitters in her eyes—sharp, vicious, victorious.
She smiles. Just a tiny curve of her lips. A final whisper: Checkmate.