CHAPTER 42 — Azhara’s New Manipulation
POV: Soraya
The first sign that something had shifted came the moment I stepped into the courtyard.
Ashra wolves, normally loud and bustling with morning energy, grew strangely still as I walked past. Eyes tracked me. Conversations died mid-sentence. A few warriors dipped their heads—not in respect, but in discomfort, as though afraid even looking at me would invite trouble.
It felt like the moments right before a sandstorm hits—when the air tightens and the world grows too quiet, waiting for the sky to break.
Vienne walked beside me, her jaw tight. “Ignore them.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re failing.”
“I know.”
But how could I ignore something woven into every breath around me?
Every glance said the same thing:
We blame you.
Someone whispered behind us—too loudly to be accidental. “Zehrael curse. We’re preparing for war because of her.”
Vienne spun, teeth bared. “Say it again and I’ll—”
But I grabbed her wrist. “Don’t. It’ll only make things worse.”
She exhaled through her nose like a furious sand lion. “They don’t even know the truth.”
“They don’t want the truth,” I murmured. “They want someone easy to hate.”
Vienne’s mouth opened to argue—but then her expression shifted, her back straightening like a spear.
I followed her gaze and felt my stomach twist.
Azhara walked across the courtyard surrounded by a cluster of wolves—mostly younger warriors and a few elders’ apprentices. She looked delicate, fragile, as if a stiff breeze could knock her over. A white shawl draped around her shoulders, covering the faint bruises she’d inflicted on herself for her staircase performance.
Her voice carried just enough to drift across the courtyard.
“…I don’t blame Soraya,” she said softly, shaking her head in sorrow. “I truly don’t. She is… overwhelmed. Lost. She can’t help what she is.”
A soft gasp from one of the apprentices. “Lady Azhara, it’s very generous of you.”
“I only want peace,” she whispered.
Peace.
She made it sound like forgiveness dripping from her tongue.
She made me sound like the problem she kept excusing.
My throat tightened.
Vienne muttered, “I’m going to stab her.”
“Please don’t,” I said. “We already have enough enemies.”
Azhara looked up just then—as if she’d felt eyes on her. Her gaze met mine across the courtyard.
Her expression flickered with the perfect blend of pity and quiet suffering.
A victim of my supposed cruelty.
A gentle soul still offering forgiveness.
My stomach churned.
“She’s doing it again,” Vienne hissed. “Playing the angel act.”
“It’s working,” I whispered.
Because it was.
The wolves around her softened at her every word. A few even glanced my way, brows drawn, sympathy bent toward her and suspicion bent toward me. They saw a delicate, loving fiancée trying to heal wounds someone else created.
They saw me as the wound.
Azhara walked closer. Not too close—just enough for her voice to carry.
“Soraya,” she said softly, dipping her head in greeting. “I hope you’re feeling better. I pray the moons grant you peace.”
I stiffened. “You don’t need to pretend to care.”
“Oh, I do care,” she said with a painfully gentle smile. “Even if you… struggle to control your nature, it is not your fault.”
Every wolf within earshot inhaled sharply.
She did not raise her voice. She did not accuse me directly. She simply framed the story. Gave them a picture to believe.
A picture of Soraya Zehrael, the unstable, dangerous creature who needed pity rather than trust.
I stepped forward. “My nature? You mean the beast form you keep using as proof I’m a danger?”
Her lashes fluttered. “I would never weaponize your suffering.”
“I’ve seen you do exactly that.”
“I forgive you for your anger,” she whispered.
The wolves behind her swallowed her words whole—eyes softening, shoulders loosening, sympathy turning toward her like flowers to the sun.
And toward me?
Coldness. Distrust. A step back here. Averted gazes there.
Azhara clutched her shawl tighter, letting her voice tremble just enough. “Raevan is under enormous stress. You must understand the position you’ve forced him into. Preparing for war… trying to keep you safe… keeping this empire together while emotions run high…”
“I didn’t force him to do anything.”
She lowered her head in sorrow. “Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.”
But she did. And they all heard her.
Vienne stepped forward like she was ready to bite someone. I grabbed her arm again.
Azhara moved closer, her perfume light and sweet like desert jasmine. “Soraya,” she whispered, barely audible, “you should leave while you still can. Because when Zarek comes, no one will risk themselves for you.”
My jaw clenched. “Raevan will.”
Her smile sharpened—only for me to see. “Not forever.”
Then she stepped back, turning toward her audience.
“Wolves of Ashra,” she said softly, “I beg you—choose peace, even when others bring chaos. We must stay united, no matter the burdens placed upon our shoulders.”
“Peace,” someone echoed.
“Unity,” another muttered, nodding.
“Lady Azhara is right.”
I felt each agreement like a stone sinking into my chest.
As she walked away, wolves moved with her—forming a protective circle of loyalty around the woman they believed embodied grace and reason.
Vienne exhaled sharply. “She spun them perfectly. Like sand into gold.”
“I know.”
“She made it sound like she’s the only stable one. Like you’re a threat she bravely forgives.”
“I know.”
“And they believe her.”
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
Vienne turned to me, eyes burning. “We’ll fix this. We’ll get the truth out.”
But I couldn’t speak.
Because the truth didn’t matter. Not when an entire empire already chose the version painted in soft silk and trembling breaths.