POV: Soraya
They led me down a long corridor of polished marble, each step echoing like a heartbeat in a tomb. The palace felt colder than I remembered—colder than the desert ever could be. Every wall was lined with gold filigree, silk drapes flowing like captured sandstorms, and torchlight that flickered with an almost unnatural steadiness.
Zarek didn’t build this place for comfort.
He built it to impress.
To intimidate.
To remind everyone who walked its halls that they were stepping into the domain of a ruler who believed himself untouchable.
The guards opened a carved serpentine door with a deep metallic groan.
“Your chambers,” one said.
They didn’t push me inside. Didn’t shove me or threaten me. They simply stepped aside.
As if I weren’t a prisoner.
As if I were a guest.
Or worse—a bride.
I forced myself forward, spine stiff, refusing to let my fear show.
The door shut behind me with a soft, final click.
What waited inside stole my breath—not with beauty, but with suffocation.
The room was massive, circular, bathed in warm golden light. Sheer silk veils hung from the ceiling in cascading layers, shimmering like liquid sunlight. Plush cushions covered the floor in a sea of rose, ivory, and amber. The walls glittered with embedded moonstones and serpent symbols.
In the center of it all sat a vanity overflowing with jeweled combs, golden bracelets, and delicate desert veils woven with tiny bells that chimed softly even without wind.
A perfumed breeze drifted from an open window—a scent I recognized instantly.
Lotus and honey.
My mother’s favored perfume.
My heart cracked.
Zarek didn’t restore the room to pamper me.
He recreated my childhood bedroom—every detail, every color, every scent—down to the silk canopy embroidered with moon phases. Down to the silver water bowl painted with Zehrael symbols. Down to the soft sandals beside the bed that my mother once insisted were “fit for a princess, even if others cannot see her crown.”
My legs almost buckled.
He had recreated my memories to cage me inside them.
He wants to rewrite the past, my wolf growled inside me. He wants to trap you in what used to be yours.
I stepped deeper into the room, fingers brushing the canopy. My throat tightened painfully.
A message had been left on the bed—written in elegant script on a thin slip of parchment.
You deserve a room worthy of your birth.
Rest.
We talk tomorrow.
—Zarek
My stomach twisted violently.
I crushed the parchment in my fist.
Footsteps approached outside. I tensed, ready to fight, but only a servant girl entered—barely past sixteen, trembling, her eyes lowered.
“M-my lady,” she whispered, bowing so deeply her forehead nearly touched the floor. “Zarek ordered meals and warm water for you. Please, allow me—”
“I don’t need anything,” I said sharply.
She flinched. “Forgive me. If I don’t bring it, he will punish—”
I swallowed my anger. She wasn’t the enemy. She was another victim trapped in Zarek’s shining prison.
“Fine,” I said softly.
She brought in a tray of food—flatbreads, spiced rice, fruit dusted with rose sugar—and set it carefully on a low table. Then she hurried out, shutting the door behind her.
The lock clicked from the outside.
Not loudly. Not cruelly.
But unmistakably. Locked. As gently as one might close a jewelry box.
My hands clenched. I crossed the room immediately and grabbed the handle. Locked.
I shook it, even though I knew. The metal didn’t budge. I pressed my forehead against the wood, fury burning in my veins.
“This is a cage,” I whispered.
My voice cracked. “A beautiful, suffocating cage.”
I turned around, eyes scanning the room with growing dread.
Silk everywhere—draping every corner like the room was a gift-wrapped coffin. Gift boxes sat neatly arranged near the vanity—gold bangles, anklets, veils, perfumes, dresses folded with obsessive precision.
All meant for me. All chosen by him. My wolf snarled. He wants to claim you. Show the desert you belong to him.
“I belong to no one,” I snapped aloud.
But the room seemed to disagree. It felt too familiar, too intimate—like a memory crafted with surgical perfection.
A cruel echo of what I’d lost.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying wouldn’t help. Crying wouldn’t free the scouts. Crying wouldn’t stop Zarek or summon Raevan or save anyone.
But gods, it was hard not to break.
A soft chime rang through the room. I looked up sharply. One of the golden veils near the window swayed gently—not from wind, but from the weight of something tucked behind it.
I stood and swept it aside.
A small carved box sat hidden in the window alcove. Curious and anxious, I opened it.
Inside was a moonstone pendant on a silver chain—glowing faintly, as though alive.
My mother’s pendant. The one she wore the night she died.
Ice flooded my veins. He kept it all these years.
He placed it here to control me.
To bind me to him with memories that no longer belonged to this place.
My wolf pushed against my skin, snarling in fury.
I clutched the pendant, holding it to my chest.
“Mother,” I whispered. “I need your strength.”
But the room stayed silent.
Outside the window, the desert stretched endlessly—golden, cruel, indifferent. Somewhere out there, Raevan was tearing the dunes apart to find me. Somewhere out there, Kaide was planning, Vienne was worrying, Tazir was likely blaming himself.
And I… I was trapped in silk.
Not broken. Not defeated. But trapped. For now. I straightened my spine. If Zarek wanted a bride, he would discover he kidnapped a storm instead.