POV: Soraya
Zarek didn’t summon me immediately.
He let me stew in the golden cage—bathed in perfume and silk, drowning in a room meant to lull me into forgetting I was a prisoner. The morning dragged on. Servants brought fruit, sweet tea, warm bread I refused to touch. They bowed, trembling, never meeting my eyes.
One whispered before leaving, voice faint as dust:
“Pray to the moon, my lady.”
Her fear lingered after she was gone.
By afternoon, two guards stepped into the doorway.
“Zarek requests your presence.”
“Requests,” I repeated. “Or commands?”
Neither answered.
Of course not.
I followed them through the endless corridors—past fountains shaped like serpents, past onyx statues holding golden bowls, past painted murals of Saren’s victories over Ashra. Every hallway glimmered with wealth. But beneath the gold, something rotted. Something hungry.
The guards stopped before a set of tall iron doors carved with serpent fangs.
My stomach tightened.
They pushed the doors open.
Cold air rushed out, damp and acrid, smelling of iron and stone.
A dungeon.
A contradiction to the silk room I had been locked in.
And there—standing at its center—was Zarek.
He turned slowly, smile smooth, voice soft as warm milk. “Soraya. You finally join me.”
He extended a hand, as if expecting me to take it.
I kept mine at my sides.
Zarek lowered his hand gracefully, still smiling. “Walk with me.”
I followed, not because he asked, but because I needed to know what he planned. The dungeon was lit by blue flame torches, casting sickly shadows across the stone. Chains rattled in distant corners. Water dripped down the walls. The cold bit through my thin silk robe.
“Do you know why I brought you here?” Zarek asked.
“Because you’re done pretending I’m your honored guest.”
He huffed a laugh. “Always so sharp. No, Soraya… I brought you because you must see the consequences of the choices you make.”
My heart clenched. “What choices?”
He stopped at a large iron gate. Beyond it, I could hear breathing—weak, pained, raw.
Zarek nodded to the guard. The gate screeched open.
I stepped inside.
And froze.
Three Ashra scouts knelt on the stone floor, shackled to the wall by their wrists. Their faces were bruised, their clothes torn, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. One lifted his head at the sound of our approach.
“Luna…?” His voice cracked.
He recognized me.
My throat burned.
Zarek stepped past me, crouched before the nearest scout, and gripped the man’s chin.
“You see?” he said casually. “Alive. As promised.”
The scout spat at him.
Zarek only smiled. “Ashra loyalty. Such a waste.”
My fists clenched. “Let them go.”
“No.”
“You said—”
“I said they were alive,” he corrected gently. “I never said I would release them. Their fate depends entirely on you.”
I glared at him. “What do you want from me?”
He stood, slow and graceful, as if this were a tea ceremony instead of a torment chamber.
“What I have always wanted,” he murmured. “You.”
I stepped back.
He followed.
“I carried your mother’s bloodline in my plans for years,” Zarek said. “The Zehrael tribe was once the most powerful in the desert. Moon-marked. Gifted. Divine.”
“That bloodline died with my mother,” I hissed.
Zarek smiled as if indulging a child. “No, Soraya. It lives in you.”
He stopped inches away, close enough that I could smell the desert spice on his breath.
“With your children,” he whispered, “I would be the strongest ruler the desert has ever seen.”
My stomach lurched. Children. My children. His children.
I pushed him back with shaking hands. “Never.”
Zarek straightened elegantly, adjusting his robes. “You will change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. Just a flicker—quick, controlled—but enough to expose the crack beneath his silky calm.
“Soraya,” he said, voice colder, “you misunderstand your destiny.”
“No,” I said. “I refuse it.”
He stepped toward the chained scouts. “Then they die.”
“No!” I lunged forward.
Zarek raised a hand. The guards stopped me instantly.
He looked back at the scouts, voice soft as venom. “Ashra sent them to retrieve you. They failed. Now you must decide whether they live or die.”
I shook my head. “This is torture.”
“This is instruction,” he corrected. “Rule by strength requires sacrifice.”
“I will never be yours.”
“You will,” he said with such quiet certainty it made my skin crawl. “Because you care about these men. Because you care about Ashra. Because you care about Raevan.”
He said Raevan’s name with a mocking lilt.
“Do you think he will just walk into Saren to save you?” Zarek asked. “Do you think he will survive crossing the dunes? The serpents? My army?”
I stared at him, chest trembling.
Zarek approached me again, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “He will die for you, Soraya.”
I slapped his hand away.
He laughed softly. “And then you will finally be free to embrace your real destiny.”
My voice trembled with fury. “I’d rather die.”
“No,” he said, stepping back. “You will not.”
He motioned to the scouts. “Take them away. They have served their purpose.”
The guards obeyed.
“Zarek!” I screamed, lunging forward again. “Stop!”
But he only watched me calmly, like a scholar observing a rare creature.
“You may leave the dungeon,” he said gently. “Think about what you saw. Think about the future you could have.”
I glared at him, shaking with rage. “You’re a monster.”
He smiled.
“A monster who loves you,” he corrected. “A monster who will shape the desert with you at his side.”
“I will never—”
“You will,” he whispered. “One way or another.”
He walked past me, robes trailing like a serpent’s tail.
The dungeon door shut behind him, locking with a final, echoing clang.
I sank to my knees, trembling, tears burning behind my eyes—but not falling.
I refused to fall.
Zarek wanted a weapon.
A bride. A womb. A destiny to use how he wanted and throw away when no longer needed.