POV: Raevan
Vienne’s scream reached me before the meaning caught up with my mind. One heartbeat, I was striding down the corridor toward the courtyard. The next, I was running—no, ripping through halls with the single, brutal certainty that something was wrong with Soraya. The kind of wrong that rearranges worlds.
By the time I reached the healing chamber, my chest felt too tight to hold breath.
Soraya lay on the cot—limp, pale, her hair spilling over the linen like black fire. Her lips were parted slightly, struggling for air. A faint, shimmering glow curled across her skin, silver like moonlit frost. Too beautiful. Too frightening.
“Raevan,” Vienne gasped, turning toward me with panic in her eyes. “She collapsed—she just fell—her magic—she—”
I didn’t hear the rest.
I was already at Soraya’s side, dropping to my knees so hard the wooden frame groaned beneath the impact. My hand pressed to her cheek. Burning. Too hot. The kind of heat that meant magic wasn’t just simmering—
it was devouring her.
“Soraya.”
My voice cracked. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered, but no recognition followed. Her breathing hitched, shallow and erratic. A tremor rolled through her limbs, violent enough to rattle the cot.
Vienne wrung her hands helplessly. “Raevan, I’ve seen power shock before, but this—this feels different. She’s burning from the inside out.”
Because she held too much in.
Because she pushed too far.
Because she fought Zarek and herself in the same night.
I slid my hand beneath her head and lifted her gently, pressing her forehead to mine, letting my breath fall slow and even across her skin.
“You’re safe,” I whispered. “You’re home. You hear me? You’re home.”
Her skin pulsed beneath my palms. A flicker of silver raced down her neck, spiraling into her collarbone. My wolf growled under my skin, furious and frightened, desperate to protect the one woman capable of tearing him apart.
Not like this.
Not tonight.
“Vienne,” I said without looking away from Soraya, “cool water. Cloth. Now.”
She ran.
I brushed my thumb along Soraya’s jaw. Her pulse fluttered weakly there, too fast, too fragile. I had held her before—bleeding, terrified, raging—but never like this. Never as if the desert itself had sucked the life from her.
“You should have waited for me,” I murmured. “You should have let me come for you.”
She didn’t respond. Her chest rose in shallow intervals. Her fingers curled slightly, as if clutching at something in a dream.
Vienne returned with a bowl. I pressed the damp cloth to Soraya’s brow. She flinched at the cold, but the shaking eased the slightest bit.
“Her magic is fighting itself,” Vienne whispered. “She used too much, then forced it back down too fast. Her body doesn’t know what to do with the leftover power.”
“I do,” I growled. “Keep her alive.”
Before Vienne could reply, the chamber door slammed open.
Azhara.
Of course.
She strode inside in a rush of silks and perfumed fury, eyes blazing with the kind of entitlement only a childhood betrothal could breed. Her attention dropped to the cot and twisted instantly.
“I knew it,” she spat. “I knew that girl would bring ruin on all of us. This—this spectacle—this witchcraft—”
“Get out,” I said, too quietly.
Azhara froze. “I beg your pardon?”
I didn’t raise my head. I didn’t need to. “You heard me.”
Vienne moved toward her, trying to intervene. “Azhara, please—”
But Azhara stepped around her, glaring at Soraya like she was a plague in human form. “Raevan, the elders are right. She’s dangerous. Look at her! She almost killed you in those dunes, and tonight she almost kills herself. This girl is going to cost us everything—our alliances, our stability, our peace—”
“Azhara.”
My voice dropped lower.
A warning.
She lifted her chin. “If you choose her again, you risk losing me. Losing our bond. Losing the future we have been sworn to since childhood.”
Only then did I raise my eyes.
Her words hung between us like a blade. But whatever she expected—a flinch, a plea, the smallest flicker of guilt—she didn’t find it.
Instead, she saw truth.
“We lost our bond,” I said slowly, “the night you drugged me.”
Azhara’s face drained of color.
I stood, carefully moving Soraya’s head back onto the pillow. My body towered over Azhara’s as I stepped forward, forcing her to retreat.
“You poisoned me,” I continued. “You violated my mind. You made me believe I was touching Soraya when it was you. You bound yourself to me through deceit.”
Her lips trembled. “I—I made a mistake—”
“You made a choice.”
The chamber went still.
Vienne watched in tense silence. Even the lantern flames dimmed, as if the room itself waited for the next word.
Finally, I spoke.
“Leave. And do not come near Soraya again.”
“But—”
“Leave.”
Azhara’s eyes filled with a wounded, shaking rage. She glanced at Soraya, then at me, then stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
The moment she was gone, the air felt breathable again.
Kaide appeared at the doorway, arms crossed. “Good. She needed that. And you needed to say it.”
“I didn’t say it for me,” I muttered.
I returned to the cot, kneeling beside Soraya again. Her breathing had steadied slightly. The glow beneath her skin dimmed. Her fingers unclenched.
Kaide leaned against the doorframe. “You’re staying with her?”
I didn’t take my eyes off her.
“I’m not leaving.”
Vienne nodded. “Then she’ll wake to the right face.”
Kaide pushed away from the frame and turned to leave. “I’ll guard the hall.”
Vienne dimmed the lanterns, leaving only a soft golden halo around the cot.
Then she slipped out, closing the door.
Silence settled.
Soraya lay still. Pale. Beautiful. Half-magic and half-mine, even if neither of us would say the word aloud.
I sat beside her, took her hand gently, and breathed with her. Slow. Together.
“Come back to me,” I whispered into the darkness. “No matter what they say… come back.”
And I watched over her until morning.