POV: Raevan
Soraya is alive.
Those three words haven’t left my mind since the moment she stepped into the Grand Council Ball. They echo in every corridor, every chamber, every breath I take. They follow me into sleep and drag me back the moment I wake.
Alive.
Breathing. Walking through my world as if a miracle carved her path.
For a year, I lived with the certainty of her death—felt it in my bones, wore it like armor, bled with it like a wound carved into my soul. Now that armor is cracking, and the wound refuses to close.
The night of the ball, after she disappeared with Baltimus, I stood in the empty hall until the servants cleared the last of the lanterns. My chest felt too tight to contain the storm inside me. My wolf paced for hours, howling silently, furious and relieved at once.
How could she be alive?
How could she walk into my palace with that calm, moonlit grace and not look back?
How could she stand beside another Alpha—as his Luna—and act like the earth didn’t tremble beneath us both?
I don’t have the answers.
I only know the truth: her being alive has brought something back into me that I thought died with her.
***
Ashra notices the shift before I do.
On the training fields, warriors straighten when I pass—not in fear, but in surprise. My steps are lighter. My growls shorter. My punishments less cruel. The edge that made them tremble last month has dulled. Not vanished, but softened.
I allow scouts to rest longer.
I let two wolves off the hook for fighting.
I even catch myself thanking a servant for bringing reports early.
A thank you.
From me.
Kaide nearly fell off the battlements when he heard.
I don’t apologize for any of it.
Something has shifted inside me, and pretending otherwise would be a lie even I can’t keep. Seeing her again—hearing her voice, seeing her alive—it cracked something open.
A year of grief turns into something else.
Hope? No. Not hope.
Just… breath.
For the first time in months, I can breathe without feeling like I’m swallowing knives.
The palace feels different too.
Lighter.
As if someone lifted a veil of smoke that suffocated all of us.
But there is one person who hates the change.
Azhara is seething.
She hides it well in public—smiles tight enough to cut glass, words dipped in honey but stiff with tension. But in private?
She’s a sandstorm waiting to consume anything in her path.
On the third morning after Soraya’s return, she storms into my study without knocking. Her gown rustles sharply with her steps, her gold jewelry clinking like warning bells.
“You’ve changed,” she hisses before I can even speak. “Everyone sees it. You’re suddenly calmer. Kinder. Present.”
Her hands shake at her sides. “And all because of her.”
My jaw pulses. “Lower your voice.”
“Oh, now you care about discretion?” Her laugh is brittle. “She walks into the hall once—once!—and you’re alive again? After a year of ignoring me, ignoring your son, ignoring everything?”
I close my eyes briefly. “Azhara—”
“No.” She cuts me off, stepping closer, her voice turning vicious. “Do not pretend this isn’t Soraya’s doing. You’ve been dead inside for months. Now one glimpse of her and suddenly you’re a different man? I hate her for that.”
My wolf growls.
Not because she’s wrong—but because she said she hated Soraya.
“Careful,” I warn softly.
Her nostrils flare. “She left you to rot. She hid for a year while you tore apart the desert for her. She married another man. And still”—Azhara’s voice cracks—“still you look at her like she owns your soul.”
I say nothing.
There is nothing to say.
Azhara shakes her head, breath trembling. “You didn’t even look at me like that when you married me.”
Because I never loved you. Because I never belonged to you. Because you drugged me into a bond I never asked for.
But none of those words leave my lips.
Not yet.
Azhara lets out a sharp breath. “You’re softer now. And I know why. She did this. She brought you back to life.”
And then—a whisper so quiet I almost miss it—“I wish she’d stayed dead.”
My eyes snap open.
Azhara takes one look at my face and flees before I can answer.
***
Kaide finds me on the outer battlement that evening, leaning on the cold stone railing, staring toward the distant dunes as if I might spot a flicker of Zehrael’s glowing sands.
“You’re thinking too much,” he says, stepping beside me.
“I haven’t stopped thinking since she left the room,” I mutter.
Kaide nudges a pebble with his boot. “She’s alive, Raevan. You should be happy.”
Happy.
The word feels wrong.
“I am,” I say. “But it hurts.”
Kaide nods slowly. “Baltimus seems good for her.”
The words hit like a blade. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying,” I grit out. “And I don’t want to hear it.”
Kaide lets out a long breath. “War is coming whether we want it or not. Zarek is ready to burn the desert. And Soraya…” He hesitates. “Soraya is now Luna of a tribe we’ve never dealt with. If we don’t act carefully, everything will go wrong.”
I turn toward him. “Say what you’re really thinking.”
He meets my eyes steadily. “We should visit Zehrael.”
My heartbeat stumbles.
“Visit?”
“Yes,” Kaide says. “Baltimus brought her here. Diplomatically. If we don’t return the gesture, it will be interpreted as hostility. And…” His voice softens. “You need to see her again. Clearly. Not behind crowds, not in a moment of panic.”
I stare at him.
He’s right. Of course he’s right.
Soraya is alive. Zehrael stands beside her. War looms.
The desert shifts under our feet. And I can’t spend another week pretending breathing is enough.
Kaide rests a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go. Not as threats. Not as enemies. As leaders.”
As wolves. As the man who lost her. And the man who can’t lose her again.
I look out over the dunes one last time.
Yes.
It’s time to see her. To speak plainly. To understand what remains—and what doesn’t.
“Prepare the horses,” I say
.
Kaide nods.