Footsteps crunch through snow behind me. I spin, sleeve scraping frozen tears from my cheeks, but too late—Rafi has already seen everything.
"What's happening?" He closes the distance between us in three strides. "How often does Marzuq corner you like that?"
"Nothing's happening." I force steel into my voice, lifting my chin. "I can handle it myself."
"Stop." His hand catches my wrist as I try to leave. "I know when you're lying, Zahra. Your left eye twitches." He moves closer, blocking my escape route. "Tell me what he said to you."
The concern in his voice—real, raw, unguarded—shatters my defenses.
"He made a proposition. The night of the celebration, then again today." The words tumble out like stones. "He offered to take my virginity. Make me unfit for sacrifice. Save my life by ruining me."
The transformation happens instantly. Rafi's face contorts with rage I've never witnessed—his jaw clenches, veins bulge at his temple, his entire body coils like a predator about to strike.
"I'll kill him." The words come out deadly quiet. "Right now. In front of everyone."
He spins toward the village, hand already gripping his blade's hilt. I lunge forward, grabbing his arm with both hands.
"No! Stop and think!" I dig my heels into the snow as he drags me forward. "Your father will blame me. He'll say I'm causing discord, that I'm not holy enough for sacrifice. He'll choose Leila again. Is that what you want?"
Rafi halts but doesn't release his weapon. "Marzuq can't—"
"Please." I move in front of him, hands pressed against his chest. "We have a different problem to solve first. You heard those whispers at the training ground. The tribe thinks I'm angry with you."
"So?" His muscles still vibrate with barely contained violence.
"So they think my displeasure will curse your reign. We need to show unity—now, publicly, dramatically." I push harder against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. "I must appear obedient and holy. You must appear to honor my choice. We need to be seen together, constantly."
The fury slowly drains from his features as understanding dawns. "A performance."
"A convincing one." I step back, wrapping my white robes tighter. "Unless you want to rule a tribe that believes you're cursed from the start."
He studies me for a long moment. "Fine. But if Marzuq touches you again—"
"You'll do nothing rash." I cut him off. "Promise me."
His gaze softens, a reluctant agreement in his eyes. "I promise to be... strategic," he mutters, the words heavy with unspoken reservations.
From that day forward, he shadows me like a guardian spirit.
When I bless the morning bread, he stands beside me.
When I visit the sick, he carries my supplies through the snow.
When the children beg for stories, he sits close enough that our shoulders touch.
"Look how the future leader honors the sacrifice," an elder woman observes, nodding approvingly. "The gods will smile at such respect."
"They move like one person," another adds. "See how she calms when he's near?"
She's right—I do calm. His presence wraps around me like armor against the world's cruelty.
When he smiles at me during the weaving circle, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth, I forget I'm counting down to death. When he steadies my hand as I bless a newborn, his touch lingering, time stops entirely.
"Your daughter has finally accepted her duty," the village healer tells my mother. "She glows with holy purpose."
Mother forces a smile, but Father still seethes whenever he sees me. "Three weeks wasted," I hear him mutter. "The marriage alliance destroyed."
"Hush," Mother soothes. "At least one daughter brings honor."
"The wrong daughter," he spits back.
His words hang in the air, a palpable tension stretching between them.
The full moon rises like a silver eye, and with it comes my final duty before the ceremony. Grandmother Iska pulls me aside after evening prayers.
"Tonight you must cleanse yourself alone," she whispers, pressing a bundle into my hands. "At the mountain lake, beneath the moon's witness. Tell no one. Go when the village sleeps."
Midnight finds me picking my way through frozen paths, the moon turning snow to silver. The lake spreads before me like polished obsidian, ice covering all but a hole maintained for winter fishing. My breath clouds in the brutal cold.
I set down the bundle—white cloth for after. Then, with shaking fingers, I unknot my robes. The fabric falls away, then my winter garments, until I stand naked in the moonlight. The cold attacks like a thousand needles.
The black water waits. I take three running steps and dive.
Liquid agony engulfs me. My muscles seize, my lungs screaming for air. I break the surface gasping, scrambling onto ice that burns my palms.
The ritual demands twice—I know this. Before my body can rebel, before thought can interfere, I plunge again.
The second immersion is worse.
My limbs lock, vision darkening at the edges. When I finally claw my way to the surface and drag myself onto the frozen shore, my body has become ice itself—every movement sharp and brittle.
Rafi stands there on the shore, holding a thick towel. He must have been watching. Waiting. His eyes travel my body—not with lust, but with something deeper, more devastating. Recognition. Loss. Memorization.
I don't think. I run to him on numb legs, dignity abandoned. He wraps the towel around me immediately, pulling me against his warmth, his heat seeping through the fabric like salvation.
"Dress quickly," he murmurs against my hair, but he doesn't release the towel. Instead, he turns his face away while keeping the fabric spread wide, creating a screen between my nakedness and the night.
My frozen fingers fumble with clothing, each layer a battle against uncooperative limbs. When I finally secure the last tie, I touch his shoulder.
"You can look now."
He turns, and his expression steals what little breath I've recovered. He's looking at me like I'm something magnificent, precious—not the sacrifice, not the rebel's daughter, not his father's political tool. For the first time in three weeks, I'm not the chosen one marked for death.
I'm just Zahra.
The want rises in me like a tide. I want desperately to kiss him, to close this terrible distance between us, to taste life on his lips before death claims me. The space between us hums with possibility.
A couple of days left. A couple of days to pretend I don't want what I saw in his eyes. A couple of days to die for duty when every part of me screams to live for love.