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CHAPTER NINE

N aya curled deeper into the furs, pulling them over her head until the world narrowed to darkness and the salty sweet taste of her own tears.

Hours had passed since she’d returned from the sand drift, since she’d left Akoro in the shimmering heat haze, and still the ache in her chest threatened to split her apart.

She pressed her face into the soft pelts, breathing in their earthy scent.

Heat crept up her neck remembering how she surrendered to his touch, the way he’d made her shatter in his arms only minutes before she’d torn apart whatever remained between them.

And then that terrible, devastating silence.

She’d expected the explosive, possessive fury that had marked so many of their conversations.

She’d braced herself for threats, for the brutal possession that usually followed her defiance.

Instead, he’d gone perfectly still beneath her, his breathing controlled and measured while something painful and volatile warred in his dark eyes.

The growth she’d witnessed in that moment, his willingness to listen, to absorb her words without lashing out, should have given her hope.

Instead, it carved her hollow. If it was growth, it was too late.

When she’d stirred from her doze in his arms, drowsy and warm against his chest, he’d spoken with quiet resolve, his voice rough and unwavering.

“I’m still not leaving these Sands without you.

Make sure you come tomorrow, Naya.” His hands had been sure as he’d helped her stand, steadying her.

“If you don’t return, I’m coming to find you.

” He was filled with certainty, not a threat but the tone of a man who had never learned to accept defeat.

The memory made fresh tears spill across her cheeks.

She understood him now in ways that made her chest ache.

The boy who’d destroyed his own family to save strangers, the man who’d buried his shame so deep he’d nearly lost himself in the process.

That understanding drew her to him like gravity, made her want to reach out and offer comfort for wounds that had never properly healed.

But understanding him didn’t erase the choices he’d made.

It didn’t change that when faced with wanting her, he’d reached for the same brutal tools his family had used.

The nnol ttaehh mael scar on her cheek was proof of that.

He could have, should have, chosen differently, and that knowledge sat heavy and immutable between them.

He’d carried her back to the edge of the Sands where he’d first spotted her, his steps measured and careful across the treacherous ground.

When he’d set her down, his hands had gripped her waist for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as though memorizing the feel of her.

Then he stepped back and watched her walk away.

She’d felt his eyes on her the whole time, burning between her shoulder blades with an intensity that made her spine straighten despite the tears threatening to fall. Even now, safe in the hidden canyon, she could still feel the weight of his gaze.

Why did she feel so terrible? She knew it was the right thing to do, but then why did it hurt?

If she couldn’t make this decision without feeling like her heart was being torn from her chest, how could she possibly rule an empire?

How could she advise Omegas when she was so devastated about giving up on a mate that had treated her so badly?

The sound of approaching footsteps came through her furs, soft sandals slapping against stone, growing closer until they paused outside her chamber.

Naya held her breath, hoping whoever it was would assume she was sleeping and move on.

She wasn’t ready to face questions, to pretend her world hadn’t shifted on its axis during those hours in Akoro’s arms.

“Naya?” Oshrun’s voice carried gentle concern. “It’s time for the evening meal.”

Naya squeezed her eyes shut, pulling the furs tighter around her shoulders. “I’m not hungry,” she managed, though her voice cracked on the words.

The silence stretched long enough that Naya almost believed Oshrun had left. Then fabric rustled as the Khesh settled onto the stone floor just outside the chamber entrance, her presence patient and undemanding.

“Nnimi has been asking for you,” Oshrun said softly. “She spent the afternoon making special drawings. She’s very proud of them and wants to show you.”

Guilt twisted through Naya’s chest. The little girl’s bright smile, her infectious laughter, the way she’d clung to Naya’s hand during their games. She deserved better than a broken princess hiding in her chambers like a child.

Slowly, reluctantly, Naya pushed back the furs and sat up. Her eyes felt swollen and gritty from crying, her hair tangled from hours of restless movement. She must have looked as wrecked as she felt.

“Give me a moment,” she rasped, reaching for the washbasin beside her sleeping platform.

The cool water against her face cleared some of the fog from her mind.

She finger-combed her copper hair into something resembling order and smoothed the worst wrinkles from her clothes.

When she emerged from the chamber, Oshrun was waiting with the kind of patient stillness that suggested years spent reading the moods of others.

The Khesh’s eyes swept over Naya’s face, taking in every detail—the redness around her eyes, the hollow look of someone who’d been crying for hours, the careful way she held herself as though movement might shatter something vital.

But Oshrun didn’t pry, didn’t ask questions that would force her to try and give an explanation.

Instead, she simply nodded and began walking toward the communal dining area, her pace unhurried.

“The assembly may need to speak with you again,” Oshrun said as they navigated the winding stone paths. “We’re still deliberating about the storm situation so you are invited to stay until we decide.”

Naya found her voice, though it came out deeper and rougher. “What exactly is the assembly’s purpose? Are they like a council?”

“In some ways.” Oshrun paused to let a group of children race past them, their laughter echoing off the canyon walls.

“They represent different segments of our community—those who work in the districts, the mothers with children, the elders who remember earlier days, the younger Omegas who see different possibilities for our future. They gather to advise me on big decisions that will affect everyone in Ilīa. They are considered a very important process of how we govern ourselves.”

They turned a corner, and the scent of roasted vegetables and spiced grain began to perfume the evening air. Naya’s stomach, which had felt hollow and twisted all afternoon, gave a tentative rumble.

“Is it the same twelve women every time?” Naya asked, grateful for the distraction of logistics and structure.

“Not necessarily. Sometimes different perspectives are needed for different issues.” Oshrun’s sandals whispered against stone as they climbed toward the dining area.

“Today’s discussion about the storm required voices from those who understand magical theory, those who’ve observed King Sy’s rule firsthand, and those who remember what life was like before we had this sanctuary. ”

The dining area came into view, already filled with the warm sounds of evening conversation and clinking dishware. Lanterns cast pools of golden light across the stone surfaces, and the familiar sight of women and children gathered around low tables sent a flutter of comfort through Naya’s chest.

Then she spotted Nnimi, her small face lighting up like sunrise the moment she saw Naya approaching. The little girl bounced in her seat, waving frantically with a piece of flatbread clutched in her free hand.

“Princess! Princess, look what I made!” Her voice carried pure delight.

Despite everything, Naya found herself smiling. Some wounds might be too deep for a child’s joy to heal. But others, the ones that lived closer to the surface, responded to that infectious brightness like flowers turning toward the sun.

Nnimi bounced toward them, waving a piece of parchment covered in colorful drawings. “Princess! Look what I made! It’s you and me playing sea monster!”

The little girl’s artwork was charming in the way only a child’s could be—stick figures with wild hair and enormous smiles, surrounded by what might have been cushions or perhaps ocean waves. Naya found herself genuinely delighted.

“It’s beautiful, Nnimi,” she said, crouching down to the child’s level. “Look at us! Wow. You’re very talented. Can I keep this?”

Nnimi beamed and nodded, then scampered back to her table where the other children were already deep in animated conversation about their day’s adventures. Oshrun guided Naya toward a different table, one occupied by several adult women whose conversation quieted as they approached.

Naya settled onto a cushion among the adults, accepting the bowl of aromatic stew that was placed before her.

Steam rose from chunks of tender vegetables and grains swimming in rich, herb-scented broth.

Despite her earlier claims of having no appetite, the first spoonful sent warmth spreading through her chest, chasing away some of the hollow ache that had consumed her afternoon.

Around her, the gentle murmur of evening conversation mixed with children’s laughter from nearby tables. The familiar ritual of shared meals began to unfold; platters being passed, bowls being filled, the comfortable rhythm of a community gathering at day’s end.

Maybe she could manage one evening. Maybe, for Nnimi’s sake, she could pretend her world hadn’t become as unsteady as the Isshiran Sands.