Serava of the Second Horn was not easily shaken.
She had danced with kings, outwitted assassins, and once silenced a forest war with a single glance. Her beauty was as carefully sculpted as her power - cold, deliberate, and utterly sovereign.
So why, by all the sacred winds, was she still thinking about that human woman?
She stood on her private terrace, high above Kael'Tun's jewel-lit streets, the night breeze catching the edges of her silver robe. Her servants had already retired, and the only sound was the hush of silk against stone and the occasional flutter of the night birds nesting below.
Lavender.
What a name. What a scent.
The woman had left a trail of wild violets and something older-something Serava couldn't place. Not perfume, but... presence. As if the world hadn't decided where she belonged, so it simply watched her instead.
That unsettled Serava more than she liked.
She had dealt with many things in her long years: rebels, rivals, royal brats in jeweled shoes-but never had she dealt with someone who laughed in her face while knowing exactly what she was doing. Lavender's wit was not born from formal education or polished salons. It was feral. Clever. Coiled like a serpent waiting to strike with silken fangs.
And Vashir-her Vashir-walked beside her now.
That stung.
Once, Serava and Vashir had been spoken of as a destined match. She, the strategist of the skies. He, the blade in the shadows. Together, they were sharp elegance and silent fire. And then... he vanished. Left the city without word or warning. Just a few whispered rumors of some disgrace in his tribe - and silence.
Until now.
Now, he returned not with purpose, but with her. That human.
That woman who wore lavender like it was armor.
That woman who didn't lower her eyes.
That woman who stole the room without even trying.
Serava had watched them with keen, predatory interest. The way Lavender leaned close when amused. The way Vashir watched her, even in silence, even when his face gave nothing away. His stillness had always hidden storms. And Serava had a gut-wound feeling that Lavender wasn't just walking beside him...
She was changing him.
Serava turned to her reflection in the glass doors. Her expression, as always, was perfect. But her heart? Her pride?
Bruised.
And curious.
"What are you, little human?" she whispered to the wind. "A flame to follow... or a fire to fear?"