Pain was the first thing I felt. A dull, throbbing ache in my shoulder that pulsed with each heartbeat. The rest of me felt heavy, sluggish, as though my body wasn't entirely my own.
I blinked against a soft glow. The ceiling above me was carved stone, unfamiliar. The air smelled faintly of herbs, smoke, and something sterile. My chest tightened. Where was I? Who happened to me? Was I still a prisoner?
I shifted, wincing as the pain sharpened. The bed beneath me was softer than anything I had ever known—plush enough that I sank into it. Not the battlefield. Not the slums. Not a dream either. The ache was too real.
Panic pricked at my chest, but then I saw him.
The prince.
He sat in a chair beside the bed, his head tilted, arms folded across his chest in sleep. Strands of dark hair fell over his forehead, softening features I had only ever seen sharpened by calculation or anger. Like this, he looked… human. Not the monstrous Lightning dragon, but just a man.
My gaze drifted lower. His black shirt clung to him, fabric stretched over broad shoulders and lean muscle. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing corded forearms. But it wasn't the strength that caught me. It was the scar.
A jagged, pale line snaked from just below his collar down the side of his neck and into the shirt, like a bolt of lightning frozen in flesh. It looked brutal, old, permanent. Whoever or whatever had left that mark had once come close to killing him.
Curiosity tugged at me before I could stop it. I lifted a hand, wanting to brush the hair from his eyes, to see his face without shadows. Pain lanced through my shoulder. I hissed, the sound breaking the silence.
His eyes snapped open instantly, stormy and sharp, locking on mine.
"Well, well," he murmured, stretching slightly. "Nice to see you awake, little thief."
I scowled, clutching my shoulder. "I have a name, you know."
"Oh?" His lips curled. "And what is it?"
I smirked. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours first… Sparky."
One dark brow lifted. His smirk deepened. "Sparky?"
"Well, you do have a thing for lightning."
He let out something close to a laugh. "Fine. Let me formally introduce myself Raiden Azar. Lightning Prince. Protector of the Fire Nation." His gaze sharpened, as if daring me to mock the title .
And of course I did.
"Well thats quite the mouthful, I think I'll stick with Sparky."
His lips twitched. "And you?"
"Lyra," I said simply.
He studied me for a moment longer. "No surname?"
I shook my head. "Never had one."
He didn't press, though I saw the question linger in his eyes. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You have questions. I'll answer what I can, but not now. You need food. Rest."
"I feel fine," I said.
"Can you walk?"
I scoffed. "It's my shoulder that's injured, not my legs." With determination, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. My knees gave out immediately. Before I hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me against his chest.
I landed squarely in his lap.
He chuckled, low and deep. "Sure about that?"
Heat rushed to my face. "Shut up."
"If you wanted to be carried, little thief, all you had to do was ask." His voice teased, but his hands at my waist were steady, almost careful.
The warmth of his touch burned through me, uncomfortably electric.
I pushed myself upright, wobbling until I found my balance. His grip lingered a second longer before he let go. My eyes flicked back to the scar. It disappeared under his shirt, trailing lower. I looked away quickly, cheeks hot.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To your room."
The moment the door opened, I froze.
It wasn't a room. It was a palace within a palace.
The floor was covered by a rug so thick my toes sank into it. The bed was massive, draped in black silk sheets, the headboard carved with golden Fire Nation sigils. A marble washroom gleamed to the side, dominated by a bathtub big enough to drown in. The walls were lined with black and gold trim, every detail deliberate, expensive.
I turned in slow circles, trying to take it all in. My old "room" had been a tent stitched from scraps, barely enough to keep out rain. This was suffocating in its grandeur. Part of me wanted to spit on the floor. Another part—an uglier, quieter part—wanted to sink into the sheets and never leave.
A balcony door stood ajar, the breeze carrying in a soft, floral scent. I stepped outside and stopped.
The world below was pink. Thousands of cherry trees stretched to the horizon, their blossoms drifting like gentle snow in the dawn light.
"It's beautiful," I whispered before I could stop myself.
I felt him before I saw him. His presence hummed in the air beside me, subtle and charged.
"Cherry blossoms," he said quietly. "I thought the view might help." A pause. "Since I have taken away your freedom."
I turned, ready with a sharp retort. But the words died when I saw his expression. His gaze was fixed on the trees, and for the first time I saw something raw in his eyes. Pain. Haunted memory.
I looked away, pulse quickening. "They're beautiful," I said again. "I don't think I'll ever tire of them."
He nodded once. Then his face shuttered again. "Wash. Change. Revik will be waiting when you're ready for food."
I gestured to my torn clothes. "In what, exactly? This is all I have. Unless you expect me to parade around in rags."
"The wardrobe," he said simply, inclining his head. "Choose what you want."
Then he left.
⸻
The bath was heaven and I hated how much I loved it. Hot water eased the ache in my muscles, coaxing tension from bones I hadn't realized were clenched. My shoulder—though wounded—was already healing far too quickly. I should have been bleeding, should have felt agony. Instead, it was only a dull throb. Another mystery.
I scrubbed until my skin stung, as though I could wash away years of grime, hunger, survival. I washed until I felt almost new, and still the memories clung like a second skin.
A row of glass vials lined the tub's edge. I reached for one at random but hesitated when my fingers brushed a pale pink bottle. I inhaled. It smelled like the balcony, soft and fleeting, with a sweetness I couldn't explain. Cherry blossoms. Against my better judgment, I used it.
When I stepped out, a silk robe waited. The fabric slid over my skin like water, so fine I couldn't stop my hands from trailing over it. Dangerous, this comfort. Too easy to want.
The wardrobe made me groan. Every garment was silk, satin, embroidered, layered with gold thread. Opulence staring me down.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered.
"Need help?"
I spun. Revik leaned casually in the doorway, smirk firmly in place.
"Yeah," I said. "Got anything that doesn't make me look like a festival tent?"
He peeked in, chuckled. "Afraid not. His Highness has expensive taste."
I glared. "Of course he does."
Revik tilted his head. "That one," he said, pointing at a deep violet dress almost black in the light. "It suits you."
I grabbed it just to end the conversation, while pushing revik back out the door.
"Come on lovey, I wasn't gonna peak."
"Just wait outside."
I heard the chuckle as I slammed the door.
After fiddling with that torture device you call a corset the dress was finally on.
It clung to me like liquid, jewels scattered across it like stars. The sleeves were sheer, gossamer that drifted with every move. For a moment, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
Revik let out a low whistle. "Not bad, lovey."
"What happened to waiting outside," I muttered, cheeks hot.
"Well I didn't hear anymore grunting or cursing so I figured you were done." He said as he gestured for me to follow.
I stepped into the hall barefoot.
"Where are your shoes?" he asked, incredulous.
I shrugged. "You mean those death traps you call shoes, yeah I'd rather go shoeless."
He shook his head, muttering something about me being impossible. But there was no judgment in his tone. Maybe even respect.
⸻
The corridors stretched long, lined with dragon-carved sconces and polished obsidian stone. Every inch of the palace screamed wealth and power. I hated how small it made me feel.
The dining hall was vast, but only two seats were set. Candles glowed softly against black stone.
Raiden stood at the far end, clad in black, waiting. His eyes found me immediately and didn't waver.
The air shifted. Like it did when our eyes locked onto each other at the market.
I crossed the room, silk whispering against bare feet, forcing my chin high.
"Sit," he said.
"Feed me," I replied, because hunger made me honest.
Something like a smile flickered at his mouth. "Gladly."
I lowered myself into the chair. Outside, petals fell like pink ash. Inside, I reminded myself not to trust the comfort, the man, or my own traitorous curiosity.
But fear wasn't what I felt
Not anymore
Just alert. Tempted, curious…
Which was far more dangerous than fear ever was.