A few weeks later….
The Festival of Flames had always been a night of joy and fire, a tradition older than most of the wolves dancing under the golden lights. It was meant to celebrate survival, honor fallen ancestors, and welcome the power of the full moon. But tonight, for Eva, it felt like standing at the edge of something dangerous—something burning too bright, too fast.
The Silverstone grounds glowed with torches and bonfires. Crimson silk banners waved in the breeze. Laughter echoed between trees, and the rhythmic beat of drums filled the air like a second heartbeat. Everyone wore their finest. Eva’s dress shimmered like starlight, silver thread stitched into the soft folds of deep midnight blue. Her hair was pinned back with a moon-shaped comb. She looked like a queen, but her eyes carried storms.
Eva stood alone near the steps of the platform, watching the flames flicker in the distance. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, as if letting go might cause her to unravel. The sound of footsteps behind her made her tense, but she didn’t turn.
“You look like you’re trying to disappear,” came a familiar voice.
She turned then, slowly, finding Valen standing behind her. He wore a dark tunic embroidered with silver thread that caught the firelight. His presence was magnetic, his smile warm. But there was always something unreadable in his eyes—like a hidden page she wasn’t allowed to turn.
“I’m just watching,” Eva said, brushing a hand across her arm. “This night belongs to them.”
Valen offered her his hand. “It can belong to you, too. Dance with me.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then she nodded.
As Valen led her to the center, the crowd made space. They began to dance, slow and smooth, her hand in his, his other hand resting on her waist. The music softened, and for a moment, everything else blurred—the war, the prophecy, the fear. All she saw was the way his eyes searched hers, the way his voice trembled when he whispered her name.
“You deserve to feel beautiful tonight,” he said softly. “Not because of your title. But because you are.”
Eva looked away, blinking back a sudden rush of emotion. “You always say the right thing.”
“Because I see you,” Valen replied. “All of you.”
From the edge of the crowd, Max stood stiff as stone. His jaw clenched, fists curled tight at his sides. His gaze didn’t leave her—not once. Every spin she took in Valen’s arms was another strike to his chest. Every smile she gave Valen was a reminder of how late he’d been.
She had waited. Once. Long ago. He hadn’t noticed her then. Or maybe he had, and just didn’t know how to care the right way.
Now someone else did.
Max couldn’t breathe. The heat from the bonfires was nothing compared to the heat rising in his chest. Jealousy, pain, and regret twisted together like barbed vines around his ribs.
Beside him, Dany appeared with a half-empty cup of wine. He sipped it slowly, watching the same scene Max couldn’t tear his eyes from.
“She looks happy for the first time in a very long time,” Dany said.
Max didn’t respond.
Dany followed his line of sight, eyes settling on Eva’s glowing face in the firelight.
“She waited for you,” Dany added after a pause. “Years, Max. You didn’t come.”
Max finally looked at him, his voice low and harsh. “It wasn’t that simple.”
“It never is,” Dany replied. He turned to face him directly. “But you waited too long.”
Max’s chest tightened.
Dany’s next words were quieter, but sharper than any blade. “Now someone else is writing her love story.”
Max didn’t answer. His eyes went back to the dance, to the way Valen’s fingers trailed along Eva’s back as the music slowed to its end. To the smile on her lips that used to belong to him—at least in the world of what-ifs.
And in the silence that followed, as the flames crackled and laughter rose all around him, Max whispered to himself, broken but certain:
“Then I’ll burn the pages and start over.”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
Summary & Review: Comrade
