The grand hall of Sahraya’s palace was alive with firelight, casting flickering gold and crimson hues across the sandstone walls. Massive braziers lined the vast chamber, the flames within them burning hotter and brighter than natural fire—enchanted, fueled by the very magic that pulsed through the kingdom. The scent of incense, spiced wine, and roasting meats filled the air as nobles, warriors, and scholars alike gathered to celebrate a momentous occasion.

Queen Zahra sat at the head of the banquet, draped in splendor befitting the Fireborn Queen. Her gold-laced gown shimmered like molten metal, a deep ruby shade that matched the rubies woven into her heavy collar. She was adorned with thick bangles and rings, each piece catching the firelight as she lifted a goblet to her lips. Her expression was one of serene control, yet her amber eyes burned with satisfaction.

Tonight, they feasted in honor of Asmar, her great red dragon, who had hatched her first clutch of eggs. A sign of prosperity, power, and the enduring might of Sahraya. The people had celebrated since sunset, and now, the final performance of the night began—the dancers.

A dozen women stepped into the center of the hall, veiled and draped in flowing silks of scarlet and gold, their bodies moving like flames in the wind. The music was intoxicating, a slow and steady rhythm that built with each beat of the drums. Zahra watched, enthralled not just by the beauty of the performance but by one dancer in particular. She moved with an effortless grace, each roll of her hips and sweep of her arms commanding attention. The firelight kissed her skin as though it longed for her, and Zahra found herself drawn in, her fingers lightly drumming against the armrest of her throne.

Leaning slightly, she spoke in a hushed tone to her closest advisor.

“Inform her,” she murmured, voice as smooth as heated honey. “She is invited to my chambers tonight—if she wishes.”

The words were simple, but the meaning was clear. The dancer would not be summoned, nor ordered—only invited. Zahra had no interest in chasing what did not wish to be caught.

The air in her bedchamber was thick with warmth, the desert night pressing hot against the palace walls. Zahra had long since dismissed her attendants, allowing only the golden glow of lanterns and the open balcony’s evening breeze to keep her company.

She had changed into a richer, looser gown, one suited for the heat—deep crimson, edged with delicate gold embroidery, the sheer fabric clinging lightly to her curves. It draped off her shoulders, leaving her collarbones and the tops of her breasts bare, the skirt pooling around her legs where she lounged on a pile of plush cushions. A goblet of wine rested in her fingers, and she swirled the liquid idly, the deep red reflecting in her smoldering gaze as she waited.