"You called for me."
Sapphira's voice glided through the hallowed air of the sacred hall, soft yet unyielding. She moved with the grace of a swan and the silent weight of royalty, her long black hair trailing like starlight behind her. Her wings—iridescent with a faint shimmer of gold, due to the candlelights—were folded neatly against her back, giving her the look of a statue carved from divine marble.
Alexander's breath caught as she passed. For a moment, his practiced composure cracked, unable to withstand the sheer radiance of the woman before him. Sapphira wasn't simply beautiful—she was transcendent. And it vexed him that even after all this time, her presence still had the power to stagger him.
He straightened, voice sharp with a mix of passion and frustration.
