chapter 1

**Deep within a dense forest,** Ruhi stood in the heart of an ancient, hidden temple dedicated to Lord Shiva. She had come to pray, though she couldn't quite understand what she was asking for. Still, a feeling lingered—an unmistakable mix of excitement and foreboding, as if something was on the brink of unfolding. The sensation was almost intoxicating, like the thrill before a storm, and part of her welcomed it.

The temple was sacred to her family. After her mother's death, Ruhi had inherited its protection, guarding its secrets from all others. Now, at twenty-four—the age when naagins reach their ageless beauty—Ruhi was a vision of timeless allure, embodying the natural, hypnotic charm of her kind. Her kohl-rimmed, fish-shaped eyes were captivating with their striking contrast: one deep black, the other a silvery grey, an unusual heterochromia that gave her gaze a mesmerizing intensity. Her thick, jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing features marked by elegantly arched brows, full lips, and a nose pin that glittered in the dim light.

Ruhi's figure was pure elegance, an hourglass shape that moved with an ethereal grace—a reminder of the naagin's ancient, natural magnetism. Around her neck, a rudraksha bead and tiny trishula charm hung on a fine gold chain, amulets steeped in ancient power and passed down through generations. On her ankles were *kaapus*—traditional jewelry of the naga royals—silent relics that jingled softly, mingling with the ambient sounds of the forest.

After finishing her usual prayers, Ruhi stepped outside the temple and slid into the driver's seat of her car parked at the entrance. She sighed deeply, leaning back to stare into the dark, quiet night. She had a vast business empire to manage, with countless decisions and responsibilities constantly demanding her attention. Yet here she was, lingering in the stillness, delaying her return to the world that awaited her.

She had brought along a book—*A Court of Thorns and Roses*. It had become a bit of a hot topic among her female employees, who swooned over some guy named Rhys. At least, that's what his name sounded like to her; with an Indian accent, it was hard to be certain.

Ruhi had read halfway through the book and found herself unimpressed. Every few pages, she muttered with increasing irritation:

*"Why can't they let the poor girl paint in peace? What in the name of Mahadev is going on here?"*

*"Who the hell is Tamlin, anyway? And why all this money wasted on clothes? Hey Bhagwan, use your wealth wisely—invest, multiply it—don't just sit there waiting for destiny to decide your next meal!"*

She couldn't help but compare: *"My papa would never let me sit idly like that. He always taught me to handle losses and push forward. Why doesn't her family think of starting small?"*

Her frustration continued to grow: *"Feyre, my god, don't just stroll into enemy territory after being told not to! What sense does that make?"*

Her voice dropped to a deadpan murmur: *"So… it's just a group orgy? Really?"*

When she reached the parts about Rhysand, her eyebrows arched in surprise: *"This Rhysand guy? He's supposed to be the villain?"* She scoffed. *"Villains are trending now, I suppose?"*

Flipping another page, her exasperation hit a peak. *"Oh, so Feyre's going back to Prythian, taking on an impossible task she'll somehow pull off by pure luck? Someone should teach this girl to fight. And read."*

With a sigh, Ruhi set the book down for a moment, rolling her eyes. This was what her employees were so enamored with? If nothing else, it was entertaining in ways she hadn't expected.

Ruhi closed the book, reflecting briefly on the story's twists. *"Well, that was… something,"* she muttered. *"Traumatic for poor nineteen-year-old Feyre. And a few plot holes, if you ask me."*

She slid off the car's hood, brushing down her tailored suit. Though dressed for an important meeting, her outfit exuded both elegance and authority—a look that said, *I'm wealthy, and you'll know it.*

Turning back to the temple one last time, she murmured, *"Har Har Mahadev,"* before slipping into the car. It was a full moon, and, as fate would have it, the longest night of the year. Just as she shut the door, a portal appeared—nothing flashy, but unmistakably a doorway. Before she could blink, she was pulled through, vanishing into the unknown.

---

**Somewhere in Velaris…**

After the ordeal with Amarantha, Rhysand brought Feyre to Velaris under their bargain. Over time, he'd come to trust her enough to introduce her to his inner circle. Tonight, she'd meet them all, and the anticipation left her both excited and nervous.

The first to speak was Cassian, who gave her a mischievous look. "So, you're the infamous Feyre," he said, his voice full of humor and confidence.

Rhysand nodded, gesturing around the table. "Feyre, let me introduce you to my inner circle."

He began with Cassian, who stood relaxed but exuded power. "This is Cassian, my general." Cassian was a true warrior—broad-shouldered with strong, chiseled features and a smirk that revealed a fiery spirit. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, and his hazel eyes gleamed with warmth and fierce intensity. Behind him, his massive Illyrian wings, with their tough, leathery texture, stretched proudly, making his powerful presence even more imposing.

Next was a quieter figure. "And this is Azriel, my spymaster." Azriel stood slightly in shadow, an enigmatic figure with a watchful, introspective aura. His blue eyes held the weight of countless secrets, a blend of sadness and resolve. His dark hair framed a face both striking and guarded, with wings similar to Cassian's but more somber in hue, their edges hinting at deadly precision. His wings seemed like a silent promise of stealth and strength.

Rhysand continued, motioning to a striking woman with a warm, bright smile. "This is Mor, my cousin and third-in-command." Mor's presence was vibrant and comforting; her golden hair fell in waves, and her dark eyes sparkled with humor and kindness. She radiated effortless grace, equally suited for a battlefield or a ballroom. Feyre felt her charm immediately, but beneath it lay a warrior's strength.

Finally, Rhys gestured to a petite woman with silver eyes. "And last, Amren—my second-in-command." Amren was slight but carried an aura of ancient power. Her silver eyes were almost unsettling, as if she saw more than the others could. Despite her size, she radiated an intense, silent threat, like a dormant predator. Feyre felt a strange, almost reverent fear in her presence.

Rhysand turned to Feyre, offering his familiar, knowing smile. His dark hair contrasted his striking violet eyes, which shone with intelligence and mystery. Tall and impeccably dressed, he exuded a calm, commanding confidence. Rhys seemed to be both as sharp as a blade and as gentle as a whisper, with an intense focus that missed nothing.

Each member of his inner circle regarded Feyre with unique curiosity. She knew tonight was a quiet test of her place in this world—one woven with shadows, strength, and secrets.