"She is useless, you know," Zéphir said, bored. "Timid. Weak. She can barely handle a simple journey without complaining."
His wife said nothing, only lowered her head, accepting the insult.
Zaymir exhaled slowly. He had no reason to care, no right to interfere But his grip on the goblet tightened.

In a land of endless deserts and burning sun, Zaymir never cared for his brother, Zéphir -until he saw the woman Zéphir called his wife. She was given to Zéphir, but he treated her as something lesser-a name on a contract, a nuisance. She became a presence Zaymir couldn't ignore. But in this world, to touch what belongs to another is treason.