Her head tilted, her voice still smooth but edged with steel. “Or was the promise of an Omega worth enduring the journey after all?”
The words struck with more weight than they should have. Alarik felt the subtle coil of tension in his chest, the urge to defend his father’s decision, but he forced it away.
He kept his expression neutral. “Circumstances shift. Sometimes, paths appear when we least expect them.”
He considered how much to say. Should he explain the politics,why a distant kingdom like Aethonia might not be the best match for Asadia at present? Should he mention Kaelen’s impulsive decision, made over cracked crab shells and too much ale?
No absurdity would soften the truth.
“The journey wasn’t planned. Nor was the tournament,” he said at last, his voice softer at the edges. “Kaelen saw an opportunity. When he sees something worth chasing, he rarely lets it slip by.”
Her lashes lowered just slightly, her grip in his hand adjusting—too subtle to be intentional, too natural to be an accident.
Then, at last, she smiled—but rather than charm, the flash of her white teeth sent a shiver down his spine.
“I suppose I should be flattered that two Asadian princes saw me as an . . . opportunity worthchasing.”
He’d regretted the word the moment it left his mouth. It only fed the perception he and Kaelen were like the others—opportunistscircling, ready to claim an Omega at the first chance.
He held her gaze steadily, letting the silence stretch.
“Perhaps the best journeys are the ones we don’t plan,” he said at last. “Unexpected, but worthwhile once we see them through.”
Her smile softened, as though she’d granted herself a moment of ease before pulling back behind her walls. The moment stretched, but he didn’t dare let the silence linger.
“Have you crossed the Issoirea Sea, Princess?” he asked. “Or seen the desert we call home?”
The question seemed to have caught her off guard. Her blue eyes clouded, touched by a distant longing. Alarik recognized that look all too well—a yearning for horizons just out of reach.
“I’ve never left Aethonia,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze drifted beyond him, to something far beyond the gilded walls. “Everything I know about the nine kingdoms I learned from tutors and books. The farthest I’ve gone is to the eastern cliffs of our island. On clear days, I’d pretend I could see the desert sands . . .”
Her voice softened at the end, as though unravelling something she hadn’t intended to share.
Alarik caught the flicker of regret in her expression. He’d seen itbefore—in himself. In the mirror, whenever he thought of choices stolen and paths closed.
“You speak as if those dreams are already gone. But nothing is set in stone. Your path hasn’t been written yet.”
For a moment, she didn’t respond. Her eyes shifted—not toward him, but toward something distant behind him. And when she finally spoke, it wasn’t wistful anymore.
“Oh, but it has.” Her voice was cold, like a tide withdrawing from shore. “The tournament was just the beginning. By morning, I’ll be expected to name a husband. And with that, the rest will vanish.”
She said it with a chilling certainty, one that tightened his chest.
His gaze moved to the pendant resting on her collarbone. The limyerite crystal caught the light, its blue as vivid as her eyes.
“A striking piece,” he remarked, tilting his head. “Unusual design. Is it Aethonian?”
Her fingers twitched, gaze flicking to him, sharper now, warier, as if fortifying the walls between them brick by brick.
“No,” she said. “It was a gift.”
“A thoughtful one,” Alarik observed, eyes lingering on the pendant’s shape before returning to hers. “Wings, isn’t it? Does it carry meaning?”
Her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Perhaps.”
He let the silence stretch, his next word deliberate. “Freedom?”
Her lips curved faintly, though the smile held no warmth.