The kiss they witnessed between the princess and Lord Castiel Vaelmont wasn’t the kind shared in haste or by accident. It was deliberate, lingering. The kind of kiss lovers indulged in when they were alone.
“Is she withhim?” The ferocity in his brother’s frown unmistakable.
Alarik crossed his arms. “I don’t know.”
Kaelen’s hands curled into fists. Alarik knew his brother’s mind was already halfway to wherever Reiyana and Castiel might be. He thrived in moments like this, where instinct and action reigned over deliberation.
But for Alarik, hesitation pooled beneath the surface. The pieces didn’t fit, and the questions weighed heavier than the need to chase.
A sharp knock echoed from the door. Kaelen answered without pause.
A servant stood on the other side, bowing low. “Their Majesties request your presence, Your Highness.”
Alarik’s jaw tightened. Today was supposed to be the day Princess Reiyana named her husband. Instead, she’d vanished—and the court would demand explanation.
Winning the tournament might’ve earned them a foothold in the royal family’s confidence, but the way they’d been summoned so early made one thing clear: they weren’t bystanders in this. Not anymore.
The servant led them through the twisting halls to the family’s solar—a surprising choice, considering their brief acquaintance with the Aethonian royals. Either the crisis was worse than it seemed, or their victory had bought them access to rooms normally kept from outsiders.
Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, colouring the floor in restless hues. The panels crowed of Aethonia’s maritime triumphs, all golden sails and victorious battles. Plush furniture and thick rugs softened the room, but the heavy scent of lavender sat on the air like a hand at his throat.
It was meant to soothe, but it only deepened the crackling tension beneath the surface.
He stood behind Kaelen, his gaze sweeping the room with the same caution he reserved for battle. The royal family was already gathered, tension pooling like the stillness before a storm. The firstborn Prince Thorir sat stiff, fingers drumming against his chair’s armrest, while Prince Leif paced near the window, fists flexing behind his back. By the hearth, Queen Aurelina’s hands lay folded on her lap, her knuckles white.
At the centre stood the Beta King Eiric—a rarity among the nine kingdoms. Without Thorir, Aethonia’s sole Alpha heir, the kingdom’s position would be far more precarious.
Alarik stifled a sigh. Succession was simple: Sunborns first, Alphas second. Betas? They were the spine of society, steady yet constrained, their ambitions bound by what they were—and what they could never be. Only in the absence of an Alpha heir would a Beta wear the crown.
Currently, only Aethonia and Xûen-Sarai had Beta monarchs, two exceptions in a world where Alpha blood dictated sovereignty.
Eiric’s weary voice cut through the stillness. “As the victors of yesterday’s tournament—and contenders for Reiyana’s hand—you should know she has gone . . . missing.”
Kaelen inclined his head, slipping into the ease of someone accustomed to delicate matters. “We understand how unsettling this must be, Your Majesty.”
A flicker of appreciation crossed Eiric’s features, but it did nothing to soften his worry. “Judging by your expressions, I assume this news doesn’t surprise you.”
Alarik met his gaze evenly. “The palace servants have been talking. We overheard enough to piece things together.”
Kaelen’s gaze flicked toward him—brief, but telling. Then, squaring his shoulders, his brother stepped forward.
“We may have information that could explain the princess’s . . . disappearance.”
Eiric’s grip tightened on the back of his chair. “Go on.”
His brother said, his tone cautious, “We saw her last night. In thegardens with Lord Castiel. Their interaction suggested . . . a degree of intimacy.”
Tension slammed into the room. The king’s knuckles turned white against the chair’s frame. Queen Aurelina pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
“Oh no,” she moaned. “We feared this. Reiyana and Castiel . . . they share a history, but we thought she agreed to leave all that behind.”
Leif hissed out the tension, dragging a hand down his face. “That tryst . . .” He turned abruptly toward Thorir, frustration tightening his voice. “That must’ve been after your talk with her.”
Alarik’s brow lifted slightly.Talk?
Thorir’s jaw flexed, his expression darkening. “I spoke to her after Castiel’s dance,” he admitted grudgingly. “It ended with an argument.”
Kaelen stiffened beside him. “What argument?”