—or that he might beright.
“How can you be certain she didn’t choose this?” Alarik asked, forcing himself to meet his brother’s gaze.
Kaelen’s lips curved into a faint, defiant smile. “I’mnotsure. But the best things in life are never won by playing it safe.”
Alarik shook his head with the barest hint of a smile. Of course, Kaelen would say something like that. Reckless. Idealistic. Infuriatingly steadfast in his convictions.
Yet, wasn’t that the very quality that had carried him through every storm, every impossible challenge?
And wasn’t it why following him was so damn inevitable?
Alarik scoffed, levelling his brother with a dry look. “Another one of your leaps of faith, is it?”
Kaelen shrugged, his grin unfazed. “No great journey was ever made without one.”
“You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yet, you’re still with me.”
A muttered curse slipped from Alarik’s lips, but he was already turning toward the palace, already resigning himself to the path ahead.
“Head to the wharf and start asking around,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll gather our things and meet you there.”
He returned to their room and packed their belongings with the efficiency born from years of trailing in his brother’s wake. Experience had taught him Kaelen’s impulsiveness wasn’t a fleeting thing—it was a force, relentless once set in motion. Chasing after him empty-handed was never an option.
Someone had to think ahead, and that someone was usually Alarik.
When he arrived at the harbour with their bags, he found Kaelen already talking to a couple of dockworkers, leaning in casually, flashing a grin that made their suspicion flicker and die.
“We’re looking for an old friend,” Kaelen said, deftly slipping a coin between two fingers. “Maybe you’ve seen him?”
The coins loosened tongues until the truth spilled—a man fitting Castiel’s description, accompanied by a smaller figure draped in a heavy cloak, had boarded a ship bound for Bashkor under the cover of darkness.
Alarik’s stomach twisted. The city’s name sank like a stone in his gut. Bashkor—a place of stark duality.
He’d expected Castiel to take Reiya somewhere remote, one of the quieter nations on the outer edges of the nine kingdoms, perhaps. The very fact Castiel had chosen Bashkor as his destination sent a ripple of unease. Why there? Castiel didn’t fit the mould of the men who prowled those alleys, yet the choice still painted an unsettling picture.
Alarik swiped a hand over his jaw, the weight of doubt pressing heavier by the moment. Maybe it was a stopover? A place to rest before they boarded another ship heading elsewhere?
But . . . what if Bashkorwasthe end of the line?
The thought lodged in his chest like a shard of glass.
He shook it off and scanned the piers, his gaze landing on a merchant ship preparing to depart for Bashkor within the hour. It was their only lead, and time was quickly slipping away.
Gathering the horses and pulling a scrap of parchment from hispack, Alarik scrawled a brief message to the palace. A promise they’d find the princess and send word the moment they had news.
The courier was young but sharp-eyed, and Alarik pressed a handful of coins into his palm. “Get the horses and this message to the palace. Quickly.”
Kaelen stood nearby, silent for once, the tension in his frame impossible to miss. When Alarik joined him, he turned, his usual grin absent—an unsettling reminder that even he had limits to his bravado.
“I know this isn’t what you want,” his brother said quietly. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Someone has to keep you alive.”
A flicker of a smile tugged at Kaelen’s lips. “And you’re the best at it.”
Lips twitching, Alarik brushed past him toward the gangplank. “Just get on the ship before I change my mind.”