Reiya nodded. The guise wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
When the others left, silence wrapped around her. She lingered before the mirror, searching the reflection that stared back. Would her family recognize her? Would Castiel?
Would the Asadian princes?
Reiya rubbed her face, as if she could scrub the thought away.
Had they already left Aethonia? Surely, they must have. Once they realized she’d disappeared, what reason did they have to linger? Omega princesses were rare, but not rare enough to chase one who spurned them.
That would be madness.
A quiet ache settled in her chest. Would their paths cross again, or had this been nothing more than a fleeting moment, destined to fade like footprints in the sand?
Her fingers brushed the blade in her pocket, a whispered prayer to Luneth forming on her tongue.
She stopped herself.
Kaelendrin and Alarik had made their intentions clear. They’d asked for time, offered to speak to her father, given her every chance to reconsider—and still, she had walked away.
Whatever had passed between them that night, whatever strange, unspoken thing stirred beneath the glittering chandeliers and in the dark, was no longer hers to hold.
Had she hurt them?
She didn’t have the right to assume she’d wounded their hearts—but their pride? That, at least, seemed inevitable. Alphas weren’t accustomed to rejection, let alone one delivered so swiftly, so definitively.
She pushed the thought aside, but the ache remained, like a stain she couldn’t shift.
Would she have stayed if she’d known how this would end?
Pulling her shoulders back, Reiya turned from the mirror—tucking the moment away where it couldn’t follow.
She stepped out of the wagon, the breeze stirring her dark hair. Twirling a lock around her finger, she watched the morning sun catch on the glossy raven waves.
The camp buzzed with movements around her, merchants shouting orders as they prepared to leave. Xian Jun’s gaze swept over the crowd, passing over her at first—then paused, his eyes narrowing as recognition slowly dawned.
Su Lian’s voice cut through the bustle, “Jun! The rope’s torn again!”
He blinked and turned sharply. “Coming!”
Reiya followed him toward the wagon, where a bundle of supplies was precariously lashed together, the end of the rope frayed, seemingly beyond repair.
“Damn thing won’t hold,” Xian Jun muttered, crouching to inspect the unravelling braid. He yanked on the rope, frustration evident in his taut movements. “It’ll come loose before we even leave camp.”
Reiya knelt beside him, brushing her hair back from her face. “Let me.”
He hesitated before stepping aside.
Reiya steadied the frayed rope as Xian Jun tugged it taut. Her hands moved instinctively, the familiar rhythm of twisting and looping settling into muscle memory. She could almost smell the scents of silversage and salt, vivid as the past came rushing back.
Leif’s voice echoed softly in her mind:‘You may never hold a sword or go into battle, but I’ll make sure you can braid a solid rope and tie a proper Tidebinder’s knot.’
Her chest ached at the memory of that rainy afternoon when he’d made her stay on the boat deck until her fingers were numb from the cold, stubbornly working through the soaked ropes.
‘Why bother?’she’d grumbled.‘I’ll never sail anywhere. I’ll never leaveAethonia.’
His grin had flashed through the mist.‘You never know, Rei. A Tidebinder’s knot isn’t just for sailors—it holds things together when they’re meant to last. Maybe you’ll need it one day.’
There were stories tied to the Tidebinder’s knot, as deeply rooted as the sea itself. It was said to be more than a mere knot—it was a charm, binding fates and promises as securely as ropes to a ship’s mast. Aethonian sailors believed tying it before setting sail would bring them home safely, and newlyweds braided it to symbolize their union.