Alarik frowned. “The door was left open?”
Kaelendrin tilted his head, suspicion flickering across his face. “After everything he did to put you on that ship—why?”
Reiya hesitated, unease creeping in. “I thought it was luck. Or a careless crew member. Or that he simply . . . underestimated me.” She swallowed. “Now I’m not so sure.”
Kaelen’s voice was quiet, edged with suspicion. “You were bound. Drugged. Yet the door was open.” His eyes met hers. “That doesn’t sit right.”
Alarik looked thoughtful. “What if he let you go?”
“Why would he do that?”
His gaze hardened. “Maybe he needed you to escape. Maybe getting you on the ship was never the end goal—just another step toward something else.”
Her hands tightened around the edges of her shawl, her mind spinning. She waded through fragments of that night, each memory sharper, harder to face.
Why did he let her escape?
No matter how she turned the pieces, they refused to fit, slipping further from her grasp the more she tried to force them together.
Kaelendrin reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out a small glass vial. Inside, a fine purple powder shimmered, moonlight glancing off it in slow, dreamlike ripples, luring the eye without mercy.
“Do you recognize this?” His voice was steady, but tension ran beneath it. He rolled the vial between his fingers before holding it out to her. “Did Castiel ever give you something that looked like this?”
She frowned, her gaze narrowing. The colour was striking—deep violet—but completely unfamiliar.
“I’ve never seen it before,” she admitted. “What is it?”
“Crushed purple limyerite,” Alarik answered. “It’s rare, and its sale is highly regulated. The only known deposits in the nine kingdoms are in Tremore—specifically, Blackwood-Verde.”
Kaelendrin continued, his expression darkening. “It’s used medicinally in small doses. Some religious sects use it for visions, claiming it allows them to commune with the gods.” His fingers tapped against the glass. “But in higher doses? It subdues. Omegas are particularly susceptible to it, and traffickers use it to keep captives compliant, just sluggish enough to obey.”
Reiya’s stomach twisted.
“I don’t . . .” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. “The second drug Castiel used was a clear liquid—I saw it. But the first time? The wine?” Her brows knit together. “It tasted cloyingly sweet, and after a few sips, the world blurred at the edges. My limbs felt heavy, like I was sinking into myself.”
The princes exchanged a look.
“If it was mixed well enough,” Alarik said, voice low, “you wouldn’t have seen it.”
A chill slid through her.
Kaelendrin turned the vial between his fingers, his expression unreadable. “The real question ishowCastiel obtained it.”
She stared at him. “You said it comes from Blackwood-Verde. That’s Alexander Wulfbane’s fief, isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened. “It is. I’ll . . . send word to Alexander and inquire.”
Alarik’s tone remained careful but pointed. “Do you trust his honesty? His family’s scandal alone is enough to warrant suspicion.”
His brother hesitated.
“And he left the tournament halfway through,” she reminded. “Didn’t even finish the archery event.”
Kaelendrin pressed his lips together, tension working at his jaw.
“We’ll keep this to ourselves for now,” he murmured, slipping the vial back into his pouch. “Until we know who to trust.”
She barely heard him past the pounding in her ears.