The words left her like an exhale—softer than a vow, but heavy with something unspoken. Alarik heard it, felt it. This wasn’t just an agreement. It was a step toward something fragile. Not trust yet, but perhaps the beginning of it.
She didn’t say it outright, but he saw it in the way her shoulders eased, in the way she no longer held herself as if bracing for another fight. She was letting them stand a little closer, piece by piece, without retreating. It wasn’t a full victory—just a shift, like the first hairline cracks in an icy lake, thin and spreading.
They walked in silence for a moment, the night pressing cool against their skin, the distant hum of the caravan fires soft behind them.
He said, “From Vey’tar Oasis, Asadia’s capital—Mezerin—is only a day’s ride. Our home, Turasid Palace, is within the city.”
Her steps slowed slightly, fingers brushing idly over the fabric of her sleeve. “Will your father welcome me? A foreign princess he never invited?”
Kaelen scoffed lightly, a grin flickering at the corner of his mouth. “He’ll welcome you with open arms.”
Alarik wasn’t so sure, but his brother’s confidence never wavered. It was the kind of certainty that came from knowing he’d make it happen, one way or another.
The princess’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Even though he didn’t want you at the tournament?”
His steps stilled—just briefly. She hadn’t forgotten. Even in Aethonia, before everything unravelled, she’d pieced together the truth. Their father had sent no champions to win her favour.
He met her gaze. “The promise of protection stands. He won’t rescind what we’ve already given. You have our word, and that’s enough.”
She studied him a moment longer. Then, with the barest exhale, she nodded.
“Thank you.” Her words were quiet, but he knew she meant them.
Kaelen grinned, nudging her shoulder lightly with his own. “Once he sees us standing together, he’ll understand.”
Alarik shared his brother’s confidence in their father’s honour. A promise given was as good as a promise kept. But while he knew Reiya would be safe within Turasid Palace, he was less certain of how their father would receive her—as their potential Omega bride, theTazahrinaof Asadia—when his expectations had been clear: secure alliances with Dravuniel or Aquris to bolster their trade and the stability of their borders.
Their father, King Azarion of House Asad, was a compassionate ruler, but also a deeply pragmatic one. There was a reason he waited to find an Omega to crown queen, despite the many Beta consorts who could’ve borne him Alpha heirs. Alarik’s own mother had done just that, gifting the kingdom with a son destined to lead.
Yet, giving birth to an Alpha prince hadn’t secured her throne beside the king.
Reiyana, being an Omega, had one undeniable advantage. Even so, he couldn’t be sure their father would deem any foreign Omega princess, rare as she was, worthy of his Sunborn son.
For now, though, he set those thoughts aside. They’d reach Asadia soon enough, and the future could hold its own worries.
Kaelen, as always, had little patience for dwelling on things beyond his control.
With an easy flick of his wrist, he pulled something from his pouch—a pale blue bloom, its petals stark against the dark. Alarik recognized it immediately upon sight.
Reiyana’s eyes glinted with amusement as she accepted the flower, twirling the stem between her fingers. “And where did this come from?”
“Same wildflower field as the bouquets,” Kaelen said, mouth tilting into a near-smirk. “But this one was off on its own. I thought it deserved better company.”
She turned the bloom over in her palm, feigning deep contemplation—though he caught the tease in her eyes. “Interesting. The Xian ladies received posies, yet all I get is a single flower?”
Her gaze flicked to Kaelen, brow lifting. “Tell me, am I meant to feel flattered or shortchanged?”
“Shortchanged?” Kaelen echoed, pressing a hand to his chest with mock outrage. “Yara, I’m wounded.”
“I think you’ll recover,” she said lightly.
Beside them, Alarik stifled a smirk.
His brother leaned in, voice dropping into something low and conspiratorial. “I admit, I might’ve had an ulterior motive.”
She tilted her head, intrigue dancing in her eyes. “I’m listening.”
“My decision to give you a single flower was because I was aiming to get a rise out of you.”