Her lips parted slightly—whether from amusement or something sharper, Alarik couldn’t quite tell.
“Ah, I see. Like when you kissed my wrist at the garland presentation? Or when you started calling me ‘Rei’ without permission?”
Kaelen’s grin deepened. “You make it sound like I’m always so calculating.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Only when it concerns a certain princess who claims indifference . . . but never manages to resist scolding whenever someone dares to break the rules.”
“That takes either boldness or foolishness. Which one are you, Prince Kaelendrin?”
Kaelen’s grin widened, slow and easy, though his eyes glinted with something more earnest. “Depends on the outcome, doesn’t it?” Then, softer: “And call me Kaelen. I think it’s time, don’t you?”
She opened her mouth to reply—but then, instead, she smiled, genuine and warm. “And you both can call me Reiya, when we’re alone.”
She cast Kaelen a mock-stern look. “Not ‘Rei,’ mind you. Reiya.”
Alarik watched the exchange, something pulling tight in his chest.
It was less pain than an old ache surfacing, familiar and deep, like a scar stretched too far.
Kaelen had always made it look effortless—the way he stepped into moments like they belonged to him, filling silences without forcing them. A conversation with him was a game, a current others couldn’t help but follow.
Alarik had never been that way.
He didn’t resent it, not truly. Admiration and distance often felt like the same thing. Kaelen’s ease made space for others, let them shine, let them be seen. But for him, that space had always felt unreachable—like something he could observe but never step into.
Even now, Reiya fit into it so naturally, teasing, testing, engaging without effort. So, he let Kaelen hold it.
Because what else was he supposed to do? Force his way in? Speak just to make noise? That wasn’t who he was.
But then—Reiya’s gaze flicked to him. And instead of passing over, it lingered, as though she was seeking him,invitinghim to join in.
Not as Kaelen’s quieter shadow. Not as the silent prince standing just beyond reach. But as himself.
He wasn’t sure what to do with it.
And maybe that was why, before he could think better of it—he spoke.
“The others might’ve received bouquets, but you got the only desert stargazer in the field.”
Her fingers stopped twirling the stem, curiosity flickering across her face.
“A stargazer,” she echoed. “I think I’ve seen an illustration in a book before. They’re supposed to bring luck and protection, right?”
Kaelen nodded. “Something like that.” His brother shot him a look. “You’re the one who actually remembers these things.”
Alarik huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because you’ve never bothered to get it right.”
Turning back to Reiya, he explained, “It’s said to bring luck and protection, yes, but the meaning runs deeper—true north and everlasting love. A guide for the lost and a symbol of loyalty for those who hold it close.”
Her gaze softened. “True north and everlasting love,” she murmured, almost to herself. “A heavy weight for one small flower.”
Alarik’s mouth quirked. “Which is probably why Kaelen never remembers it. The meaning’s too sentimental for him.”
Kaelen let out an easy laugh, nudging him with an elbow. “Sentimental? I’d say I’m sparing myself from having to wax poetic over a plant.”
She chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “That sounds like a convenient excuse.” She twirled the flower once more before adding, “But I think I’ll remember it better now—thanks to Alarik.”