“Come with me,” he murmured.
His voice stayed urgent, but his posture was easy—two acquaintancespausing at a market stall, nothing more. Before she could answer, his arm slid around her waist, pulling her close. The contact jolted through her—warmth, strength, the steady thrum of his heartbeat where her side brushed his chest.
To anyone watching, they must’ve looked like lovers stealing a quiet moment from the crowd.
But beneath the casual hold, she felt it—the tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his spine, the careful control in the way his fingers pressed, firm but never bruising.
The pretence was for the world.
The truth lived in the tautness of his body against hers.
He’d seen the bounty. And now, they must disappear.
Kaelen led her away from the market’s busiest streets. The further they walked, the quieter the streets became. The hum of merchants softened, the weight of lingering eyes fading. They passed a vendor stacking crates of dried figs, a carpet stall where men haggled over rolls of woollen rugs.
Still, the knot in her stomach didn’t ease.
When they were far enough from the bounty board, Kaelen slowed beside her. He bent his head close to her ear and whispered, humour threading through his tone, “Before you accuse me of lurking in the market just to spy on you, I had a reason for being there.”
She turned her head slightly, still watching the path ahead. “Oh?”
He rubbed a finger over his palm, where a faint smear of ink marred his skin. “I sent a Sparo to my father. One last night, one today, and I’ll send another tomorrow—just to be safe.”
Reiya’s steps faltered. “You . . .” She swallowed. “You already sent it?”
Kaelen nodded. “I promised I would.” His golden gaze flicked to her. “My father will forward the message to Aethonia so they’ll know you’re safe. That we found you.”
Something in her chest tightened, then loosened.
“What about Jodhar? And Alarik?”
His jaw tightened. His tone was even, but the displeasure remained. “Jodhar loitered at the caravanserai for a while. We kept watch until Tasim sent him to a neighbouring outpost. Then Xian Junneeded help with a broken wagon wheel, so Alarik stayed behind, and I went to the Wingmaster’s stall.”
They passed a florist’s kiosk, the air thick with the scent of freshly clipped jasmine and desert lilies. Just ahead, a modest wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, marking a tucked-away teahouse nestled between two small shops. It was quiet, unassuming—the kind of place no one would think to look for an Omega princess in hiding.
Kaelen nudged the door open, guiding her inside.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The hum of the market softened into the low murmur of conversation, the occasional clink of ceramic cups against wooden tables. A spiced, smoky warmth lingered in the air, laced with the sharper bite of fermented fruit.
Reiya exhaled slowly. It was a perfect hideout. Dim, but not dark. Alive, but not rowdy.
The door swung shut behind them, sealing them away from the hum outside.
Kaelen led her toward a sunlit table by the window facing a quiet alley in the back, where morning light spilled in golden slants over the wood. He took the seat with the unobstructed view of the door—undoubtedly to watch for trouble.
Reiya sank into her chair without thinking, hands settling in her lap. It wasn’t until she glanced up—at the lantern glow, the worn furniture, the people lingering with ease—that it struck her.
She’d never sat in a public teahouse before. Not in Nymaris. Not anywhere. The realization hit with a quiet jolt—part discomfort, part wonder.
Kaelen noticed. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”
She hesitated. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Sat in a teahouse?”
She nodded.
He leaned back, studying her. “Makes sense. Princesses aren’t known to be relaxing in public.”