She hesitated, watching him carefully. “Have you ever been in love?”
The question settled between them. Kaelen held her gaze, something unreadable flickering beneath his usual ease before he exhaled softly and shook his head.
“Not in the way my parents were,” he admitted. “I’ve felt infatuation,admiration, but . . . looking back, those weren’t love.” A wry smile touched his lips. “Sometimes, it’s easy to mistake the need to be seen for love.”
She sat with the words in her mouth a moment before letting them out, soft but sure. “I used to think I loved Castiel.”
It felt strange saying it aloud—like tasting a truth she hadn’t fully swallowed until now.
He straightened, but he didn’t rush her. He waited, steady as ever.
She traced the rim of her cup. “I miss what we had,” she admitted. “The comfort of it. The safety.”
Her fingers slowed, voice softening. “I miss him as a friend.”
A quiet breath slipped past her lips. “Maybe I never really loved him at all.”
Beneath the words, she felt the faint pulse of shame—because perhaps Castiel had seen that truth long before she did.
Kaelen’s gaze softened, something warm flickering behind it. “Feelings aren’t simple. Sometimes we see what we need in someone, not who they really are. And maybe that was love, in its own way—the best we could manage, back then.”
He exhaled and gave a faint smile. “But it sounds like you’re closer to the truth now.”
“I suppose I am. But some things don’t change. Even when love is real, it rarely comes without a cost. It always comes second—to duty, to power, to something.”
His expression shifted, something thoughtful flickering beneath his usual ease. “Not always,” he murmured.
Reiya studied him, uneasiness curling in her chest. She’d expected an argument, a clever retort—but instead, he offered restraint, a quiet certainty that disturbed her more than if he’d fought her outright.
She leaned in slightly, aware—painfully so—that she was slipping back into old patterns. She could feel the guarded edges of the Omega who’d spent every day since her Awakening questioning every Alpha’s intention.
And yet, she couldn’t help it. “Are you saying you and Alarik are different?”
He watched her closely, as if already following the path of her thoughts. The steady certainty in his gaze made her pulse quicken.
She said, sharper than she meant to, “Throughout history, Alphas have made sure Omegas have no voice—why should I believe you’d be any different?”
He shook his head. “You really do love that argument.” His voice was even, but there was something knowing beneath it. “You said almost the same thing during our dance in Nymaris. Back then, I let you have it.”
He leaned forward, until their noses were only inches apart. “But tell me, Yara—do you still believe it?”
She opened her mouth, but hesitated.
Did she?
When they’d first danced, her world had been small—ruled by duty, expectation, and the certainty that all Alphas were the same. That belief had shaped every choice she’d made, every wall she’d built.
But now . . .
She wasn’t in Aethonia anymore. She wasn’t that same girl. And if she’d been so wrong about Castiel, wasn’t it possible she’d been wrong about Kaelen and Alariktoo?
The thought alarmed her, an itch at the edges of her certainty. It pricked at her, whispering doubts she didn’t quite know how to face.
Her body screamed at her to hold her ground, to barrel forward rather than risk falling apart. It was easier—safer—to cling to indignation than face the uncertainty twisting in her gut.
She lifted her chin. “You made a pact before you even knew me,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “You decided between yourselves to share an Omega without asking what she wanted. How is that any different from the rest of them?”
Kaelen’s lips parted, then pressed into a firm line. For a moment, he said nothing.