Chapter 3 #2
Murro’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he let the diversion stand. “Urgent matters often accompany those of high status, Your Highness. It is simply the nature of leadership.”
Reiya dipped her head in polite acknowledgment, though a flicker of annoyance stirred beneath her ribs. His words, for all their careful deference, carried the faintest whiff of condescension—a reminder she wasn’t counted among those who made decisions, only those who obeyed them.
No matter how many council meetings she’d attended, no matter how many ideas she’d offered—suggestions on rain catchments for the dry season, seawater distillation methods for the outer provinces—her voice had never been more than a background noise.
A courtesy. A reminder that an Omega princess was expected to adorn, not lead.
The tournament continued. Another hush rolled through the arena, drawing her gaze toward the two new figures stepping into the grounds.
The first caught her attention immediately.
Golden-haired and athletic, sunlight traced the unruly waves of his short hair.
The strands were just shy of reaching his collar, lending him careless charm.
He moved with the easy grace of someone accustomed to being watched, his steps fluid, as effortless as a blade slipping from its sheath.
His eyes flicked over the crowd—sharp, searching, like the tip of a rapier poised to strike.
At his side, the second Alpha loomed—taller, broader, his presence quieter yet no less commanding.
His bountiful raven hair was partially gathered into a precise top knot, while the rest cascaded to his shoulders and framed his sharp, angular features.
His eyes cut through the crowd with the weight of a broadsword held securely in practiced hands.
If the first Alpha was built to pierce, the second was meant to cleave. Where the first was golden and bright, the second was shadow and steel.
Yet, there was no mistaking the bond between them—two weapons forged from the same metal, tempered by the same fire, each honed for battle in its own way.
Beside her, Leif—the brother closest to her in age—looked up for the first time from the colourful rope he’d been weaving. His fingers stilled mid-knot. A sailor at heart, his hands were rarely idle, always braiding or tying something.
But for once, the rhythm faltered.
“Well, well,” he muttered, smile deepening. “The desert princes actually showed up.”
She leaned closer to him. “Who?”
Her eldest brother, Thorir, seated on her other side, turned slightly. “Kaelendrin, the golden-haired one, is Asadia’s heir apparent,” he said, just as the master of ceremonies announced the names. “And that’s his half-brother, Prince Alarik.”
“Half-brother,” Reiya repeated, the word settling into place. “But . . . Kaelendrin is the crown prince? His brother looks older.”
Thorir nodded. “In Asadia, bloodline matters more than age. Kaelendrin is the queen’s son, so the throne belongs to him.”
Her attention drifted back to Prince Alarik, his quiet presence a perfect foil to his brother’s golden charms.
A concubine’s son, then?
Leif, always quick with a sly remark, chuckled. “Didn’t think they’d come, considering their father declined our invitation.”
“Declined?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Aethonia must be too small and too far to matter much to them.”
Asadia had always felt like a distant dream to her—mysterious and untouched.
She recalled the stories of their legendary horses, sleek and swift as desert winds, and the goods trickling into Nymaris’s markets: the highly coveted iridescent silk, fragrant oils, spices, and all kinds of citrus.
It was a place she’d only imagined through books and tales—a distant land of fragrant groves and endless golden sands .
Yet now, two of its princes stood here, real as the blazing sun, their presence turning stories into reality.
“Why would they come,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone, “if their king saw no value in Aethonia?”
Leif leaned closer, mischief sparking in his blue eyes. “Maybe they’ve realized it’s harder than expected to find an Omega willing to agree to the pact.”
She frowned. “What pact?”
Thorir cut in before Leif could answer. “No need to trouble Rei with those stories.”
Leif rolled his eyes but held his tongue, though the glint in his gaze lingered.
She pressed again, voice firm. “What pact?”
Thorir only shook his head.
Heat prickled her scalp, her gown suddenly stifling as she clenched her fists.
The truth was always just out of reach, dangled over her, yet never dropped.
Her brothers always did this—especially Thorir, the only Alpha in the family, deciding what she needed to know as if she were too fragile for the truth.
Torsten, her second eldest brother, leaned in, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Rei, don’t look so sour. I’ll tell you something that might make things more . . . interesting.”
Her gaze snapped to him. “What do you mean?”
His eyes flicked to the arena before returning to hers, his voice dropping to a hush, clearly savouring her anticipation. “Let’s just say there’s more to Prince Kaelendrin than meets the eye. Something rare. Something that would make anyone take notice.”
Reiya stilled. “And what’s that?”
Before Torsten could respond, Thorir cut in again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Enough. Rei doesn’t need voices in her ear.”
His blue eyes met hers. “The choice of a husband will be yours alone—no outside influence.”
Torsten leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk. “Sure, sure. Just remember—you heard it from me first.”
She glanced between her three brothers, perturbed by the mystery in Torsten’s words .
Thorir gave her a decisive nod. “When the time comes, you’ll know what’s right.”
Reiya bit the inside of her cheek. Would she?
Despite her frustration, she leaned forward, drawn to the Asadian princes’ every move.
Her heart skipped a beat as Prince Kaelendrin lifted his head.
Their eyes met, and for the first time, she saw his eyes were golden, as bright as the sun.
Amusement flickered over his lips—subtle, knowing, as though he’d glimpsed something in her she hadn’t yet discovered.
A jolt shot through her chest, heat rising to her cheeks before she forced herself to turn away. But the sensation lingered, quickening her pulse.
Kaelendrin stepped to the archery line, the palace’s white spires gleaming behind him. With effortless grace, he drew his bow, muscles coiling with precision. The crowd hushed. He loosed, the arrow arced, striking the bullseye with a crisp thud.
Applause thundered across the stands, and he waved with a smile before notching another arrow and firing again. A second perfect shot. Murmurs of admiration buzzed like a swarm of dragonflies.
Then, Prince Alarik stepped forward—an imposing contrast to his brother’s agility. Where Kaelendrin moved like flowing water, he stood solid as a rock.
He planted his feet, flexed his arms, and drew.
His arrow buried itself just beside Kaelendrin’s. Another followed, so close that the fletching nearly brushed.
Unruffled, the golden prince upped the challenge, aiming for a distant, nearly impossible target. His arrow struck true, the crowd gasping. Alarik followed, his shot landing deeper into the wood.
The stands erupted into cheers.
Reiya exhaled, captivated despite herself. They were unlike any Alphas she’d ever seen—opposites yet synchronized, each a master in his own right. While Kaelendrin’s charm and charisma pulled the crowd in, Alarik’s quiet power was no less of a force, impossible to overlook.
The brothers dominated each event with an effortless rhythm.
In swordsmanship, Kaelendrin’s quick, darting strikes matched Alarik’s crushing blows to dismantle even the most skilled opponents.
During the joust, Kaelendrin unseated riders with surgical precision, while Alarik’s sheer force made his charges feel like thunderclaps.
She noted the ease between them—neither rivalry nor pretence, but unwavering trust. A silent language spoken between brothers of different mothers.
The tournament concluded with the inevitable announcement: Prince Kaelendrin and Alarik had tied for first place. Lord Callahan sulked at his defeat, and murmurs speculated whether Alexander Wulfbane might’ve posed a true challenge had he stayed.
Her father declared the brothers joint victors, sparing them the morbid spectacle of fighting each other in an event meant to be celebratory.
Applause swelled, a bright clamour around her.
As she left the dais, she glimpsed Leif’s grin, then Torsten’s answering glance, quick as a knife.
She didn’t know why it lodged under her skin, only that it did.
The victory garlands would be presented at the Temple of Luneth, where the sea kissed the rocky cliffs and waves echoed softly beneath the open archways.
Perched at the edge of Nymaris, the temple’s marble pillars framed the endless horizon, their surfaces polished smooth by centuries of salt and wind.
Fragrant fresh blooms mingled with the tang of the sea breeze, and murmured prayers drifted through the gathered crowd.
Reiya took a swift look around, searching for Castiel’s familiar face, but he wasn’t among the gathering crowd here, either.
The goddess’s name, invoked in ceremonies like this, carried weight. Luneth was the cherished patron of Omegas—her blessings shaped destinies. Those lucky enough to receive her favours wove bonds as enduring as the tides.
And today, under her watchful stone likeness, two victors awaited their garlands.
Reiya stepped forward, the circles of flowers in her hands. She focused on her breathing, ignoring her parents’ stares pressing down on her shoulders, or the way her brothers hovered just out of sight.
Kaelendrin met her gaze first. Those golden eyes, sharp as sunlight on glass, held hers with unnerving clarity. Unlike Lord Callahan’s lecherous glances, his felt deliberate—focused, though not invasive. Yet the faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips left her unsettled.
Reiya stepped closer and raised the necklace of flowers. Warmth bloomed across her cheeks as her fingers skimmed his hair, the strands finer, softer than she expected. She laid the garland on his shoulders—but before she could retreat, he turned his head.
His lips brushed the inside of her wrist—no more than a graze, light as a whisper.
It wasn’t the searing intensity of an Alpha’s claim, nor the practiced charm of a courtier.
It was unlike anything she’d felt from a man.
Her fingers trembled before she could still them, and a sharp flutter, swift and disorienting, rose in her chest.
She withdrew her hands, careful to mask the faint tremor in her fingers. His golden eyes followed every motion, but he no longer smiled.
Their titles were a mouthful, but she let the syllables roll off her tongue.
“Well fought, Ethereal Sovereign, Tazahrin Kaelendrin Asad,” she managed in Isseric, the common language of the nine kingdoms.
His reply was a rich baritone, smooth and effortless. “Thank you, Princess Rei.”
The casual shortening of her name sent a ripple of murmurs through the gathered courtiers. Only her brothers had ever called her thus.
She felt the weight of her brothers’ disapproval, especially Thorir’s. Their stares bore into her back, but the prince’s gaze never wavered. If anything, it seemed to say he wasn’t done with her—not yet.
Forcing herself to turn away, she faced Prince Alarik.
His quiet presence seemed like solace from his brother’s burning brightness, but she shouldn’t be fooled.
Where Kaelendrin’s charm felt like a spark, Alarik’s was a slow-burning ember—unwavering, grounded, harder to discern.
She finally noticed that, despite their differing complexions and hair, his eyes were the same shade of gold as his brother’s.
They met hers without pretence. Calm and measured, but as impenetrable as a fortress.
She placed the garland over his shoulders, more carefully than the first time. With Alarik, there was no jolt, no searing intensity—just a flicker of something she couldn’t name. His lips curved slightly, a whisper of amusement that barely touched his face, yet lingered in his eyes.
“Well done, Ethereal Sovereign, Tazahriv Alarik Asad,” she said, her voice quieter.
He inclined his head, his silence somehow more eloquent than words.
If Kaelendrin was a challenge, Alarik was a mystery—and that, too, unnerved her.
She turned away, her heart heavier than before, though she wasn’t sure why. The garlands had been given, the ceremony complete, yet she couldn’t shake off their presence.
Was it merely an Alpha’s influence, or a real attraction?
As she strode away from the crowd, the sea wind tugged at her skirts. Each step felt harder to take than the last, like wading against a current. She thought of the ocean—serene on the surface but powerful beneath, able to drag even the strongest swimmer under.
Her dilemma felt the same: fighting the waves was futile, dangerous even—yet surrendering promised no better fate. Only a slow sinking, a quiet loss of self.
Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her skirts as she slowed and leaned against a marble pillar. The cool stone pressed against her spine, anchoring her body even as her mind filled with images of drowning.
This tournament, these princes, even the goddess’s so-called blessings—it all felt like a tide pulling her farther and farther from the safety of the shore.
And for all her floundering, she couldn’t tell whether she was swimming toward something—or simply being carried away.