Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
REIYANA
R eiya’s gaze swept the ballroom, skimming past nobles draped in silks and jewels until it landed on three figures standing by the windows.
The Vaelmont brothers—Ambrose, Draven, and Lucen—stood together, unbothered by the crowd and conversation, as if the ballroom existed to frame their presence, not the other way around.
Betas, all of them, yet their poise and striking features set them apart—no finer specimens of men could be found in Aethonia.
And yet, Castiel, the fourth and youngest, was nowhere to be seen.
As she approached, their greeting had been polite but cool, laced with quiet disapproval. It was evident they saw her as the woman about to break their brother’s heart.
“My lords, have you seen Castiel?” she asked, keeping her tone firm against the weight of their scrutiny.
The brothers exchanged a glance, brief but loaded, as if debating how much to reveal. Ambrose—the future Duke of Caerelle—was the first to move, though his delay felt deliberate, a quiet test of her patience. He inclined his head toward the terrace doors.
“Castiel went out for some air.” His tone was neutral, as though commenting on nothing more than the weather .
Reiya’s gaze shifted to the doors, where moonlight filtered through the glass, streaking silver across the marble floor. Beyond them lay the formal garden, cool and quiet in the embrace of night.
“Thank you,” she murmured, already turning away.
She made it halfway there when Lucen, leaning lazily against the window frame, tilted his head. His grin was too sharp to be friendly.
“Let our angel down easy, won’t you, Princess? You know how fragile his heart is.”
Something in his tone prickled at her nape—mockery or warning, subtle enough to leave her guessing.
Draven, standing stiffly with arms crossed, spoke without looking at her. Among the four, he alone had dark hair instead of copper. His voice was low, edged with something unreadable, like disappointment wrapped in civility. “He doesn’t recover the way the rest of us do.”
Her steps stilled. She didn’t reply, didn’t turn back, only held her gaze on the terrace doors. She could see their reflections in the window—watching her, judging her. Whatever awaited her in the garden, the brothers wanted her to feel their scrutiny.
She stepped outside, the cool night air grazing her skin, a welcome contrast to the ballroom’s stifling warmth. Her lungs expanded gratefully, filling with the crisp scent of jasmine and damp earth, untainted by the cloying haze of Alpha pheromones.
Moonlight spilled across the stone steps, lanterns flickering patterns along the garden paths. Beyond the hedges—meticulously pruned into the shapes of conches and clamshells—the distant strains of music faded, leaving only rustling leaves and her own uneven breaths.
She crossed the garden swiftly to the rose-draped pavilion—their place of refuge, where stolen moments had unfolded time and time again.
There, she found him.
Shadowed and still, his copper hair caught the moonlight like burnished gold. Standing there, he seemed part of the night—silent, waiting—until a branch cracked beneath her step.
He turned, eyes widening as their gazes collided .
Her heart lurched. Tender aches bloomed in her chest—soft, fragile, but no less real.
What was this feeling, if not love?
“Castiel.” Reiya hurried up the pavilion steps. “Take me with you.”
He blinked, as if the words were foreign. “Pardon me?”
“When you leave tonight, take me with you,” she repeated, steadier now.
The words settled between them, weighted and irreversible, yet she felt no regret. Maybe it was foolish, reckless, but the thought of staying—of waking to a world where Castiel had gone without her—felt far heavier than the weight of running.
For a beat, he said nothing, his unblinking gaze locked on hers. His jaw eased, lips parting slightly.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, as though the question cost him. “You’d leave it all? Your family, your birthright?”
She stepped forward. “I’d leave it all, if it meant freedom with you.”
His throat worked. She saw the hesitation, the war between desire and duty in his eyes, the tick of his jaw.
“Do you understand what you’re asking? If you come with me, you’ll be mine—entirely.”
She reached for his hand. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Castiel cupped her face, his touch reverent yet trembling with urgency. Before she could think—before regret had a chance to surface—his lips claimed hers. His kiss crashed over her, raw and unrelenting, pulling her under like driftwood in a storm.
For a moment, she let it sweep her away. Doubt, expectation, duty—everything dissolved in the warmth of his arms, familiar and anchoring. She clung to him, as if their tangled breaths could shield her from everything beyond.
This . This was the answer she’d been chasing. In his embrace, freedom felt within reach.
But then, something flickered beneath the surface. A ripple of unease, a whisper of something fragile. She kissed him harder, willing herself to believe, but the discord only sharpened.
It wasn’t that Castiel’s kiss lacked passion—it brimmed with it, overflowing the way only desperate things did .
This didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like drowning.
When the kiss broke, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cool air. His fingers skimmed her jaw, searching her gaze for reassurance, for proof she was truly, finally his. The weight of her choice settled over her, but she held his gaze, unwilling to falter.
“You’ll regret this,” Castiel murmured, his voice low, almost tender: A warning and a promise. “I’ll ruin you.”
A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes—so fleeting she might’ve imagined it—but the truth lingered. He knew what this meant. There’d be no going back. The scandal would be endless. Her family would be furious, so would his.
Reiya gave a small, bittersweet smile. “My life’s already in pieces. At least now, I get to decide which ones to keep.”
He kissed her temple. “Watch the water clock closely. Meet me by the old carob tree three turns before sunrise. Bring only what you truly need. I’ll see to everything else on the ship and beyond.”
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, the world tilting slightly beneath her—but she nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be there.”
He kissed her again—brief and fierce. When he stepped back, the cold air rushed in, filling the space between them. He lingered for a beat, his gaze holding hers, then turned and vanished into the shadows.
Reiya remained in the pavilion, her pulse shaky, Castiel’s kiss still warm on her lips. Unease flickered through her, like a lighthouse cutting through fog. Was this freedom—or a mirage? Would it hold, or crumble like a sandcastle swept away by the tide?
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and looked to the direction of the ballroom.
What were her choices? The life waiting there felt like a borrowed costume, ill-fitted and foreign. But Castiel had always been hers, like the ship, the open horizon—reckless and uncertain, but hers to claim.
She turned back to the palace, the hush of the garden settling over her, calming the excitement thrumming in her veins.
Then she saw them .
The Asadian princes stood beneath the flickering lantern glow—Kaelendrin, all effortless confidence, one hand resting at his hip, a faint smile tugging at his mouth; Alarik, taller and quieter, watched her with a gaze too steady to ignore.
As if they’d been waiting.
As if they already knew she was there.
She skidded to a stop. In a heartbeat, both sets of eyes locked onto hers. The light cast their features into stark relief. Two halves of something whole, yet dangerous.
The contrast had always struck her. But now, standing in their presence, their unity unsettled her.
Two Alphas. One Omega.
The pact hovered in her mind, loud despite their silence. The bond she’d once admired now felt like something that could cage her as easily as protect her.
Reiya dipped into a curtsy, schooling her features into calm composure. “A beautiful night for a walk. Far better than the stifling heat of the ballroom.”
Kaelendrin’s smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and disarming. “We saw you step outside, Princess. I hope it’s not too presumptuous to be concerned. It’s not often that the star of the celebration escapes it for the garden’s solitude.”
Reiya hesitated, her fingers smoothing over her gown. “I needed air.”
Kaelendrin nodded. “Of course. Though you weren’t entirely alone, so perhaps our interference was unnecessary. Unwelcome, even.”
Her heart stumbled, grip tightening on her skirt. “Lord Castiel offered to accompany me for a moment, that’s all.”
Alarik tilted his head, studying her. His voice slipped into something quieter, almost careful. “He seemed . . . protective of you. An old acquaintance, perhaps?”
“We’ve known each other since childhood,” she replied. Her skin tingled beneath their combined gazes, but she suppressed the sensation.
Kaelendrin’s brow lifted, just slightly.
“Childhood friendships are precious things,” he said, the words easy enough—but something in the slow, deliberate way he spoke made her skin prickle.
It wasn’t just reflection. It felt like he was leading her somewhere, to a certain truth she wasn’t ready to face.
“They are,” she concurred. “Like anchors, they keep us grounded, reminding us where we came from.”
“Useful things, anchors,” Kaelendrin mused. “As a princess from a maritime kingdom, you’d know best.”
“They keep ships safe when the ocean is turbulent.”
He was silent for a moment. Then, his smile turned into a grin. “You know what else they do? Weigh ships down when they’re meant to sail away.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, fingers curling into fists at her sides. She wouldn’t be coy and pretend she didn’t understand his meaning.
“Yet sometimes,” she countered, voice cooling, “an anchor is the only thing keeping them from being swept away.”