Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
ALARIK
A t any palace, the first hint of trouble usually came with the uneasy shift in the servants’ demeanour. Alarik was accustomed to quiet mornings, but this one carried a strange tension, like the pause before a blade dropped.
This morning, the Aethonian palace buzzed with it, heavy enough to spoil his first sip of tea.
He left the door to their room ajar, keeping eyes and ears open. A hushed conversation between two passing stewards caught his attention, their voices clipped and furtive.
Missing . . . The princess . . . gone from her chambers . . . just like that.
The whispered fragments pricked at his senses. All those years ago, he’d learned of his mother’s death the same way—hushed whispers and hurried steps hinting at a loss beyond his understanding. That same quiet dread now coiled in his chest, an old wound reopening.
Kaelen appeared at his side, the scent of herbs and cedar from his morning ablution still clinging to him. “What happened?”
Alarik shut the door quietly. “The princess is missing.”
Kaelen’s expression shifted from surprise to concern, and finally suspicion.
“Missing, or did she run away? ”
His voice was even, but sharpness lurked beneath it—the edge of a realization forming too quickly for comfort.
Alarik didn’t need to ask. Kaelen’s mind was already retracing last night’s steps, the memory still fresh and unavoidable.
The kiss they witnessed between the princess and Lord Castiel Vaelmont wasn’t the kind shared in haste or by accident. It was deliberate, lingering. The kind of kiss lovers indulged in when they were alone.
“Is she with him ?” The ferocity in his brother’s frown unmistakable.
Alarik crossed his arms. “I don’t know.”
Kaelen’s hands curled into fists. Alarik knew his brother’s mind was already halfway to wherever Reiyana and Castiel might be. He thrived in moments like this, where instinct and action reigned over deliberation.
But for Alarik, hesitation pooled beneath the surface. The pieces didn’t fit, and the questions weighed heavier than the need to chase.
A sharp knock echoed from the door. Kaelen answered without pause.
A servant stood on the other side, bowing low. “Their Majesties request your presence, Your Highness.”
Alarik’s jaw tightened. Today was supposed to be the day Princess Reiyana named her husband. Instead, she’d vanished—and the court would demand explanation.
Winning the tournament might’ve earned them a foothold in the royal family’s confidence, but the way they’d been summoned so early made one thing clear: they weren’t bystanders in this. Not anymore.
The servant led them through the twisting halls to the family’s solar—a surprising choice, considering their brief acquaintance with the Aethonian royals. Either the crisis was worse than it seemed, or their victory had bought them access to rooms normally kept from outsiders.
Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, colouring the floor in restless hues.
The panels crowed of Aethonia’s maritime triumphs, all golden sails and victorious battles.
Plush furniture and thick rugs softened the room, but the heavy scent of lavender sat on the air like a hand at his throat .
It was meant to soothe, but it only deepened the crackling tension beneath the surface.
He stood behind Kaelen, his gaze sweeping the room with the same caution he reserved for battle.
The royal family was already gathered, tension pooling like the stillness before a storm.
The firstborn Prince Thorir sat stiff, fingers drumming against his chair’s armrest, while Prince Leif paced near the window, fists flexing behind his back.
By the hearth, Queen Aurelina’s hands lay folded on her lap, her knuckles white.
At the centre stood the Beta King Eiric—a rarity among the nine kingdoms. Without Thorir, Aethonia’s sole Alpha heir, the kingdom’s position would be far more precarious.
Alarik stifled a sigh. Succession was simple: Sunborns first, Alphas second. Betas? They were the spine of society, steady yet constrained, their ambitions bound by what they were—and what they could never be. Only in the absence of an Alpha heir would a Beta wear the crown.
Currently, only Aethonia and X?en-Sarai had Beta monarchs, two exceptions in a world where Alpha blood dictated sovereignty.
Eiric’s weary voice cut through the stillness. “As the victors of yesterday’s tournament—and contenders for Reiyana’s hand—you should know she has gone . . . missing.”
Kaelen inclined his head, slipping into the ease of someone accustomed to delicate matters. “We understand how unsettling this must be, Your Majesty.”
A flicker of appreciation crossed Eiric’s features, but it did nothing to soften his worry. “Judging by your expressions, I assume this news doesn’t surprise you.”
Alarik met his gaze evenly. “The palace servants have been talking. We overheard enough to piece things together.”
Kaelen’s gaze flicked toward him—brief, but telling. Then, squaring his shoulders, his brother stepped forward.
“We may have information that could explain the princess’s . . . disappearance.”
Eiric’s grip tightened on the back of his chair. “Go on.”
His brother said, his tone cautious, “We saw her last night. In the gardens with Lord Castiel. Their interaction suggested . . . a degree of intimacy.”
Tension slammed into the room. The king’s knuckles turned white against the chair’s frame. Queen Aurelina pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
“Oh no,” she moaned. “We feared this. Reiyana and Castiel . . . they share a history, but we thought she agreed to leave all that behind.”
Leif hissed out the tension, dragging a hand down his face. “That tryst . . .” He turned abruptly toward Thorir, frustration tightening his voice. “That must’ve been after your talk with her.”
Alarik’s brow lifted slightly. Talk?
Thorir’s jaw flexed, his expression darkening. “I spoke to her after Castiel’s dance,” he admitted grudgingly. “It ended with an argument.”
Kaelen stiffened beside him. “What argument?”
“She learned about your . . . arrangement.”
Kaelen’s fists clenched. “Let me guess.” His voice had turned to ice, his golden eyes burning. “Castiel told her?”
Thorir gave a curt nod, guilt flickering across his face. “I blame myself,” he muttered. “She was unhappy. I failed to reassure her.”
No further explanation was needed. The pact between him and Kaelen—two brothers, one Omega—wasn’t something most beyond Asadia could fathom. To a princess raised in a kingdom of rigid decorum, it must’ve seemed foreign, even abhorrent. Wrong.
They’d thought there was more time—to ease her into understanding, to show her she wouldn’t be forced, that acceptance would be on her terms.
But Castiel had been waiting, knowing precisely what doubts to feed.
Queen Aurelina’s voice shook. “Reiyana knows her duty. We’ve spoken of it at length. She wouldn’t abandon us. Not without a word, not without a second thought.” She looked around. “Perhaps he abducted her.”
Alarik’s frustration simmered like a fire banked beneath his ribs. “She left no note?”
The queen twisted her fingers in her lap. “No note,” she admitted. “And Fia—her maid—noticed some of her belongings were missing. ”
The pieces locked into place. A princess cornered by duty, burdened by a role she hadn’t chosen. An argument with her brother followed, leaving her shaken. And Castiel—her childhood confidant—waited at the edges, ready to play saviour.
The man wouldn’t need force to make her leave. Just the right words at the right moment.
Thorir’s jaw clenched. “We’ve sent men to search for Castiel,” he informed. “He’s nowhere to be found. Torsten is on his way to Vaelmont’s estate to question the rest of his family.”
“Do you think the family is involved?” Kaelen asked. “A marriage between Castiel and Reiya would elevate the Vaelmonts. Strengthen their political reach.”
Thorir shook his head. The way he folded his arms across his chest betrayed his annoyance.
“The Vaelmonts are among the founders of the nine kingdoms. They are wealthy, and don’t need manipulation to secure power.
The eldest son, Ambrose, is also a close friend of mine.
The family’s loyalty to the Crown has never wavered. ”
Alarik bit down on the urge to challenge the crown prince’s confidence. If Thorir wanted to believe the family was beyond suspicion, that was his prerogative. But loyalty meant little in the face of ambition.
Still, Thorir’s personal endorsement carried weight—enough that challenging it would serve no purpose now.
It didn’t mean Castiel himself deserved the same benefit of the doubt.
“We’ve checked the port as well,” Leif added, leaning forward with a grim expression.
“We found some suspicious gaps in security. A few dockworkers mentioned the harbourmaster and guards were unusually absent—off celebrating late into the night. The troubling part? The refreshments they claimed to have received didn’t come from the palace. ”
Alarik felt something inside him shrivel, tighten—die.
The late-night garden encounter. The stolen kisses and whispered confessions. Reiyana’s insistence that she loved Castiel. The missing personal belongings. The lack of supervision at the harbour. Every piece fell into place, forming a truth he didn’t want to see .
This wasn’t a kidnapping, but a meticulously-planned elopement.
The princess hadn’t been taken.
She’d chosen Castiel.
The truth settled quietly, a familiar ache threading through him. He let it sink just deep enough to feel, then pulled away—same as always, before it could settle for good. Shifting his stance, he let his arms fall loosely at his sides, his expression smoothing into practiced neutrality.
Detachment was safer; it always had been.