Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
REIYANA
T hey returned to the Xians’ wagon, where the air still hummed with the aftermath of the fight.
Word had spread—whether from direct witnesses or through embellished whispers passed from ear to ear.
Some cast sidelong glances, their expressions a mix of awe and unease.
Reiya felt the weight of their stares scorch her back, but she kept her gaze forward.
If Jodhar’s taunts had left anyone suspecting she was an Omega, so be it—there was no undoing that now.
She just had to endure a little longer.
Tomorrow afternoon couldn’t come soon enough.
The Xian family’s fire, at least, was an oasis of normalcy. Su Lian and Ru Rong worked side by side, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the hiss of meat on hot stones filling the air with a comforting familiarity.
Reiya stepped into their midst, immersing herself in routine. She rolled out the dough in smooth, even strokes, the scents of cumin and sumac rising as she sprinkled the rounds with the spice mixture. Around her, conversation ebbed and flowed—talks of crafts, trade, and the day’s work.
No hushed mentions of Jodhar. No murmurs of the fight .
She listened, but it seemed the world was already moving forward, as if nothing had happened.
Good— let it stay that way.
She pressed her fingers into the dough, grounding herself in the warmth beneath her hands, the steadiness of the task. A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. Her hands stilled when Xian Jun approached.
“Things have taken a turn,” he murmured in his wife’s ear.
Su Lian arched a brow, curiosity flickering in her gaze.
“Elder Tasim decommissioned Jodhar,” the man continued, dusting his hands off. “For breaking the rule.”
His wife scoffed softly, shaking her head as she handed him a rag. “Can’t say I’ll miss that brute. What rule did he break?”
“He started a fight.”
Su Lian blinked. “A fight?” Disbelief crossed her face before giving way to intrigue. “And who was reckless enough to challenge Jodhar?”
Xian Jun pressed his lips together, as though suppressing a smile. “That’s the thing,” he said. “It was Kai—our very own hired sword.”
Just then, Kaelen returned, an armful of firewood balanced effortlessly in his grasp.
He didn’t break stride as Xian Jun spoke, but Reiya caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Placing the firewood by the fire, he inclined his head in a small, almost exaggerated bow before strolling away—whistling a tune loud enough to be deliberate.
Xian Jun shook his head, amused, but his voice dropped lower as he added, “And he’s a Sunborn Alpha.”
His eyes settled on her. “Did you know, Yara?”
Heat crept up her neck. She nodded, turning around to mind the lamb skewers sizzling on the griddle. “Yes. I knew.”
The conversation carried on, but her thoughts remained tangled. She flipped a skewer, watching as a puff of savoury steam curled into the air, but her mind wandered elsewhere.
Xian Jun hadn’t spoken with doubt or derision—his voice had carried something else. Curiosity, maybe even admiration. That was what the world saw in a Sunborn Alpha: a legend made flesh, a story told by firesides and etched into the body of old texts .
Awe was natural. Expected.
But awe often came with attention, and attention led to questions.
She adjusted the skewers, her grip tightening slightly as her thoughts drifted to Kaelen—not as the Sunborn Alpha, but as the boy who’d faced the trial too young. She imagined him then, his face still softened by childhood, standing beneath the boulder of expectations.
She thought of his easy smiles, the charm that came so effortlessly. He carried his confidence as though it had always been there—but surely, it hadn’t.
Surely, at some point, he’d felt the weight of it.
She glanced toward him now, catching sight of him leaning against a bench, his faint smile effortless as he spoke with some caravan members.
They approached with questions, and he answered easily, never dismissive.
The attention didn’t faze him. He carried it like a familiar burden, one he’d long since learned to shoulder.
Perhaps his greatest strength wasn’t just that he endured, but that he carried it so lightly no one ever noticed the weight he bore.
Yet, in her mind, the image of that boy remained—a child beneath the sting of crystal needles, waiting to see if he could fulfill everyone’s wish.
“You should sit, Yara,” Kaelen called, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. He gestured toward the space beside him, a warm smile tugging at his lips. Firelight flickered across his face, softening the edges of his confidence.
She hesitated, her hands lingering uncertainly over the skewers. Duty tugged at her, but when she glanced at Su Lian, the woman leaned in, her voice low and knowing.
“Go to him, my girl,” she murmured. “He’s had his fill of cloying flattery. What he needs now is someone real.”
Gingerly, Reiya wiped her hands on her skirts and joined the growing circle around Kaelen. The fire seemed warmer here, its glow drawing people in—curious caravan members, many of them young women. One by one, they found reasons to linger, their interest thinly veiled.
A bold girl leaned close, enough that her breasts nearly brushed his arm, voice lilting with curiosity. “Can I see your Sunborn tattoo? ”
Kaelen deflected the request with an easy laugh, shaking his head. His refusal was effortless—amicable but curt enough to leave no room for argument. His charm disarmed them, their expressions softening even as he steered the conversation elsewhere.
The Sunborn Alpha. That was what they wanted to see: the legend.
Reiya settled into her seat, gaze flicking between the firelight and Kaelen’s calm expression. The awe, the reverence—it made sense to admire someone so bright.
But it felt incomplete.
Later, as she cleaned up the remnants of their meal, Su Lian sidled up beside her, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
“I’ve never met a Sunborn Alpha before,” she murmured, voice just above a whisper. “Let alone one working as a hired sword. I always thought they were kept in palaces, groomed for politics or married off to rich families.”
Reiya tilted her head, meeting Su Lian’s gaze with mild curiosity. “Is that what they’re meant for?”
The woman’s smile widened as she glanced toward Kaelen, now sitting beside Alarik. She whispered, “You could do far worse than those two, dear girl. If I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers. Not everyone gets to be so lucky.”
Heat bloomed in Reiya’s chest, spreading up her throat.
Su Lian hadn’t spoken of one man, but both—and without hesitation, without scorn.
The words conjured images she hadn’t meant to summon—memories of an afternoon spent wrapped in their arms, their warmth grounding her, soothing her through her Kindling.
But as quickly as the warmth flared, unease followed.
Her fingers brushed over the fading bruise on her neck, Jodhar’s bite a dark reminder of the flare of desire the mercenary managed to pull from her.
After finishing her chores, she scanned the camp, realizing Kaelen was no longer among those chatting around the fire.
She found him behind the wagon, stacking firewood with slow, methodical movements. Each log was placed with care, as if the task required all his focus. It was an odd sight—he wasn’t one to linger on mundane chores, not when there was company to enjoy .
But here he was, alone.
She hesitated, watching the tension in his shoulders. Gone was the easy charm, the effortless confidence.
Something about it tugged at her, urging her forward.
“Kai? What are you doing back here?”
He paused, the log in his hands hovering midair before he placed it down with a soft thud. He glanced over his shoulder at her, a smile readily appearing on his face.
“Just keeping busy,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual brightness.
She bit her lip. Here, in the quiet behind the wagon, away from the fire and the watching eyes of the caravan, why was he still giving her the same practiced smile, the same easy mask he wore for everyone else?
She couldn’t— wouldn’t —accept it. Not from him.
Tilting her head, she echoed, “Keeping busy, or . . . avoiding everyone?”
His smile deepened, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He wiped his hands on a nearby rag. “Maybe a bit of both.”
She folded her arms, leaning against the wagon. “You’ve had quite the audience today,” she said carefully. “I don’t blame you for needing space.”
He let out a quiet chuckle, but the sound was swallowed by the night. “They mean well.”
She studied him for a moment, noting the subtle lines of fatigue around his eyes. Gently, she asked, “Have you had a chance to breathe at all?”
He shook his head, smirking faintly. “I’m fine. Just needed a moment to clear my head.”
She wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead, she settled herself on a nearby stump, arranging her skirt around her, and struck a lighter tone.
“So much happened today. Did Alarik tell you? He started teaching me archery. We had our first lesson earlier this afternoon.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting just slightly. “Archery? Impressive. ”
“Before you laugh, I wasn’t terrible. I wasn’t great either, but I managed to hit the target . . . once or twice.”
That earned a soft chuckle, the tension in his frame easing just a fraction. “I’ve no doubt you did wonderfully.”
“He’s a strict teacher,” she said with a mock sigh, “and I think he enjoys watching me struggle more than he should.” Her teasing lilt drew another smile from him, this time more genuine.
“But it was . . . nice. To learn something new. To feel like I was doing something for myself, something I could actually use.”
His smile gentled, the last of the tightness fading from his features. “Your arms will ache tomorrow, and you might curse yourself for ever picking up a bow—but stick with it. It’s worth holding on to.”