Chapter 60 #2
The Mezerins had once been powerful, but Hassamir’s treachery had shattered their influence for generations to come. And yet, Anna?s remained—an Omega with no ties, no protection, no clear path forward. A loose thread in an otherwise carefully woven tapestry.
Lady Neda took a slow sip of tea, lashes lifting slightly, as if considering something that had only just occurred to her.
“Omegas are not meant to be left untethered,” she mused. “And the Mezerins, for all their sins, were once a noble line. It would be . . . unwise to leave her wandering unclaimed.”
She let the thought settle, her words light but pointed. The king said nothing, but his fingers drummed against the lacquered wood of his armchair.
“If she were to fall into the wrong hands,” she continued smoothly, “a man of ambition could attempt to carve out a new claim to power through her.” A small pause, as though she was reluctant to voice it aloud. “One cannot fault men for seizing opportunity when it is laid so neatly before them. ”
Reiya saw it immediately—the moment the thought took root in the king’s mind, the moment his fingers tightened around his cup, jaw ticking ever so slightly.
A traitor’s daughter. An unbound Omega. A vulnerable, yet well-positioned figure for any man to mould to his will. None of it would sit well with the king.
The consort let the silence stretch just long enough before sighing. “Perhaps it would be best to take control of the situation now—before someone else does.”
He exhaled, nodding faintly. It was subtle, the way the woman allowed him to arrive at the conclusion himself. She hadn’t suggested a course of action, only laid the path bare, step by step, until he saw where it led.
“Perhaps the answer is to arrange a match for Anna?s immediately,” he said.
She inclined her head. “A strategic match could remove her from the political sphere in a way that strengthens the realm,” she agreed. “With careful planning, she could be settled in a manner that ensures she does not become a weapon for those who seek to continue her father’s ambitions.”
The king exhaled slowly, nodding again as if the weight of the decision was already settling over him. “Do you have anyone in mind, Neda?”
And there it was—the moment when not only permission but also authority was given to her. He wasn’t only agreeing; he was entrusting her with Anna?s’s fate.
Lady Neda’s lips curved faintly, her gaze lowering in what might’ve been deference, though Reiya now understood it for what it was: a quiet victory.
“There are . . . one or two possibilities,” she admitted.
Lightly, she shrugged. “Whoever it is, he must be of unimpeachable loyalty to you. Someone beyond reproach, someone whose devotion to the Crown is so absolute that no whisper of doubt could be cast upon him.” A small sigh, the barest hint of lament.
“Men like Hassamir are adept at manipulation. We must ensure no one of his ilk follows in his footsteps. ”
After a moment, the king gave a single nod, decisive and final. “Very well. Choose a suitable match, and see to it that Anna?s is placed far away from court.”
It was done. No further debate, no questions. By the time he thought to ask, Anna?s would already be wed—far beyond Turasid, perhaps never to be seen again.
Lady Neda lowered her head in acknowledgment, her satisfaction so well-veiled that Reiya almost believed she hadn’t been orchestrating the outcome from the moment Anna?s walked into that cell.
Anna?s Mezerin would never be the king’s bride. She’d be lucky if she ever stood in the same room as him again.
Not only that—but it was Lady Neda, the Beta consort and former steward, who now controlled her fate.
Reiya sat back slightly, observing the woman in a new light. She’d once seen the Beta as someone who had no choice but bent to others’ will, following currents of power rather than shaping them.
Yet, tonight, she’d guided the ship to the shore of her choosing.
Reiya’s lips twitched, unsure whether to admire or fear her.
Perhaps battles weren’t always won through power or position.
Sometimes, they were won by knowing when to pour the tea.
“A Sparo delivered a letter,” the king said. “From the King and Queen of Aethonia.”
His gaze settled on Reiya. “It seems the Duke of Caerelle has pressed them to intercede on Castiel’s behalf.”
The warmth in Reiya’s chest dimmed. She exchanged a look with Kaelen and Alarik.
Kaelen spoke first. “Let me guess. He wants his son returned.”
His father’s silence confirmed it.
Alarik’s voice was cool, but edged with tension. “And what did they say?”
Lady Neda set her cup down gently, the porcelain barely making a sound. “They relayed the duke’s request. But the decision rests here, with your father.”
Reiya felt the weight of their gazes settle on her. She inhaled slowly, keeping her focus on the amber liquid in her cup.
“They believe returning him is necessary to maintain peaceful relations,” Azarion continued, his voice measured, but the strain was audible. “The duke insists his son must face trial in Aethonia. A fair one.”
Kaelen scoffed, looking away. “As if a trial here wouldn’t be fair? In Aethonia, with his father pulling the strings—how fair will that be?”
Alarik leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “Castiel kidnapped the future Tazahrina and aided a coup. He’s possibly involved in aiding the escape of a traitor. Sending him back is an insult. We haven’t even interrogated him properly.”
She had every reason to want Castiel punished here, where he’d face the weight of his crimes firsthand. But she knew this was bigger than justice—bigger than her own anger.
Once, she had run from the responsibilities, the impossible choices a princess must make. But Thorir had been right about one thing: safeguarding Aethonia had been—and still was—her duty.
As twisted as this was, she’d been given a second chance to make the right decision.
The king’s expression remained steady, but something thoughtful flickered beneath it. “I understand your concerns. But this isn’t only about justice—it’s about stability. The duke is a powerful ally to Aethonia, and alienating him risks strain.”
Lady Neda’s voice was gentle but firm. “Your marriage strengthened ties between Asadia and Aethonia, but peace remains fragile. The Crown knows this. That’s why they’ve sent this request—not because they doubt Castiel’s guilt, but because diplomacy demands it.”
Reiya’s grip tightened faintly around her cup.
“The Vaelmonts are one of Aethonia’s most powerful families,” she murmured, and heads turned toward her.
“Even without a crown, the duke’s influence stretches across trade, council, and diplomacy.
Losing Castiel wouldn’t just be personal—it would be political.
They won’t let it pass without consequence.
At first, it would be small changes—a quiet withdrawal of financial support, strained trade agreements.
They could erode confidence in the Crown little by little, casting doubt, swaying key alliances. All without lifting a blade.”
Alarik frowned. “Would the duke really go that far?”
Reiya hesitated—not because she doubted it, but because she didn’t .
“A duke isn’t a king,” she admitted, “but in Aethonia, the Vaelmonts don’t need a crown to get what they want.” Her gaze returned to the king. “And my father values stability above all else. If sending Castiel home ensures that, he’ll push for it.”
The king nodded. “A wish to maintain a kingdom’s peace is something I understand well.”
Kaelen exhaled, frustration threading through his voice. “Diplomacy is one thing. Handing him back wrapped in silk is another.”
Reiya swallowed against the knot forming in her throat.
“He won’t walk free,” she said quietly, then met the king’s eyes across the table. “My father won’t let that happen. But perhaps Asadia can send representatives—make it a joint trial. That way, your kingdom’s voice is heard without rejecting the duke outright.”
It wasn’t a perfect solution, but compromise never was. If it meant preserving peace—between two kingdoms, between two halves of her life—and ensuring her people’s lives wouldn’t be in the crossfire, it was worth offering.
The king studied her for a long moment before nodding slightly. “A wise proposal, daughter.”
His gaze flicked to his sons, as if silently asking for their approvals.
Kaelen’s jaw tensed, but after a pause, he exhaled slowly. “If this must be done, then I agree.” Beneath the table, his hand found Reiya’s, curling gently around hers.
With wry humour, he added, “I suppose torturing Castiel for information is out of the question, then?”
No one laughed, though Lady Neda looked at him with a mild smile. “I don’t think the duke will appreciate that, Kaelendrin.”
Alarik was silent at first, but eventually, his grip on his cup loosened. “I don’t like it,” he admitted. “But I trust Reiya’s judgment.”
The king leaned back slightly, the weight in the room lifting just a fraction.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll send a delegation to oversee the trial,” he said, his words not just an acceptance, but an approval. “I’ll have Marzius arrange Castiel’s transport.”
For a moment, Reiya remained still, the quiet murmur of conversation fading to a distant hum. The tight knot in her chest eased—not undone, but loosened just enough to let her draw breath without it catching.
Was this the right choice? She didn’t know. Maybe none of them would, not until it was too late to turn back.
Her gaze drifted to Kaelen, then to Alarik—their eyes steady on hers, their trust offered without condition. A faint ache stirred in her chest, sharp and soft all at once.
Even as they sat there, troubles were brewing in the horizon. Whatever came, the road ahead would not be easy.
But she knew, as they’d sworn to each other before Luneth’s altar, they’d never walk it alone.