Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
REIYANA
R eiya stared as Xian Jun walked away, relief curling uneasily in her chest. She gripped her scarf tighter, swallowing hard. He knew—she was certain of it. She was balancing on a knife’s edge, and whether he kept her secret or not, she’d bleed either way.
Would he tell Elder Tasim? Demand she leave before she brought more trouble to his family?
Could she blame him if he did?
Her thoughts snagged on the mercenary’s warning: ‘Harbouring an Omega on the run comes at a cost.’
The Xians weren’t warriors. They were Beta merchants, wanderers, a family bound by trade and tradition. Yet, she was dragging them into a danger they’d never asked for, and wouldn’t be prepared to deal with.
She scrubbed the mud off her skin, shaking loose the muck from her hair before braiding it and tucking the coil under her scarf once more.
The scent of porridge greeted her as she returned to the family’s fire—grains, goat butter, herbs, and a rare trace of honey, which she knew Su Lian saved for special occasions only.
Mei Mei’s face lit up when Reiya approached. “Yara! We’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where did you go? ”
Reiya’s mind scrambled for an excuse, but Ru Rong waved off the question.
“Poor girl,” the older woman said, ladling porridge into bowls. “Did the mercenaries scare you? They come stirring trouble every now and then. Come, anh . Sit. Eat.”
She passed a warm bowl. With a murmur of thanks, Reiya accepted, her hands gripping it tighter than necessary.
Across the fire, Xian Jun ate his porridge with the same steady rhythm as always, showing no hint that anything was out of the ordinary. He didn’t spare her a glance, treating the moment at the animal pens as nothing more than a minor chore.
She took a small bite, the honey failing to soften the weight pressing against her ribs. Mei Mei chattered beside her, recounting the morning’s misadventures with a mischievous sheep, but the words barely reached her.
The meal passed in a lull of quiet conversation and the soft clink of bowls. Reiya had just begun gathering the remnants of breakfast when a light touch on her arm stilled her. She turned, her eyes meeting Su Lian’s.
“Mei Mei can finish up. Come into the wagon with me,” the woman said, her voice gentle, her smile giving nothing away.
Reiya swallowed. A flutter of uncertainty stirred in her chest, but she nodded and followed.
Was this about what Xian Jun had seen?
Had she overstayed her welcome?
Inside the wagon, the familiar scent of herbs and aged leather wrapped around her—grounding and unsettling all at once. Su Lian knelt before an open trunk, jade bangles chiming softly as she sifted through its contents.
“Jun thought you might find this useful,” she murmured, pulling out a small jar.
Reiya took it, the cool ceramic smooth in her hands. “What is it?”
“Hair dye,” the woman said with a twinkle in her eyes. “It’ll make your golden hair as black as a X?en’s.”
Reiya blinked. The words didn’t land immediately, her mind scrambling to piece them together. When understanding dawned, it stole the breath from her lungs.
She stared at the jar, its meaning settling deep in her chest. More than just a disguise, it was a shield. A lifeline.
Her throat tightened, tears pricking at her eyes.
They knew —she could feel it in their silence, in the way they didn’t ask outright, choosing instead to look the other way.
This family owed her nothing. They had no reason to risk themselves for her.
Yet here they were, offering her a chance to disappear. To survive.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you?—”
Su Lian’s smile was warm in the shadows. “Repayment isn’t necessary, Yara.” She gave Reiya’s shoulder a gentle pat. “When you’ve travelled as long as we have, you learn to see people clearly. A good heart always shows itself.”
“But . . . you don’t even know me.”
Her gaze softened. “Perhaps not every detail, but character rarely hides. We trust you have your reasons. It’s not our place to judge—only to help, if we can.”
Gratitude surged through her. Castiel’s betrayal had left wounds she hadn’t realized were still raw. Even the smallest kindness felt like warmth against frostbitten skin—sharp, painful, but thawing something she thought had gone numb.
Su Lian’s voice pulled her back. “Let me call my mother-in-law. She’s a master with dyes—she’d sooner part with her best silk than let a silver strand show.”
Just then, the wagon door opened, and Ru Rong entered, Su Lian greeting her with a grin. “Mother, here to make sure no strand of gold escapes your infamous dye?”
The older woman’s glossy black hair was a testament to her skill—not a single strand out of place.
She gave a dramatic sniff. “It takes a certain skill to dye one’s hair properly, you know.”
Setting a jar of sesame oil on the table, she cast Reiya a knowing look. “There’s an old Talharen saying: The darker the hair, the deeper the stories. I’ve lived a few myself. ”
She began mixing the dye with a drizzle of sesame oil, forming a thick paste. She glanced at Reiya with a sly smile. “The Talharen also say a woman’s hair reflects her fortune. The darker the hair, the more blessings she carries.”
Su Lian raised a playful brow. “Ah, so that’s why you’ve kept it so black all these years?”
“That, and I’ve no intention of letting people think I’ve run out of blessings.”
Su Lian leaned toward Reiya conspiratorially. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s just determined to keep the upper hand in everything—including luck.”
Ru Rong gave an exaggerated shrug, her grin lingering. “Can you blame me? A little luck keeps the road smooth.”
Caught between their banter, Reiya found herself smiling. “And here I thought life on the road was unpredictable.”
Su Lian laughed. “True, but that doesn’t mean we can’t stack the odds in our favour.”
Winking, Ru Rong patted the side of her head. “Precisely. If the road is unpredictable, better to walk it with your head high—and your hair looking its best.”
Laughter filled the wagon, and Reiya joined in, the earlier tension loosening. There was belonging here—tucked between humour and wisdom, something more than shared travel.
“Let’s get to it, then,” Ru Rong said, motioning for her to sit.
The woman worked the dye through her hair with brisk precision, a fine-toothed comb dragging the cool paste from root to tip. The strokes were steady, soothing.
Warmth crept in as she sat beneath their hands.
It wasn’t her natal home, but it echoed a similar memory of rainy afternoons at the palace, when her mother embroidered in comfortable silence and she was simply a daughter.
There’d always been love in her family, even when wrapped too tightly in expectation.
Here, that love felt lighter. Freer.
Once rinsed and dried, she slipped into the clothes Su Lian had set aside: an indigo tunic embroidered at the cuffs, ivory underlayers, and a crimson shawl she draped around her neck—its weight comforting, concealing.
In the mirror, she smoothed the folds, taking in the unfamiliar reflection. Dark waves framed her face, softening it. The change felt necessary—a new layer, a step forward.
“You’ll blend in well,” Su Lian said gently. “This should keep you safer.”
Reiya nodded. The guise wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
When the others left, silence wrapped around her. She lingered before the mirror, searching the reflection that stared back. Would her family recognize her? Would Castiel?
Would the Asadian princes?
Reiya rubbed her face, as if she could scrub the thought away.
Had they already left Aethonia? Surely, they must have. Once they realized she’d disappeared, what reason did they have to linger? Omega princesses were rare, but not rare enough to chase one who spurned them.
That would be madness.
A quiet ache settled in her chest. Would their paths cross again, or had this been nothing more than a fleeting moment, destined to fade like footprints in the sand?
Her fingers brushed the blade in her pocket, a whispered prayer to Luneth forming on her tongue.
She stopped herself.
Kaelendrin and Alarik had made their intentions clear. They’d asked for time, offered to speak to her father, given her every chance to reconsider—and still, she had walked away.
Whatever had passed between them that night, whatever strange, unspoken thing stirred beneath the glittering chandeliers and in the dark, was no longer hers to hold.
Had she hurt them?
She didn’t have the right to assume she’d wounded their hearts—but their pride? That, at least, seemed inevitable. Alphas weren’t accustomed to rejection, let alone one delivered so swiftly, so definitively.
She pushed the thought aside, but the ache remained, like a stain she couldn’t shift .
Would she have stayed if she’d known how this would end?
Pulling her shoulders back, Reiya turned from the mirror—tucking the moment away where it couldn’t follow.
S he stepped out of the wagon, the breeze stirring her dark hair. Twirling a lock around her finger, she watched the morning sun catch on the glossy raven waves.
The camp buzzed with movements around her, merchants shouting orders as they prepared to leave. Xian Jun’s gaze swept over the crowd, passing over her at first—then paused, his eyes narrowing as recognition slowly dawned.
Su Lian’s voice cut through the bustle, “Jun! The rope’s torn again!”
He blinked and turned sharply. “Coming!”
Reiya followed him toward the wagon, where a bundle of supplies was precariously lashed together, the end of the rope frayed, seemingly beyond repair.
“Damn thing won’t hold,” Xian Jun muttered, crouching to inspect the unravelling braid. He yanked on the rope, frustration evident in his taut movements. “It’ll come loose before we even leave camp.”
Reiya knelt beside him, brushing her hair back from her face. “Let me.”
He hesitated before stepping aside.
Reiya steadied the frayed rope as Xian Jun tugged it taut. Her hands moved instinctively, the familiar rhythm of twisting and looping settling into muscle memory. She could almost smell the scents of silversage and salt, vivid as the past came rushing back.
Leif’s voice echoed softly in her mind: ‘You may never hold a sword or go into battle, but I’ll make sure you can braid a solid rope and tie a proper Tidebinder’s knot.’
Her chest ached at the memory of that rainy afternoon when he’d made her stay on the boat deck until her fingers were numb from the cold, stubbornly working through the soaked ropes.
‘Why bother?’ she’d grumbled. ‘I’ll never sail anywhere. I’ll never leave Aethonia.’
His grin had flashed through the mist. ‘You never know, Rei. A Tidebinder’s knot isn’t just for sailors—it holds things together when they’re meant to last. Maybe you’ll need it one day.’
There were stories tied to the Tidebinder’s knot, as deeply rooted as the sea itself.
It was said to be more than a mere knot—it was a charm, binding fates and promises as securely as ropes to a ship’s mast. Aethonian sailors believed tying it before setting sail would bring them home safely, and newlyweds braided it to symbolize their union.
She’d muttered complaints the entire time Leif forced her to practice, her hands aching and raw. But here—now, in the caravan, as her fingers deftly twist the frayed rope into place—she finally felt the truth in his words.
The knot took shape smoothly, as if her brother was crouching behind her, guiding her. When it held firm under Xian Jun’s testing pull, he gave her a brief nod, a flicker of surprise in his gaze.
“Good braid for a rope,” he remarked. “And a solid knot.”
“That’s an Aethonian Tidebinder’s knot,” Ru Rong observed. A gleam of admiration softened her tone. “Not something you learn on dry land. Who taught you that?”
Reiya shrugged, wiping her hands on her skirt. “My brother. He loves sailing. We live by the ocean, you see.”
Ru Rong hummed thoughtfully. “Impressive, Yara.”
The older woman tapped Reiya’s shoulder before returning to help Su Lian with the supplies, leaving behind a flicker of pride in her chest. She’d done something that mattered—not just for herself, but for the family.
It wasn’t the grand destiny she once dreamed of—but maybe it didn’t have to be.
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like a tool shaped for someone else’s purpose—a vessel in service to an Alpha’s needs.
She felt like part of something real, however small—woven into the journey by her own hands, not expectation or force.
Straightening herself, she turned toward the wagon, steps sure despite the uncertainty of the road ahead.