Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
KAELENDRIN
F ive days in Bashkor, and still no sign of the princess.
The city sweltered under its own excess—spice-laden air thick with sweat and perfume, wealth and filth tangled in a restless dance of commerce and crime. Traders peddled silks and rare gems beneath bright awnings, while shadows whispered secrets meant to be bought, not overheard.
They’d begun at the most respectable inns and taverns, but no one had seen or heard of Princess Reiyana or Castiel. Odd, given the influence of House Vaelmont.
Or if anyone had, they weren’t speaking—not even for a generous bribe.
Kaelen rolled his shoulders, restless energy crackling beneath his skin. They’d followed every lead, questioned every dockhand, coin passing hands as freely as water pouring from a vessel.
And still, they had nothing.
Their last hope had been the Omega traders’ stronghold at the city’s edge—a grim cluster of warehouses shrouded in secrecy. They had stormed the place under cover of night, weapons drawn, expecting to find Reiyana locked away among others.
But the rooms were empty.
Not a single Omega in sight. Only the scent of damp stone and stale perfume. But it wasn’t even the absence of captives that disturbed Kaelen most.
It was what had been left behind.
He’d pocketed his finding, and as they stood in a quiet alley to regroup, he reached into his pouch and drew out the small vial of purple dust. He held it up to the dim light filtering through the overhead canvas canopy.
“So this is what they’re using,” he muttered.
Alarik took the vial, shaking it slightly so the fine powder shifted within the glass. “Purple limyerite,” he murmured. “A perilous substance. They subdue them with this?”
Kaelen nodded, jaw tight. “They mix it into teas, oils—whatever they can, or simply rub it into the Omega’s nostrils. Just enough to keep them pliant and obedient.”
Alarik exhaled slowly. “But Reiyana wasn’t there.”
“No.” The word left a bitter taste. “Let’s hope Castiel is still with her.”
Alarik’s expression darkened. “That’s not necessarily a comfort.”
It certainly wasn’t.
Every second wasted was another second Reiyana slipped further out of reach.
And then, a couple of days later, they found something.
A bounty—a single slip of parchment, nailed inside a gambling house where men placed bets on the misfortunes of others. The description was brief but unmistakable.
An unclaimed Omega of noble blood. Golden hair. Blue eyes. Fair skin. Possibly washed ashore between the kingdom of Lioria and Bashkor.
A reward of one hundred thousand solaris.
The moment Kaelen’s eyes landed on it, he realized they weren’t the first to see it.
At least a dozen men lingered nearby, some openly reading the notice, others hunched over tables, discussing routes and possibilities in low, urgent tones.
A burly mercenary with a scarred jaw traced his finger along a map spread across the table, murmuring about possible villages she could’ve passed through.
Another, younger and leaner, flipped a dagger between his fingers, his gaze speculative.
They were already planning. Already moving.
Alarik had yanked the parchment down before Kaelen could tear it from the wall himself.
Now, as they stood in the heart of the market, Alarik turned the crumpled bounty over in his hands. “This is her.”
Kaelen scanned the bustling crowd, restless energy coiling in his chest. “Who put this up? If her family had, it would’ve been a royal decree. If it was Castiel, why wouldn’t he be with her?”
Alarik’s gaze was unreadable. “Either way, someone wants her found, and they’re willing to pay an enormous sum.”
Kaelen’s grip tightened. “Then we find her first.”
But even as he plotted their next move, his gaze flicked to his brother.
Before they left on their search, Alarik had been the one reminding him that Reiyana had made her choice. That she’d walked away.
Yet, earlier, he’d been the first to grab the bounty notice. The first to realize the implication.
Someone wanted her found. That meant she wasn’t safely hidden away with Castiel. That meant something had gone wrong.
That meant she might not have left by choice.
Kaelen let the realization settle. He could see it—the first crack in Alarik’s resolve.
If Reiya hadn’t left by choice, maybe she needed help after all.
Alarik murmured, “The bounty does tell us something we didn’t know before.”
He met his brother’s gaze. “If someone’s looking for her, it means she’s still out there—free.”
“And she’s not in Bashkor.”
The Great Salt Road stretched beyond the city, a timeworn ribbon carved along Issoirea’s eastern coast—leagues of dust and trade, stitched with outposts and villages worn thin by the passage of countless feet.
Kaelen hoped she hadn’t strayed inland. Beyond the coast lay the Veilstrom Crest—jagged peaks and treacherous passes, a place even seasoned caravans avoided when they could.
For an unclaimed Omega, it was worse than unforgiving.
Bandits and raiders prowled the mountain roads, always eager for vulnerable prey.
Alone, without protection, she’d be easy to take, easy to keep.
And no one would find her once the mountains swallowed her whole.
He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “Then we start along the road. Town by town, outpost by outpost—until we find her.”
Alarik arched a brow. “That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Kaelen smirked. “What, suddenly worried about a little distance?”
Before he could continue, Alarik merely shook his head. “We’ll need a pair of fast horses. Better not dawdle.”
He blinked. His brother had always been the steady one, the pragmatist, the one reminding him of the reality of things rather than what could be.
Yet here Alarik was, urging them to hurry.
Kaelen found himself smiling. “Let’s go, then.”
They outfitted themselves quickly—light yet protective layers to guard against the desert’s extremes, sturdy belts, reinforced boots, scarves to shield their faces against the fury of sudden sandstorms.
For horses, they sought function over bloodlines and purchased two of the small, hardy breed from local traders—built for endurance rather than show.
As Kaelen ran a hand down his new ride’s flank, he couldn’t help but think of Shahram, the stallion he’d left behind in Asadia’s royal stables.
He’d tamed Shahram as a brash fourteen-year-old, more stubborn than sense allowed. The beast had thrown him more times than he cared to count, but he’d always gotten back up, brushing off the dust and trying again.
They’d been inseparable ever since; rides across vast deserts, wind whipping at their backs.
Skirmishes where Shahram had carried him without fear, hooves pounding against the earth like a war drum.
The stallion had been more than a mount—a partner, a piece of Kaelen’s soul forged in sweat, dust, and unspoken understanding.
Now, crossing the arid plains without Shahram felt strangely unmooring, like stepping forward without his own shadow. He reached for the reins of the horse he’d just purchased, feeling its unfamiliar weight. Sturdy, yes. Dependable, hopefully.
But still, it wasn’t his.
“I miss Ruhasul too,” Alarik murmured knowingly.
Kaelen glanced at his brother, noting the way his hand lingered on his own horse’s neck, fingers brushing against the coarse mane. A quiet admission—one Alarik rarely voiced aloud.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of nostalgia. “Well, no better time to make new friends.”
He gave his new horse a firm pat on the neck and swung onto the saddle. The animal shifted but held steady, ears flicking as if listening.
Alarik mounted his own, casting Kaelen a wry look. “Try not to get thrown off this time.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “No promises.”
They rode on. Bashkor shrank behind them, the wind carrying the scent of dry grasses and lingering spices.
The road ahead was long, the days uncertain, but one truth remained—Princess Reiyana was out there.
And they would find her.