Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
KAELENDRIN
K aelen watched as Reiyana—Yara, now—retreated with Mei Mei, the child tugging her toward the caravanserai, raven curls bouncing with every step. Relief crashed into him, unravelling the knots that had held him rigid through every road and market they’d combed.
She was here. Safe . Close enough to touch.
His hands trembled, and he curled them into fists. The first urge had been to pull her into his arms. The second—to shake her and demand why .
Why did you run?
Since they’d left Bashkor, he and Alarik had woven through the towns and outposts along the Great Salt Road, chasing whispers and dead ends for days. Whenever doubt crept in, he’d told himself: One more road. Just one more.
And Alarik, though weary, had echoed him—both keeping each other sharp, both too stubborn to admit their worst fear.
Kaelen hadn’t allowed himself to imagine this part—the moment when the search ended. But now that it had, relief settled in, leaving him weightless, as if he’d been carrying something unseen and only now felt its absence .
He hadn’t asked why she’d dyed her hair, but he could guess. A precaution. A disguise.
But blonde or raven-haired, he would’ve recognized her anywhere .
“You’re not as good at hiding it as you think,” Alarik’s voice broke into his thoughts, low and steady.
Kaelen turned, catching his brother’s gaze. “Hiding what?”
“The relief,” Alarik said, watching him closely. “I saw it the moment you spotted her. That charm you wear like armour—it cracked.”
He almost laughed, the usual quip ready on his tongue, but his brother’s words hit too close to deflect. He’d anticipated satisfaction—perhaps even pride—in fulfilling their task.
But seeing her again wasn’t triumph. It was breath after drowning, raw and instinctive, leaving no room for anything else.
“Guess I should’ve known you’d notice,” he replied, voice softer than he intended. “You’ve always known me best.”
“You don’t have to hide it from me. We both wondered if we’d ever find her.”
Kaelen arched a brow. “Yet you’ve barely said two words to her. You’d rather she thinks you’re distant? Unaffected?”
Alarik’s gaze tightened. He didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch, eyes flickering toward the direction of the caravanserai.
“Maybe,” he finally said. “Safer that way.”
“Safer for her, or for you?”
For a heartbeat, Alarik’s mask slipped, and something unspoken flickered between them before his gaze turned away, shadowed.
After what had happened last year, Alarik held himself apart from anything that stirred too deeply, standing at the edge but never stepping forward.
But Kaelen saw it now—the faint pull in the way his brother looked at Reiyana, as if some quiet tether had taken hold when no one was watching.
For the first time, Kaelen wondered if finding her—the kind of miracle fate didn’t grant lightly—had brought Alarik closer to that edge . . . or if he’d already crossed it, hoping no one would see.
They went to wash quickly, cold water from a well at the edge of the market rinsing away the dust. The sun already dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the market. As they left the well, his steps slowed.
A small patch of wildflowers had taken root along the roadside—bright clusters of golden blossoms swaying stubbornly in the evening breeze.
Without a word, he knelt, plucking a few stems with careful precision. His hands lingered as he tied them together with a strip of twine from his belt, crafting three small, evenly-sized bouquets.
Alarik arched a brow. “Since when did you start picking flowers?”
He shot his brother a sideways grin, tucking the posies into his belt. “Since I realized dinner invitations are best met with more than just an empty stomach. A little charm goes a long way.”
Alarik snorted, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Let’s hope they appreciate weeds as much as you do.”
By the time they reached the caravanserai, the sky had deepened into dusky purple. The family’s bonfire flickered just beyond the entrance, flames casting shifting patterns of gold and shadow against the wagons.
Kaelen’s gaze was drawn immediately to Reiyana— Yara . She sat beside Mei Mei, the child nestled under her arm, the colourful hair ribbons bouncing as she spoke animatedly to someone across the fire.
The princess smiled with an ease he hadn’t seen before—gestures light, face softened by warmth, unburdened by duty.
She seemed so settled here, slipping into the rhythms of this life as if it had always been hers.
It was difficult to reconcile her with the woman he had first seen on the dais in Aethonia, watching the tournament unfold with distant, detached eyes.
Back then, she’d been composed, untouchable—a princess locked in a gilded frame, meant to be admired, never reached.
But here, by the fire beneath an open sky, she was laughing, present . . . alive .
And Kaelen wondered if she was still someone waiting to be found—or someone who’d already found herself.
Halfway to the fire, Alarik leaned closer to murmur, “It’s better for us to travel with the family until we reach a port. But let’s hope they’re not headed to Bashkor. ”
Unease flickered at the mention of Bashkor.
Whatever lay ahead, he wanted her far from that place, teeming with mercenaries eager to find her to collect the bounty.
Travelling with the Xians would buy them cover—a clever disguise for a princess and two princes who, by birthright alone, drew more than their share of attention.
For now, blending in could buy them the time they needed to understand the path ahead.
They were close now. Mei Mei spotted them first, her face lighting up as she jumped to her feet, pointing.
“There they are!” she cried, delight sparking in her voice. “Look, Yara! Your friends are here!”
He couldn’t help but chuckle as they finally stood before the family. The women smiled warmly, while the man studied them with quiet contemplation.
Quickly, Kaelen stepped forward and bowed. “Thank you for inviting us to your fire. I’m Kai, and this is my brother, Lark.”
When he straightened, he didn’t miss the amused curve on the princess’s lips.
“They’re the friends I mentioned,” she said to the family. “This is Xian Jun, his mother Ru Rong, and his wife Su Lian. I believe Mei Mei already made introductions.”
Xian Jun inclined his head, his gaze steady, weighing them with the quiet scrutiny of a man who’d seen enough of the world to tread carefully.
Still, his voice was cordial as he said, “Welcome. Any friends of Yara are welcome at our fire.”
Ru Rong’s smile was warmer, her eyes crinkling with the easy light of someone who hadn’t let the years dull her spirit.
“Come, anh . Sit,” she said, beckoning them closer. “It’s not every evening we host guests who bring flowers.”
She winked, and Kaelen grinned, pulling out the small bouquets he’d gathered earlier.
“For the lovely ladies of the Xian family,” he said, and was rewarded with soft laughter and beaming smiles as they accepted the offering.
He looked around the fire. The signs weren’t loud, but they were there if one knew how to look.
The old Talharen patterns stitched into their tunics, the careful knots at their belts—small markers, worn like second skins.
Even the wagon bore faded Talharen patterns, the kind painted by families who’d traded city walls for open sky.
The people who knew how to pack up a life and carry it on their backs, road after road.
He caught it in their faces, too—the gentle tilt of their eyes, the light tint of their skin, the melodic lilt in their vowels when they spoke. X?en blood, worn easy now, mixed into the dust and leagues like everything else.
If Yara had found her way to them, perhaps it wasn’t just luck.
Perhaps a part of her had always belonged to the road.
“Our fire is yours,” Su Lian added warmly, setting a broad griddle over the flames. “You must be hungry.”
A thick pat of butter hit the iron with a sharp hiss, the air filling with the rich scent of goat’s milk and smoke.
She turned to Reiya with an easy smile. “Yara, would you mind making the griddle cakes? I’ll fetch something to drink for our guests.”
The request didn’t sound like a favour. It sounded like trust—like the kind that built itself over small, quiet days together.
Kaelen and Alarik settled by the fire, watching as Reiya stepped forward without hesitation. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved—folding the batter onto the griddle with a sure hand, the firelight catching in the strands of her hair.
She didn’t look like a princess now, nor a runaway.
Just a woman who knew how to tend the flame.
With a flick of her wrist, she flipped the cakes, their golden surfaces gleaming as she scattered preserved vegetables and thin curls of cured meat across the griddle. The smell rose up, warm and mouthwatering, and Kaelen’s stomach answered with a low, traitorous growl.
The princess handed him the platter of food. He murmured his thanks, but the moment his fingers brushed hers, nostalgia struck, pulling him back to the tournament—the moment she crowned him with the victor’s garland.
The memory unfurled as vividly as if it had happened yesterday—the warmth of her wrist, the silken glide of her skin as he kissed it in quiet homage, her erratic pulse beneath his lips .
Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition passing between them.
His mouth watered—no longer for the food, but for her .
She turned away first, breaking the gaze, but Kaelen caught the faint colour blooming in her cheeks.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one holding on to the memory.