Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
REIYANA
R eiya pulled her shawl tighter, the evening chill settling over the caravanserai.
As they drifted beyond the glow of the fires, warmth and noise faded, replaced by the quiet rustle of hay and the low grunts of cattle settling for the night.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it charged with something unspoken.
They were waiting for her to begin.
When the last of the lights blurred behind them, she turned.
“My family . . . Were they furious?”
Kaelendrin let out a breath, something between a scoff and a sigh. “More worried than furious.”
Alarik, more measured, said, “They feared the worst.”
Reiya swallowed against the guilt tightening in her throat.
Kaelendrin folded his arms, studying her with an unreadable expression. “You disappeared in the middle of the night. With Castiel.” His voice remained even, but the banked fire beneath it was unmistakable. “Didn’t you think that might . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head.
Alarik was watching her carefully. “Your parents thought Castiel took you.” His voice was calm, but the weight behind it pressed against her like a hand on her chest. “They wanted to believe he manipulated you. Or worse. But now . . . it seems it was your idea. ”
She didn’t look away. Her heart thundered, but her voice stayed steady. “It was.”
Kaelen exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t understand.”
There was no accusation in it, just something raw and tired. “You knew him since childhood. I understand. You trusted him. But after everything, after we offered . . .”
He broke off, the frown pulling at his brow. “What made you so sure he was the better choice?”
His words held no bite, no anger—just raw confusion so exposed it made her chest ache. The kind she hadn’t been prepared for.
Reiya forced her fists to unclench. “It wasn’t about him,” she admitted.
Kaelen’s eyes flickered, a quick spark of disbelief. “Wasn’t it?”
Her grip tightened again without thinking, the worn weave of the shawl biting into her palms. The words rose up, sharp-edged and trembling.
“I didn’t run to Castiel,” she said, each syllable a battle. “I ran from a life where I thought I wouldn’t have a say. From you.”
Kaelen stilled.
Across from him, Alarik exhaled, the sound rough. “Because of the pact.”
She hesitated, shame burning under her skin, but she nodded anyway. Truth deserved better than silence.
“I didn’t even want one Alpha,” she whispered. “Let alone two.”
Her fingers twisted the fabric harder, as if she could wring the fear out through her hands.
“With two, I was sure I wouldn’t have a voice at all.”
The words hung there, raw and final, too big to take back.
And for the first time, she let herself look fully at them—not as princes, not as Alphas, but as men she’d hurt because she hadn’t trusted herself enough to believe she could be wanted as herself .
Kaelendrin’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his stance did—subtle, instinctive—like her words had hit deeper than he wanted to admit.
“You never gave us the chance to prove you wrong,” he said quietly .
Reiya flinched, heat prickling beneath her skin. “I was afraid you couldn’t.”
He quirked a brow. “And now?”
The truth caught in her throat—but she forced it out. “I’ve come to realize . . . Castiel wasn’t my escape. He was . . . my excuse.”
The princes stilled again as the weight of her own words sank into her chest.
“He made me believe he was the way out,” she said, voice roughening. “He handled everything—the wagon, the ship, the promises of marriage once we reached Batteron.”
Her hands curled into the fabric of her skirt. “But it wasn’t freedom. It was a lie I wanted to believe.”
Alarik’s shoulders eased, just slightly.
“You wanted a future you could recognize,” he said, his voice low. “And he gave you that. Something familiar. Something safe. He fed your fears, twisted them until you thought you were running toward something, not away.”
Kaelendrin exhaled slowly, tipping his head, studying her. “That’s not freedom. That’s manipulation. He took what scared you most and led you precisely where he wanted.”
Reiya swallowed hard, shame burning behind her ribs.
“And I let him,” she whispered. “I practically asked him to.”
Kaelendrin’s gaze locked on hers—steady, unflinching. “You thought we would silence you,” he said, his voice dropping low, cutting clean. “But you were the only one who could silence yourself.”
The words struck her like a sudden gust of wind, sharp and undeniable. No one spoke, the moment stretching between them, heavy with all the things she couldn’t take back.
Then, Kaelendrin exhaled, slow and rough. His arms crossed over his chest, and for the first time since they’d found her again, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Besides,” he muttered, almost under his breath, “if we wanted a silent, obedient Omega, you’d be the worst possible choice.”
For a heartbeat, she could only stare at him—caught between the sting of it and something dangerously close to laughter rising in her chest .
Alarik shook his head, his mouth curving just slightly. “That was a jest,” he said dryly. “Poorly timed. But still a jest.”
Kaelendrin only huffed, the sound not entirely unfriendly, as if some invisible weight had finally loosened around him.
She flexed her fingers, a thousand tiny needles pricking at her skin as warmth returned. The ground between them was still unsteady, but maybe . . . not completely broken.
Kaelendrin tipped his head toward her. “Now, tell us everything.”
And so, she did—the tainted wine, the groggy haze dulling her senses, the rough bindings cutting into her wrists as Castiel watched with cold indifference.
Her voice faltered in places, but she forced the words out. Each truth stripped away another layer of illusion, unravelling the trust she’d once given him, thread by fragile thread.
Kaelendrin stood rigid, his arms crossed, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
Alarik remained still, unreadable. He didn’t react outwardly, but his silence felt heavier than his brother’s restlessness, as if he were jotting down every piece of information, already mapping the shape of the deception.
A slow burn crept up her cheeks. Looking back now, it was painfully clear.
Even Castiel’s whispered promise before the tournament— ‘I could take you away from this. Say the word, dove.’ —hadn’t been a declaration of love or loyalty. It had been a setup.
She lowered her gaze, her stomach twisting as she recalled the accusations Castiel had hurled at her on the ship.
And he had been . . . right .
Her grip tightened on the shawl. “He said it himself . . . that I chose him because he wasn’t an Alpha.” Her voice wavered, but she didn’t look away. “That in the end, he used me, just as I used him.”
Alarik finally spoke. “And you think that makes you the same?” His voice was even, but something hard lurked beneath it. “That your desperation was equal to his manipulation?”
Her pulse stumbled, then surged. She’d braced for judgment—for the sharp edge of disappointment she was sure would follow. But when it didn’t come, when she found only quiet waiting in their eyes, it left her more unmoored than any condemnation would have.
Maybe she had used Castiel in her own way, but hadn’t he done the same? He’d dangled the promise of escape, shaped himself into precisely what she needed . . . only to rip it away when it suited him.
If she had used him, it had been desperation.
But him? His lies had been calculated.
Kaelendrin’s voice had lost its earlier bite. “You were scared. But fear doesn’t make you cruel.”
Alarik’s gaze darkened slightly. “And it doesn’t excuse what he did, either. Betas aren’t harmless just because they lack an Alpha’s strength.”
“I know that now,” she murmured.
His expression sharpened, studying her—not with scrutiny, but in assessment.
“Why did he orchestrate it?” he asked, his tone contemplative as though he was asking himself. “If it wasn’t for love, and it wasn’t for money . . . Why drag you into this?”
Her hands tightened on the edges of her shawl. “He never told me his true aim. Just kept saying it was bigger than me, than him, than even the kingdom. Like it was some grand plan I couldn’t understand.”
Alarik’s tone dropped to a cold edge. “Bigger than the kingdom.” He said it like a challenge, daring the truth to reveal itself. “What could he possibly want that demands not just you—but the whole kingdom—brought to its knees?”
He began to pace, a fist pressed to his lips. “If Castiel wanted wealth, influence, or even a twisted claim over you, he would’ve kept you for himself. There’s something else at play—something we don’t see yet.”
Kaelendrin’s brows furrowed. “If he’s talking about something bigger than the kingdom . . .” He paused, then exhaled sharply. “It sounds like he’s after something that could change the entirety of Issoirea, affecting all the nine kingdoms.”
Reiya shuddered. Castiel’s cryptic words had felt distant before—just another manipulation, another vague promise in the dark. But, spoken aloud, with the Asadian princes weighing them, they carried a new gravity.
Had she been nothing more than a pawn in something far greater than she realized?
Alarik stopped and ran a knuckle across his jaw, as if turning over the pieces in his mind. “The dock workers told us his ship was headed for Bashkor. Did you know?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “No. He said we were going to Batteron, where a friend arranged a priest for the marriage rites.”
The words felt brittle, foolish as she said them. Memories of whispered promises crumbled under the weight of the truth.
Her brow furrowed. “Still . . . Bashkor makes no sense. It’s notorious for illegal Omega auctions—selling to the highest bidder. But Castiel was clear he didn’t care about wealth. Why take me there?”