Chapter 22 #2
Alarik’s gaze sharpened. “The dock workers could’ve been misled. Bashkor might’ve been a decoy to throw off anyone trailing him.” He paused. “Or a stop on the way to somewhere else.”
Kaelendrin folded his arms. “If that was his plan, he played it perfectly. The moment we heard his ship was bound for Bashkor, we went straight there. Had to see for ourselves.”
“And?”
“No trace of him. No sign of a sale.” He hesitated. “But there was a bounty. A high one. Someone—maybe even Castiel himself—wants you found.”
Her stomach dipped. “A bounty?” She lifted a hand to her temple. She had expected danger—she knew Castiel had deceived her—but the thought of him placing a price on her retrieval sent a cold, shuddering shock through her bones.
Because who else would’ve done it? Who else wanted her found?
She swallowed, bile rising in her throat. “That . . . explains so much.”
Alarik’s brow furrowed. “Explains what?”
She took a steadying breath. “Two nights ago, we stopped at Vhalis Thorn. I sent a Sparo to my family. The next morning, mercenaries showed up, claiming they planned to return me home. I would’v been caught, if not for Xian Jun.
” She chewed on her lip. “At first, I thought it was just a strange coincidence. But . . . what if someone intercepted the message before it even reached the palace? The Sparo had a ring marking its home. They would’ve discovered where I sent it from. ”
Alarik’s expression darkened. “Then don’t send another—not directly. We’ll pass it through our father in Asadia. He’ll get the message to your family safely, without tipping off anyone else.”
His brother nodded, expression softening slightly. “Father would make sure it’s secure. No one would intercept it—not if he’s involved.”
Reiya nodded, fingers curling into loose fists as relief trickled in. Her fingers drifted absently over her wrists, tracing the faint welts just beginning to heal. The skin itched as it mended, a restless reminder of what she’d endured. Across from her, Alarik’s gaze tracked her movement.
“How precisely did you escape?” His voice was low, careful.
The details blurred, but she pieced them together. “When I woke up, after he sedated me the second time—groggy, bound—I thought there had to be a way out. Then I saw the door to my cabin was open.” A pause. “I took the chance and threw myself into the ocean.”
Alarik frowned. “The door was left open?”
Kaelendrin tilted his head, suspicion flickering across his face. “After everything he did to put you on that ship—why?”
Reiya hesitated, unease creeping in. “I thought it was luck. Or a careless crew member. Or that he simply . . . underestimated me.” She swallowed. “Now I’m not so sure.”
Kaelen’s voice was quiet, edged with suspicion. “You were bound. Drugged. Yet the door was open.” His eyes met hers. “That doesn’t sit right.”
Alarik looked thoughtful. “What if he let you go?”
“Why would he do that?”
His gaze hardened. “Maybe he needed you to escape. Maybe getting you on the ship was never the end goal—just another step toward something else.”
Her hands tightened around the edges of her shawl, her mind spinning. She waded through fragments of that night, each memory sharper, harder to face.
Why did he let her escape ?
No matter how she turned the pieces, they refused to fit, slipping further from her grasp the more she tried to force them together.
Kaelendrin reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out a small glass vial. Inside, a fine purple powder shimmered, moonlight glancing off it in slow, dreamlike ripples, luring the eye without mercy.
“Do you recognize this?” His voice was steady, but tension ran beneath it. He rolled the vial between his fingers before holding it out to her. “Did Castiel ever give you something that looked like this?”
She frowned, her gaze narrowing. The colour was striking—deep violet—but completely unfamiliar.
“I’ve never seen it before,” she admitted. “What is it?”
“Crushed purple limyerite,” Alarik answered. “It’s rare, and its sale is highly regulated. The only known deposits in the nine kingdoms are in Tremore—specifically, Blackwood-Verde.”
Kaelendrin continued, his expression darkening.
“It’s used medicinally in small doses. Some religious sects use it for visions, claiming it allows them to commune with the gods.
” His fingers tapped against the glass. “But in higher doses? It subdues. Omegas are particularly susceptible to it, and traffickers use it to keep captives compliant, just sluggish enough to obey.”
Reiya’s stomach twisted.
“I don’t . . .” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus.
“The second drug Castiel used was a clear liquid—I saw it. But the first time? The wine?” Her brows knit together.
“It tasted cloyingly sweet, and after a few sips, the world blurred at the edges. My limbs felt heavy, like I was sinking into myself.”
The princes exchanged a look.
“If it was mixed well enough,” Alarik said, voice low, “you wouldn’t have seen it.”
A chill slid through her.
Kaelendrin turned the vial between his fingers, his expression unreadable. “The real question is how Castiel obtained it.”
She stared at him. “You said it comes from Blackwood-Verde. That’s Alexander Wulfbane’s fief, isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened. “It is. I’ll . . . send word to Alexander and inquire. ”
Alarik’s tone remained careful but pointed. “Do you trust his honesty? His family’s scandal alone is enough to warrant suspicion.”
His brother hesitated.
“And he left the tournament halfway through,” she reminded. “Didn’t even finish the archery event.”
Kaelendrin pressed his lips together, tension working at his jaw.
“We’ll keep this to ourselves for now,” he murmured, slipping the vial back into his pouch. “Until we know who to trust.”
She barely heard him past the pounding in her ears.
Purple limyerite. A rare substance, yet Castiel had known how to use it. Had known how to get it.
He had access. Connections. A supplier.
Her mind reeled, sifting through everything she thought she knew about him. A noble-born Beta, trained in courtly graces, raised among scholars and diplomats.
She clenched her jaw. This wasn’t just a betrayal of trust—it was a revelation of who he truly was beneath the mask. He’d played the part of a wistful lover, a man desperate to run away with her, but how far did that performance go? How long had he pretended to be someone he wasn’t?
Alarik exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. His eyes shut briefly, as if the weight behind them pressed too hard. She watched in silence, noting the tension gathered at his brow.
“Speculating won’t help when we’re still in the dark.” His voice was calm but firm. “For now, our priority is getting you home. Bashkor’s the closest port, but it’s crawling with mercenaries who might recognize you. The risk is too great. We’ll head east and avoid it.”
Reiya bit her lip, her gaze drifting toward the distant firelight of the campsite. “What if a mercenary here already suspects I’m not who I pretend to be?”
Alarik’s sharp inhale mirrored the unease curling in her stomach. Beside her, Kaelendrin stiffened, his expression darkening as he followed her line of sight.
“The Alpha who bit your neck,” he said, voice low, simmering with anger. “You meant him.”
She swallowed hard, the memory of Jodhar’s grip clawing back— the dull ache still lingering beneath her skin. “Jodhar. Elder Tasim—the caravan leader—hired his team for protection.”
Kaelendrin let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Protection. That’s rich.”
His mouth pressed into a hard line, tension thrumming beneath his words. “Doesn’t matter if he suspects anything.” His voice dropped lower, edged with something colder. “Because if he so much as breathes wrong in your direction, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”
Her heart skipped. It wasn’t just the words—she could feel the promise in them, the unshakable certainty that the princes would follow through. Once, that kind of declaration might’ve made her recoil, but now . . . the weight of it settled differently.
Not as a claim, nor control, but as an assurance.
Alarik inclined his head, gaze sharp with quiet purpose. “The path you’ve chosen leads to Asadia, and we’ll follow it. Once there, we can regroup and arrange an army escort. That would give us the best chance of reaching Aethonia safely.”
The thought of an army escort settled over her, the first true shield against the dangers Castiel might have set in motion.
She could see the unspoken worry in their eyes. They understood the risks. Mercenaries—even those loyal to coin—only needed a glimpse of the bounty to switch sides. The princes could outbid their enemies, but who knew what price the other side was willing to pay?
And still, they were offering to escort her personally.
She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “You’d . . . do that for me?”
Kaelendrin gave a lighthearted shrug and grinned. “We did say we wanted to get to know you, didn’t we?”
She looked between them, her pulse quickening. They’d offered her the chance once, and she’d turned away. Chosen Castiel instead.
Now, through coincidence or by Luneth’s grace, they’d found their way back to the same road. And this time, she wasn’t running in the other direction.
Besides . . . Asadia .
Staying on the road with the Xians felt right, and the promise of Asadia carried an unexpected comfort—like stepping into the stories she’d grown up with, finally seeing the foreign land she’d only heard about from passing visitors.
The thought stirred something inside her—a thrill whispering of freedom and possibility, even amid the danger.
She met their eyes.
“To Asadia, then.”