Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
ALARIK
T o Asadia, then.
The words left her like an exhale—softer than a vow, but heavy with something unspoken. Alarik heard it, felt it. This wasn’t just an agreement. It was a step toward something fragile. Not trust yet, but perhaps the beginning of it.
She didn’t say it outright, but he saw it in the way her shoulders eased, in the way she no longer held herself as if bracing for another fight.
She was letting them stand a little closer, piece by piece, without retreating.
It wasn’t a full victory—just a shift, like the first hairline cracks in an icy lake, thin and spreading.
They walked in silence for a moment, the night pressing cool against their skin, the distant hum of the caravan fires soft behind them.
He said, “From Vey’tar Oasis, Asadia’s capital—Mezerin—is only a day’s ride. Our home, Turasid Palace, is within the city.”
Her steps slowed slightly, fingers brushing idly over the fabric of her sleeve. “Will your father welcome me? A foreign princess he never invited?”
Kaelen scoffed lightly, a grin flickering at the corner of his mouth. “He’ll welcome you with open arms. ”
Alarik wasn’t so sure, but his brother’s confidence never wavered. It was the kind of certainty that came from knowing he’d make it happen, one way or another.
The princess’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Even though he didn’t want you at the tournament?”
His steps stilled—just briefly. She hadn’t forgotten. Even in Aethonia, before everything unravelled, she’d pieced together the truth. Their father had sent no champions to win her favour.
He met her gaze. “The promise of protection stands. He won’t rescind what we’ve already given. You have our word, and that’s enough.”
She studied him a moment longer. Then, with the barest exhale, she nodded.
“Thank you.” Her words were quiet, but he knew she meant them.
Kaelen grinned, nudging her shoulder lightly with his own. “Once he sees us standing together, he’ll understand.”
Alarik shared his brother’s confidence in their father’s honour.
A promise given was as good as a promise kept.
But while he knew Reiya would be safe within Turasid Palace, he was less certain of how their father would receive her—as their potential Omega bride, the Tazahrina of Asadia—when his expectations had been clear: secure alliances with Dravuniel or Aquris to bolster their trade and the stability of their borders.
Their father, King Azarion of House Asad, was a compassionate ruler, but also a deeply pragmatic one.
There was a reason he waited to find an Omega to crown queen, despite the many Beta consorts who could’ve borne him Alpha heirs.
Alarik’s own mother had done just that, gifting the kingdom with a son destined to lead.
Yet, giving birth to an Alpha prince hadn’t secured her throne beside the king.
Reiyana, being an Omega, had one undeniable advantage. Even so, he couldn’t be sure their father would deem any foreign Omega princess, rare as she was, worthy of his Sunborn son.
For now, though, he set those thoughts aside. They’d reach Asadia soon enough, and the future could hold its own worries .
Kaelen, as always, had little patience for dwelling on things beyond his control.
With an easy flick of his wrist, he pulled something from his pouch—a pale blue bloom, its petals stark against the dark. Alarik recognized it immediately upon sight.
Reiyana’s eyes glinted with amusement as she accepted the flower, twirling the stem between her fingers. “And where did this come from?”
“Same wildflower field as the bouquets,” Kaelen said, mouth tilting into a near-smirk. “But this one was off on its own. I thought it deserved better company.”
She turned the bloom over in her palm, feigning deep contemplation—though he caught the tease in her eyes. “Interesting. The Xian ladies received posies, yet all I get is a single flower?”
Her gaze flicked to Kaelen, brow lifting. “Tell me, am I meant to feel flattered or shortchanged?”
“Shortchanged?” Kaelen echoed, pressing a hand to his chest with mock outrage. “Yara, I’m wounded.”
“I think you’ll recover,” she said lightly.
Beside them, Alarik stifled a smirk.
His brother leaned in, voice dropping into something low and conspiratorial. “I admit, I might’ve had an ulterior motive.”
She tilted her head, intrigue dancing in her eyes. “I’m listening.”
“My decision to give you a single flower was because I was aiming to get a rise out of you.”
Her lips parted slightly—whether from amusement or something sharper, Alarik couldn’t quite tell.
“Ah, I see. Like when you kissed my wrist at the garland presentation? Or when you started calling me ‘Rei’ without permission?”
Kaelen’s grin deepened. “You make it sound like I’m always so calculating.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Only when it concerns a certain princess who claims indifference . . . but never manages to resist scolding whenever someone dares to break the rules. ”
“That takes either boldness or foolishness. Which one are you, Prince Kaelendrin?”
Kaelen’s grin widened, slow and easy, though his eyes glinted with something more earnest. “Depends on the outcome, doesn’t it?” Then, softer: “And call me Kaelen. I think it’s time, don’t you?”
She opened her mouth to reply—but then, instead, she smiled, genuine and warm. “And you both can call me Reiya, when we’re alone.”
She cast Kaelen a mock-stern look. “Not ‘Rei,’ mind you. Reiya.”
Alarik watched the exchange, something pulling tight in his chest.
It was less pain than an old ache surfacing, familiar and deep, like a scar stretched too far.
Kaelen had always made it look effortless—the way he stepped into moments like they belonged to him, filling silences without forcing them. A conversation with him was a game, a current others couldn’t help but follow.
Alarik had never been that way.
He didn’t resent it, not truly. Admiration and distance often felt like the same thing. Kaelen’s ease made space for others, let them shine, let them be seen. But for him, that space had always felt unreachable—like something he could observe but never step into.
Even now, Reiya fit into it so naturally, teasing, testing, engaging without effort. So, he let Kaelen hold it.
Because what else was he supposed to do? Force his way in? Speak just to make noise? That wasn’t who he was.
But then—Reiya’s gaze flicked to him. And instead of passing over, it lingered, as though she was seeking him, inviting him to join in.
Not as Kaelen’s quieter shadow. Not as the silent prince standing just beyond reach. But as himself.
He wasn’t sure what to do with it.
And maybe that was why, before he could think better of it—he spoke.
“The others might’ve received bouquets, but you got the only desert stargazer in the field.”
Her fingers stopped twirling the stem, curiosity flickering across her face .
“A stargazer,” she echoed. “I think I’ve seen an illustration in a book before. They’re supposed to bring luck and protection, right?”
Kaelen nodded. “Something like that.” His brother shot him a look. “You’re the one who actually remembers these things.”
Alarik huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because you’ve never bothered to get it right.”
Turning back to Reiya, he explained, “It’s said to bring luck and protection, yes, but the meaning runs deeper—true north and everlasting love. A guide for the lost and a symbol of loyalty for those who hold it close.”
Her gaze softened. “True north and everlasting love,” she murmured, almost to herself. “A heavy weight for one small flower.”
Alarik’s mouth quirked. “Which is probably why Kaelen never remembers it. The meaning’s too sentimental for him.”
Kaelen let out an easy laugh, nudging him with an elbow. “Sentimental? I’d say I’m sparing myself from having to wax poetic over a plant.”
She chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “That sounds like a convenient excuse.” She twirled the flower once more before adding, “But I think I’ll remember it better now—thanks to Alarik.”
His pulse stuttered.
It was a small thing—just words, a trivial acknowledgment—but it landed heavier than it should have. And somehow, the sound of his name on her lips stirred something low and deep.
He was used to being the quiet one, the steady one, the one who watched rather than fill the space Kaelen so effortlessly claimed. Yet in this moment, it didn’t matter. Kaelen’s charm wove between them, warm and effortless, but Reiya saw him too .
And for reasons he couldn’t explain, that mattered.
So, for the second time, he surprised himself by speaking again. “There’s a story behind the desert stargazer.”
Her eyes shifted to him.
“They say long ago, a warrior and a healer fell in love despite the vast distance between their homelands. Every night, the healer would look to the stars, hoping they’d guide the warrior back to her.”
Kaelen picked up the thread of the tale, grinning. “Ah yes, now I remember. But their happy ending wasn’t so simple. Their kingdoms were at war, and no road was safe. So, the warrior begged the desert gods for a sign—something to lead him through the sands.”
Alarik nodded. “The gods, moved by his devotion, created the desert stargazer—a flower that only blooms beneath the stars. The warrior followed them, each one pointing the way, until he reached her. But when he arrived, he found she had kept a single stargazer close to her heart . . . a promise she had never stopped waiting.”
Reiya’s gaze dropped to the flower in her hand. She traced the petals gently, her thumb brushing against the edge.
“So, it became a guide for lost hearts.”
Alarik inclined his head. “For Asadians, it’s a symbol of luck for travellers and protection for those who carry it. They say if you hold one close, it will always lead you back to what matters most.”
Kaelen leaned in slightly, a teasing gleam in his eye. “Just don’t forget which way is north. The gods only help so much.”