Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
REIYANA
T he air was thick with the scent of spiced citrus and roasting meat, the tang of fresh-cut herbs mingling with the smoke curling from clay ovens. Voices rose and fell around her—merchants haggling, coins clinking, the rhythmic chatter of a world that never stood still.
Leather strips, sesame oil, and black vinegar. Su Lian’s list lingered at the back of her mind as she wove through the stalls, eyes sharp.
At a leather stall, she ran her hand over a stack of strips, testing their thickness.
Satisfied, she moved on, the rhythm of haggling and exchanging coins grounding her.
The sharp scent of cooking sauces tugged her closer, and she bartered for a jar of vinegar at a spice stall, satisfaction settling as the vendor finally relented.
With each step, something stirred—freedom, light and exhilarating. Every exchange, every decision was hers alone.
The Beta woman selling sesame oil pulled her into easy conversation—which sweetshops sold the best flaky pastries, the easiest ways to press for oil.
Simple things. Uncomplicated things. It felt normal.
A reminder she could exist here, not as a runaway, not as a hidden Omega, but as someone who simply belonged.
Yet, even as she moved through the market with ease, the weight of gazes lingered—Alphas looking around from the edges of the crowd, their presence palpable.
Reiya wrapped her shawl tighter, lifting her chin. Being among a throng like this, it was easier to hide herself. Those Alphas could only guess, but that was all.
Being an Omega wasn’t a crime—just an inconvenience.
She would not let it define her.
The familiar blue and green mosaics of the bathhouse caught her eye, and she hesitated.
Solmaz’s face flashed in her mind, along with the warm offer of friendship.
Perhaps she could stop by for a quick visit?
Invite the woman for tea? The caravan was in Zohara only for a short time, but the thought of furthering a connection with the enigmatic Omega held appeal.
Tucking her purchases securely into her basket, she drifted toward an open square, where vendors were packing up their stalls and stray dogs nosed through discarded scraps.
At one end stood the public message board, its surface layered with curling notices and faded proclamations.
A small crowd clustered there, men murmuring among themselves, their heads angled toward a fresh posting.
A prickle of unease traced down Reiya’s spine.
Just a merchant’s tax notice, she told herself. A new list of travel restrictions. A trade announcement.
And yet, she stepped closer, drawn by the hush in the crowd.
Rising onto her toes, she peered over a man’s shoulder. The parchment was crisp, freshly tacked onto the board.
A pencil sketch of a young woman stared back at her, and her heart turned to ice.
The artist had been generous—delicate lines, softened features, almost romanticized. A heart-shaped face, full lips, and wide eyes framed by wavy light hair.
She barely took in the words before they burned into her vision.
Missing noblewoman. Caste: Omega. One hundred and fifty thousand solaris reward .
The blood drained from her fingers. Even as a princess with little grasp of living costs, she knew—one hundred and fifty thousand solaris wasn’t just wealth.
It was a staggering, life-altering fortune .
A hush had settled over the crowd, followed by murmurs rippling outward.
“That’s an Omega’s bounty. Serious coin.”
“With that price, half of Zohara will be hunting her.”
A man chortled. “Who runs when they’re worth that much?”
The market, which only moments ago had felt almost familiar, tilted around her. Voices blurred, their edges sharp, prickling her nape.
Her heartbeat pounded, each pulse a drumbeat of panic against her ribs.
Had anyone looked at her yet? Had anyone noticed?
Reiya stepped back, slow, careful. The bottles in her basket clinked with every nervous move. Fingers trembling, she adjusted her hair, smoothing back every strand of black hair.
A group of men stood near the board, their gazes sharp. One of them—broad-shouldered, clad in travel-worn leather—gestured toward the sketch, speaking in low tones to the board keeper.
Mercenaries.
Reiya forced herself to turn and walk at a sedate pace.
Don’t run. Don’t draw attention.
She slipped into the throng, weaving through the stalls with measured steps, each one an effort to keep from breaking into a sprint.
Her pulse hammered, the scents of dried citrus and dried chillies thick in the air, but she barely registered them, the urge to get away overrode any other sensations.
Then—a hand closed around her wrist.
She barely stopped herself from yanking free, a sharp gasp catching in her throat as she spun around.
Golden eyes met hers.
Kaelen.
His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.
“Come with me,” he murmured.
His voice stayed urgent, but his posture was easy—two acquaintances pausing at a market stall, nothing more.
Before she could answer, his arm slid around her waist, pulling her close.
The contact jolted through her—warmth, strength, the steady thrum of his heartbeat where her side brushed his chest.
To anyone watching, they must’ve looked like lovers stealing a quiet moment from the crowd.
But beneath the casual hold, she felt it—the tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his spine, the careful control in the way his fingers pressed, firm but never bruising.
The pretence was for the world.
The truth lived in the tautness of his body against hers.
He’d seen the bounty. And now, they must disappear.
Kaelen led her away from the market’s busiest streets. The further they walked, the quieter the streets became. The hum of merchants softened, the weight of lingering eyes fading. They passed a vendor stacking crates of dried figs, a carpet stall where men haggled over rolls of woollen rugs.
Still, the knot in her stomach didn’t ease.
When they were far enough from the bounty board, Kaelen slowed beside her. He bent his head close to her ear and whispered, humour threading through his tone, “Before you accuse me of lurking in the market just to spy on you, I had a reason for being there.”
She turned her head slightly, still watching the path ahead. “Oh?”
He rubbed a finger over his palm, where a faint smear of ink marred his skin. “I sent a Sparo to my father. One last night, one today, and I’ll send another tomorrow—just to be safe.”
Reiya’s steps faltered. “You . . .” She swallowed. “You already sent it?”
Kaelen nodded. “I promised I would.” His golden gaze flicked to her. “My father will forward the message to Aethonia so they’ll know you’re safe. That we found you.”
Something in her chest tightened, then loosened.
“What about Jodhar? And Alarik?”
His jaw tightened. His tone was even, but the displeasure remained. “Jodhar loitered at the caravanserai for a while. We kept watch until Tasim sent him to a neighbouring outpost. Then Xian Jun needed help with a broken wagon wheel, so Alarik stayed behind, and I went to the Wingmaster’s stall.”
They passed a florist’s kiosk, the air thick with the scent of freshly clipped jasmine and desert lilies.
Just ahead, a modest wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, marking a tucked-away teahouse nestled between two small shops.
It was quiet, unassuming—the kind of place no one would think to look for an Omega princess in hiding.
Kaelen nudged the door open, guiding her inside.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The hum of the market softened into the low murmur of conversation, the occasional clink of ceramic cups against wooden tables. A spiced, smoky warmth lingered in the air, laced with the sharper bite of fermented fruit.
Reiya exhaled slowly. It was a perfect hideout. Dim, but not dark. Alive, but not rowdy.
The door swung shut behind them, sealing them away from the hum outside.
Kaelen led her toward a sunlit table by the window facing a quiet alley in the back, where morning light spilled in golden slants over the wood. He took the seat with the unobstructed view of the door—undoubtedly to watch for trouble.
Reiya sank into her chair without thinking, hands settling in her lap. It wasn’t until she glanced up—at the lantern glow, the worn furniture, the people lingering with ease—that it struck her.
She’d never sat in a public teahouse before. Not in Nymaris. Not anywhere. The realization hit with a quiet jolt—part discomfort, part wonder.
Kaelen noticed. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”
She hesitated. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Sat in a teahouse?”
She nodded.
He leaned back, studying her. “Makes sense. Princesses aren’t known to be relaxing in public.”
She gave a faint smile. “You’re a crown prince. I bet you’ve sat in dozens.”
His mouth curved. “Plenty. Some better, some worse. But the company makes all the difference. ”
Her fingers traced the table’s grain. “I used to walk through markets. Vendors would offer tea, small things to taste. I accepted, but I never stopped. Never sat. I thought . . . it might make people uncomfortable.”
His expression softened.
She exhaled. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he signalled to the maid. “Two spiced tamarind teas, please.”
Then, he met her gaze. “I’m honoured to be the first to sit with you.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest. She lowered her lashes, fingertips brushing the table. The space no longer felt like a hiding spot but a whisper of something real.
The server returned with two steaming cups. Kaelen raised his. “To new experiences.”
Reiya cupped hers, meeting his eyes over the rim. “To new experiences.”