Chapter 40 #2
“You should be resting,” she murmured, her hand hovering near his bandaged torso.
Kaelen’s lips quirked. “How can I, with him here?” He nodded toward his father. “I assume this isn’t just a social call?”
The king’s gaze flicked briefly to Reiya before returning to his son. “We have matters to discuss, but . . .” He paused, his meaning clear. “Perhaps we can continue later. In private.”
Kaelen snaked an arm around Reiya’s waist, anchoring her at his side. Warmth radiated from him, solid despite the lingering weakness in his frame.
“We’ve no secrets between us,” he said.
For a moment, the room felt heavier, as though the air had thickened under the scrutiny of a man who’d ruled his kingdom unquestioned. But then, with a single nod, the tension eased.
“As you wish,” the king said.
He moved unhurriedly, lowering himself into a chair near the bed. His gaze swept over Kaelen first, taking in the pallor of his skin. Then to Alarik, who stood nearby, his presence a silent, steady force.
Finally, those piercing golden eyes landed on her.
Reiya lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching.
She had stood before kings and rulers before, enduring their scrutiny, but this was different.
He wasn’t looking at her as an Omega pawn or a prize—but something even more precarious.
His gaze didn’t consider so much as calculate, like a ruler assessing the risk of a complication he hadn’t planned for.
“The Sparo you sent from Zohara reached me in time to act, allowing us to organize your retrieval. However . . .” Azarion paused deliberately, letting his words sink. “Your detour to Aethonia was not part of your directive, let alone you returning with the princess.”
Kaelen tensed, as though gearing for a fight. “We took an unexpected scenic route.”
The king raised a brow. “Aethonia is far from Dravuniel or Aquris. Scenic, indeed.”
Kaelen only shrugged, unrepentant. The king sighed and leaned back, the weight of his disappointment sinking into the room.
“I had other plans for you both—especially you, Kaelendrin. You were to pay your respects to the Princess of Dravuniel before proceeding to Aquris to meet their princess. I spent months in careful negotiations to secure your betrothal to one of them.”
His gaze sharpened, his voice edged with finality. “This . . . misadventure, inadvertently, has put an end to those discussions.”
Kaelen’s voice remained steady. “We chose Princess Reiyana over alliances. It’s a decision we’ll never regret.”
The king’s attention shifted to Alarik. “As the elder brother, I’d expected you to keep Kaelendrin’s focus on what benefits the kingdom.”
Kaelen started to protest, but Alarik’s calm voice cut through before he could speak. “I have, Father.”
The king’s frown deepened. “Then perhaps you’ve misunderstood. An alliance with Dravuniel would have secured our border, while Aquris would have granted access to the Gulf of Almasar. Their port alone would have strengthened our trade routes and given us access to a coastline.”
Reiya lowered her gaze. Though not part of the Nine Issoirean Kingdoms, Aquris stood as a gatekeeper between their realm and the seas beyond.
Through marriage, Asadia could’ve gained more than just a trade partner—it could’ve claimed access to maritime routes no other kingdoms in the alliance had ever controlled.
But . . .
What she shared with Kaelen and Alarik was no less significant than any political arrangement. Love, trust—shouldn’t those hold weight, not just bloodlines and trade agreements?
Alarik cleared his throat, drawing her from her thoughts. “Perhaps our understanding of what’s best for the kingdom differs, Father.”
The king’s gaze sharpened. “Explain.”
Alarik met his father’s scrutiny without flinching.
“Asadians live by the will of this desert. Strength isn’t just measured by borders or trade routes—it’s in resilience, in those who endure.
A queen who understands that, who carries both empathy and fortitude, will serve Asadia better than one chosen for convenience. ”
The king’s brow lifted. “You believe Princess Reiyana will be such a figure?”
Kaelen leaned forward, his voice low but sure. “She already is. She’s walked among the people, worked beside them. Not many royal brides can say the same.”
Alarik’s voice remained steady. “Choosing love and trust doesn’t just strengthen a marriage—it strengthens a kingdom. Rulers who stand together by choice inspire loyalty. That’s worth more than obligation.”
She wasn’t used to being defended, not like this, not with such certainty.
A part of her still struggled to believe she belonged here, in this tent, in this conversation.
But another part—steadier now—understood that her worth shouldn’t measured in bloodlines or borders.
It was in how she’d endured, adapted, learned to move through the world with quiet purpose.
And if the king couldn’t see it yet, she wouldn’t shrink from that.
Kaelen reached out and squeezed her hand. “If alliances were all that mattered, you wouldn’t have married my mother.” His voice softened at the mention of her, but defiance remained. “She wasn’t a princess, and she came from a kingdom far beyond our borders.”
The king’s gaze hardened, but behind it, nostalgia flickered. After a pause, he said, “Your mother was exceptional. I’ve never regretted that decision.”
Kaelen straightened, pride warming his voice. “Reiya is, too. And we believe she will bring the same strength to Asadia.”
The king’s fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. “Your faith in her is commendable, but sentiment alone does not strengthen borders or secure trade routes. Aethonia is a small, distant kingdom with only one Alpha in its royal family. Dravuniel and Aquris are within reach, each with the strength of multiple Alphas in one generation.”
Reiya met his gaze evenly. He was weighing numbers, titles, and bloodlines—things she’d never controlled. But power meant little without the will to wield it wisely.
And that, at least, she possessed in full.
“Your Majesty,” she began. “Aethonia may be the smallest of the nine kingdoms, but our people are happy, our economy flourishing. My father is a Beta, yet he is kind and just, beloved by his subjects.”
She met the king’s sharp gaze. “I am no warrior. Aethonia has neither vast armies, nor an abundance of Alphas in its lineage. If you seek political gain, I cannot promise the wealth of Aquris or the strategic position of Dravuniel, but I can promise loyalty—the kind that holds firm when there’s nothing left to bargain with.
Your sons stood by me when it would’ve been easier to walk away. And I will stand by them.”
Silence thickened in the space between them, and she chanced a glance at the princes. Kaelen held her gaze, exhaustion giving way to quiet certainty. Alarik said nothing, but the pride in his eyes spoke for him.
Finally, Azarion exhaled slowly. His gaze softened in a way that caught her off guard; whether it was approval or something else entirely, she wasn’t sure.
But this much she knew—she had made herself heard.
And that, in itself, was a victory .
“I will admit,” Azarion said at last, “you’ve accomplished something Anna?s could not.”
Reiya blinked. Alarik’s brow furrowed, but it was Kaelen’s reaction that spoke volumes—jaw slackened, surprise flashing across his face.
“Anna?s was poised, clever,” their father continued. “By all rights, she should have made a fine queen. A union between Houses Asad and Mezerin—the two ancient houses of Asadian royalty—would have solidified peace among our people.”
A pause followed.
“But she could not unite you. Her loyalty to one of you was a dagger aimed at the other.”
The admission landed heavily, echoing through the chamber like the distant toll of a bell.
“But you,” Azarion continued, “you’ve forged a bond with both. Not by command or duty, but by something far stronger. And in doing so, you’ve achieved what many believed impossible.”
His gaze lingered on Kaelen and Alarik. “You’ve given them a reason to stand together, not apart. And that . . . eases a father’s heart.”
For a brief moment, the steel in his demeanour softened. Reiya’s heart thudded. She hesitated to feel hopeful, but the king almost sounded like he . . . approved .
He rose, movements slow but deliberate, as though the conversation had drawn more from him than intended. He paused at the tent’s threshold, one hand resting lightly on the canvas flap.
“Rest tonight,” he said. “You’ll be expected at Turasid Palace tomorrow.”
The king left the tent. Silence followed. Reiya let out a slow breath, only then realizing how tightly she’d been holding herself. From across the tent, Alarik met her eyes. Kaelen’s hand brushed her shoulder.
“I think he sees what we have,” she said quietly. “He may not fully agree with it yet, but he respects it enough to let it stand.”
Kaelen snorted. “Not that he has much of a choice.”
Alarik crossed the distance, his gaze meeting hers with a rare gentleness. “I don’t care what he says or thinks. You faced a king tonight and stood your ground. That strength? That’s all you. ”
She swallowed, warmth unfurling. She reached out and laced her fingers with his, squeezing.
Kaelen’s gaze shifted to Alarik, his brow furrowing. His usual lightness faded, vigilance settling into his expression.
“What’s that?”
She followed his line of sight toward Alarik’s belt—specifically, the arrow shaft strapped to it.
“I suspect the arrow that killed Jodhar belongs to . . . Castiel,” she told him.
Kaelen’s grin faded as he exchanged looks with them both. “What did I miss?”
She exhaled slowly, the warmth of the moment fading as she explained her findings about the Tidebinder’s knot on the arrow that killed Jodhar.
Kaelen glowered, and she couldn’t blame him. They’d only just dealt with Jodhar—hadn’t even set foot in Asadia—and already, Castiel’s shadow was upon them.
“Have you spoken to Marzius?”
Alarik nodded. “Mezerin’s gates are sealed, security doubled. No one’s getting in or out without questioning.”
“Good. Tomorrow, I want Mezerin combed for anything suspicious. If Castiel—or one of his men—is already inside, we’ll find them.”
She swallowed hard, the weight in her chest easing—but not vanishing.
Outside, the night stretched wide and merciless, stars scattered like cold fire over the dunes.
On the wind, she caught the acrid sting of burning pyres, where the bodies of fallen soldiers and mercenaries were slowly given to ash.
Somewhere in that darkness, Castiel moved unseen, sliding his pieces across the board with careful, calculating hands.