Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
REIYANA
A fter two turns of the sand clock, Reiya sat before the mirror, wrapped in a robe of fine Asadian silk.
Her fingers skimmed the fabric, marvelling at its texture—smooth as flowing water, impossibly light.
Even in Nymaris, true Asadian silk was rare, coveted for its iridescent sheen and masterful craftsmanship.
It was said to adapt to the desert’s extremes—cooling in the heat, warming in the chill—its weaving secrets passed down through generations of silk-weaver clans.
The lingering warmth of her bath clung to her skin, perfumed with citrus, rose oil, and exotic spices. Behind her, Amina, the handmaiden appointed by Lady Neda, worked fragrant oil through her hair with steady, practiced fingers.
The soothing motion nearly lulled Reiya to sleep, but she forced her eyes open, meeting her own reflection.
The last traces of black dye had been washed away, revealing golden waves that shimmered in the candlelight.
For more than a fortnight, she’d hidden beneath dark strands, a disguise of necessity.
Now, as Amina’s careful hands smoothed her hair to a silken sheen, it felt as if she were reclaiming a part of herself—one she’d nearly forgotten.
Amina had just finished, gliding a final stroke of the comb through her hair, when another maid entered, carrying a gilded tray. She whispered something to Amina, set the tray on the vanity, and quietly withdrew.
“The king asked us to deliver this to you, Your Highness.” Amina placed a small metal tube on the vanity with a respectful bow. “A Sparo delivered it a few days ago.”
Reiya’s heartbeat paused. She reached for the tube, tracing the familiar engraving of Aethonia’s royal seal. The weight of home, of family, pressed against her chest before she even opened it.
She smoothed the parchment over her lap and read.
Dearest Daughter,
We were overjoyed to hear from King Azarion that the princes found you safely. Knowing you are in their care eases our hearts, though we long to see you.
At his advice, we are monitoring Castiel’s whereabouts. He has not returned, but we proceed with caution.
Hold to your strength and grace. No matter what lies ahead, you are loved, cherished, and ever in our thoughts. We pray brighter news reaches us soon and that we may hold you in our arms again.
Love, your family.
She closed her eyes. The ink carried more than words—it carried her mother’s warmth, her father’s steady reassurance, her brothers’ laughter. She could almost hear them in the script, feel the comfort of their presence despite the great distance between them.
Yet, a shadow lurked at the edges of the letter’s warmth.
Castiel.
King Azarion had warned them—at Kaelen’s request, no doubt—but there was no mention of the message she’d sent from Vhalis Thorn. The omission confirmed what she already suspected: her family never received it .
Castiel’s hand in this was unmistakable. He’d manipulated the flow of information, ensuring that what little she’d revealed about him never reached her family. Whether he delayed the message or erased it entirely, the result was the same—silence where there should’ve been action.
The realization sent a slow burn through her veins.
Amina placed the hairbrush gently on the vanity. “Lady Neda has delivered your gowns and is waiting with Princess Thalina in your dressing room. Would you like to go there now, Princess?”
Reiya nodded. “I’ll see them now.”
She stepped into the adjoining dressing room just as Lady Neda and Thalina entered. The consort’s regal poise contrasted with the girl’s boundless energy as she darted toward a settee draped with gowns.
“When Kaelendrin’s message arrived, telling us he and Alarik were bringing you home, we began preparing some dresses,” Lady Neda explained.
“Without knowing your measurements, we chose a variety of styles—at least for tonight. Tomorrow, if you wish, the royal seamstress can tailor them to your liking.”
Before she could reply, Thalina clutched the sleeve of a rose silk gown, her eyes gleaming. “This one’s my favourite!”
Reiya smiled, stepping forward to trace the delicate embroidery. “It’s beautiful, Thalina. You have a keen eye for elegance.”
The girl beamed. “It suits you.”
“A fine choice,” Lady Neda agreed. “Graceful, without being overly grand.”
She added, “The king wishes to keep tonight’s gathering intimate. Just immediate family rather than a courtly spectacle. You’ve had little time to settle—he thought it best to ease you in.”
Reiya exhaled, the tension she hadn’t fully acknowledged unwinding from her shoulders as she let Lady Neda help her into the soft silk. “That’s considerate of His Majesty. It’s been a while since my last court event. It’s reassuring to return to it gradually.”
Truthfully, her comportment felt unpolished, rusty from weeks where survival had mattered more than decorum.
Lady Neda’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Then it’s fortunate tonight requires no scrutiny—at least not yet.” A pause. “Tomorrow’s event, however, will involve the court. A different setting, one that will require . . . careful balance.”
Reiya nodded, tracing the gown’s embroidered hem. “Balancing warmth with grace. Enough composure to command respect, but not so much that I appear distant.”
“Precisely.” The consort reached for a pearl pin on the vanity, securing a loose strand of Reiya’s hair. “In a court like ours, sincerity is valued, but restraint even more so. They will weigh your words—and your silences just as much.”
“What is planned for tomorrow?”
“An afternoon picnic in the desert, closer to sunset when the heat is less oppressive. Most courtiers are still summering in their villas outside Mezerin, so the gathering will be smaller, but significant enough to be your introduction to the court.”
Reiya hesitated before carefully asking, “Might Lady Anna?s be in attendance?”
Lady Neda’s hands stilled briefly before smoothing the silk of the gown with deliberate care. When she met Reiya’s gaze in the mirror, her smile was polite but distant.
“The High Lady of Mezerin will likely attend. Her father, High Chancellor Hassamir, is the king’s distant cousin, and their family ensures their presence on such occasions. She is . . .” She paused, averting her gaze to the gowns. “Skilled at ensuring all eyes remain on her.”
Thalina huffed from where she sifted through a jewelry box. “She loves being the centre of attention. She always wears something extravagant, so everyone notices her.”
Lady Neda’s lips twitched faintly. “She understands the court’s intricacies well and wields her presence with precision.”
The girl’s small hands faltered over the pearls. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She makes people feel small sometimes. Even Mother.”
The weight of that admission settled over the room.
The consort’s expression remained composed, but something flickered beneath the surface. She resumed adjusting Reiya’s gown.
“That sounds unkind,” Reiya said softly .
Lady Neda’s smile held a quiet resignation. “I was born to a family of cloth merchants west of the capital. When I first entered the palace, it was as a steward to the Keeper of the Royal Household—and Lady Anna?s has never let me forget it.”
“But now you are the king’s consort, and the mother of his daughter.”
“Highborn Omegas are rare. Before you, Asadia had only two—Anna?s, and Lady Safira, a child too young for courtly matters. Such rarity lends power, and Anna?s knows it better than most.”
“And her father?”
Lady Neda’s tone smoothed into practiced neutrality.
“The High Chancellor is a man of considerable standing. As the king’s distant cousin and a council member, his voice carries weight, and his counsel is highly regarded.
He is devoted to his house’s prosperity, as any wise head of family would be. ”
Reiya watched her reflection in the mirror, noting the careful choice of words.
Devoted to ensuring the prosperity of his house? A tactful way of saying he was ambitious—perhaps dangerously so.
She asked, “Is he an Alpha, like King Azarion?”
“No, a Beta.”
Shadows rippled across Lady Neda’s features—so brief, so subtle that Reiya might have missed it had she not been watching closely. The faint tightening of her lips, the carefully measured pause.
The implication was clear. Whatever facade Anna?s and her father presented to the court, their influence ran deep. The capital city bore their name. Their reach extended further than mere titles.
And Reiya was the woman who’d put an end to one of those ambitions.
A knock at the door broke the moment.
Amina entered, bowing slightly. “The princes are here, Your Highness.”
Lady Neda placed a hand on Reiya’s arm, warmth returning to her tone. “We’ll leave you to greet them in private. Join us in the dining hall when you’re ready.”
As Lady Neda and Thalina departed, Reiya ran her fingers over her gown. The fabric shimmered like desert twilight, gold embroidery curling in patterns of blooming vines and crescent moons. A sheer, open-front tunic draped over it, cinched at the waist with an ornate brocade belt.
Elegant yet unrestrictive—softness without fragility.
Her hair, swept into an intricate updo, was woven with pearls and jasmine blossoms, their faint fragrance lingering in the warm air. The Numerian sun had deepened her skin to a golden hue, making her blue eyes seem even brighter.
She turned to Amina. “I’ll see the princes now.”
Stepping into the adjoining chamber, she found Kaelen and Alarik in quiet conversation, their backs to her. At the soft brush of her steps, they turned—both stilling at the sight of her.
And she at the sight of them .
Kaelen stood resplendent in sapphire, the gold embroidery at his collar and hem catching the lantern light—sunbursts and serpents winding in elegant loops, the proud sigils of House Asad.
Beside him, Alarik wore black trimmed in silver, the fabric tailored clean to his broad frame, every line sharp with quiet control.
Bronze threads glinted at the edges—swirling desert winds that whispered rather than declared.
Together, they were a study in contrast—Kaelen, golden and sunlit, all warmth and bold energy; Alarik, the steady storm on the horizon, silent yet impossible to ignore.
And both were wholly, undeniably hers .
Their gazes swept over her, lingering. Something unspoken passed between them. Weeks ago, they’d been strangers she couldn’t wait to escape.
Now, she never wanted them to leave.
Alarik was the first to break the silence. “You may leave us, Amina.”
The maid bowed and slipped away, a knowing smile on her lips.
Kaelen stepped forward, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips in a lingering kiss. His voice, softer than she’d ever heard it, brushed against her skin .
“Reiya,” he murmured. “My heart. You were enchanting with black hair, but?—”
“The gold suits me better?” she teased, arching a brow.
His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, gaze warm, unwavering. “How could I want anything but the real you?”
He stepped back, taking her in fully. “Seeing you like this . . . It’s a vision I didn’t know I needed.” A slow grin curved his lips. “I could get used to this.”
“You wear the dress as if it were meant for you,” Alarik said, his voice a low rumble. “As if the sands of the Numeria stitched it for you alone.”
Their gazes were like a warm touch. The heat of their words stirring a deep emotion in her chest—half delight, half a twinge of shyness she hadn’t expected to feel. For a heartbeat, she wondered if she’d ever grow used to the way they looked at her, as though she were something rare and radiant.
Kaelen extended his arm. “Shall we? The rest of the family is waiting.”
Alarik stepped to her other side, offering his as well.
Reiya didn’t hesitate, her fingers brushing the crook of each arm. There was something surreal in the gesture—so simple, yet so symbolic. Once, she might’ve flinched from it. Now, she stepped forward with quiet resolve.
The soft rustle of fabrics blended with the rhythm of their steps as they made their way to the dining hall.