Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
KAELENDRIN
E arly sunlight slanted through the latticework inside the council chamber, tracing sharp-edged patterns across the floor. The room was silent but for the slow trickle of sand inside the clock.
Kaelen leaned against a cold stone wall, his body thrumming with restless energy.
It had been a long time since he was first to arrive anywhere—by choice, no less. That alone should’ve amused him.
Should have, if he weren’t so unsettled.
His fingers curled against the windowsill, tapping an uneven rhythm, his mind circling back to the night before. To her .
Reiya had been magnificent.
He’d imagined what it would be like, claiming an Omega bride—built a thousand expectations in his mind, some fevered, some reverent. But nothing had prepared him for the raw, unguarded reality of her.
He’d felt it last night—that sharp, jarring realization she wasn’t just some long-anticipated inevitability. She was real. Flesh and fire and instinct, and she’d chosen them.
They’d spent the night in the nest, revelling in their newfound closeness, returning to Turasid shortly before dawn.
She’d been too exhausted to ride Shivanar, so he held her in his arms as he rode, Shahram’s movements smooth, as if even the stallion understood how much her body had been put through.
She’d fallen asleep against his chest, and when they arrived, he tucked her into bed before finally seeking his own.
Still, the memory clung to him: The scent of her skin. The way she’d clenched around him when she fell apart. Heat coiled low in his stomach, fire licking through his blood.
He exhaled sharply and shoved off the wall, pacing the length of the chamber.
He’d expected to feel powerful. An Alpha with an Omega beneath him, soft and eager and entirely his. That was what the stories said, what the world had always whispered.
Instead, he felt . . . vulnerable. Humbled.
Reiya had entrusted herself to them—not just her body, but her soul, her future. And that trust carried a weight unlike anything he’d ever known.
Last night hadn’t just been a claiming, it had been a promise. A declaration without words that she was theirs, and they were hers.
And Kaelen—cocky, careless, reckless Prince Kaelendrin—knew it now.
Reiya wasn’t just their Omega.
She was their future.
For the first time in his life, Kaelen looked at everything—his kingdom, his path, the man he was—and realized he wanted to be . . . better .
His lips quirked slightly. Could she possibly know how deeply she’d already changed him? How her presence made him want to be more—not just for her, but for the family they’d build, for the kingdom they’d shape?
For the first time, he understood the kind of king, mate, and father he wanted to be. The vision was sharp, unyielding as the desert sun.
If he wanted to be that man, if he wanted Asadia to be that kingdom . . .
The change had to start with him .
It had to start here , in this room.
The chamber doors creaked open, pulling Kaelen from his thoughts. He straightened, arms clasped behind his back as councillors filed in, footsteps faltering when they spotted him already waiting.
“Well, this is a rare sight,” remarked Advisor Arman, his tone laced with dry humour. The elderly man settled into his seat with a wry smile. “The Tazahrin, here before us mere mortals. Did anyone check the stars last night for omens from the gods?”
Kaelen smirked. From others, it might’ve been an insult, but Arman was one of his father’s most trusted advisors, and his former mentor. Sharp-tongued, but honest and loyal.
“Perhaps the gods are just as tired of waiting on you lot as I am,” Kaelen replied.
Laughter rippled through the room as the remaining councillors entered, including Captain Marzius and Alarik. The king followed. He paused mid-step, eyebrows lifting in mild disbelief.
“Miracles do happen,” his father mused as he took his seat, eyes twinkling. “Or perhaps we have Princess Reiyana to thank.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Marzius said with a faint smile. “The princess’s influence seems to have accomplished what years of scolding could not—a remarkable feat.”
“And on her first day, no less,” Alarik added. “Imagine how transformed he’d be after a year.”
Kaelen gave an exaggerated shrug as he sat. “What can I say? It seems I’ve finally found something worth getting out of bed for.”
More laughter, but beneath it, Kaelen caught something else. A shift. A flicker of something he’d been given countless times but had never fully believed he’d earned.
Respect.
The chamber doors swung open again.
High Chancellor Hassamir entered with the air of a man accustomed to being noticed, his crimson robes catching the sunlight streaming through the latticed windows. He bowed deeply to the king—though, as always, with a calculated delay.
“Your Majesty, forgive my tardiness,” he said smoothly.
“I had pressing matters to resolve before joining this esteemed gathering.” His gaze swept the room before landing on Kaelen, lips curving into a knowing smile.
“Ah. The Tazahrin graces us with his presence this morning. Truly, we live in extraordinary times.”
Kaelen resisted the urge to roll his eyes and leaned back with a lazy grin. “You’re late, Hassamir. Even I arrived on time.”
Chuckles spread through the room, though Hassamir’s smile remained intact.
“A rare feat,” he replied lightly before turning to the king. “Speaking of extraordinary, I understand our Aethonian guest arrived yesterday. I trust she was warmly received?”
“She was. Kind of you to inquire,” Kaelen answered curtly. “Though, Hassamir, Princess Reiyana is not a guest. This is her home now.”
Hassamir’s gaze lingered. “Of course. It is an occasion worth marking with the honour it deserves. I understand last night’s dinner was a private affair. Such moments are precious, especially after long absences. A perfect opportunity for formal introductions and personal congratulations.”
The man gave a pause, a measured tilt of the head. “One might say the inclusion of certain loyal subjects would have further enriched the celebration.”
The king, sensing the subtle edge in Hassamir’s words, replied evenly, “After weeks apart, I wanted the chance to be with my sons and their bride in private. I trust you understand, cousin.”
Hassamir’s moustache quivered as his smile thinned.
“Of course, family reunions are invaluable. Still, I look forward to moments when we can all share in such joys. It is in these moments that Asadia’s strength and unity shine most clearly.”
Kaelen caught the barb, though the High Chancellor’s expression remained polished. He knew better than to rise to it—especially with the king’s smooth deflection.
Alarik, ever the diplomat, responded before the tension could stretch too thin.
“Your loyalty and service to the Crown are deeply valued. I’m certain there will be many more opportunities to celebrate together.”
Hassamir inclined his head. “Indeed, my Tazahriv. One can only hope that future events will be more . . . inclusive of all who hold Asadia’s interests at heart.”
“The princess will be pleased to meet you,” the king interjected smoothly. “This afternoon, at the picnic. You must bring your daughter, of course.”
Hassamir straightened, his thin smile sharpening. He and his daughter needed no invitation, yet the king extended one all the same, ensuring there’d be no complaints later.
“Anna?s is looking forward to it. She’s already selecting a gown worthy of the occasion. She only ever wishes to make herself agreeable to you, Your Majesty.”
The words, innocent on the surface, carried an undertone Kaelen couldn’t ignore. He schooled his features into polite indifference. Hassamir’s talent for cloaking intent beneath a veil of deference was an art form, and he wasn’t about to give the man the satisfaction of a visible reaction.
Instead, he let his thoughts churn. Anna?s had always known how to command a room, wielding her beauty and charm like a finely honed weapon.
Hassamir’s mention of her ‘agreeableness’—directed at the king, no less—seemed like a calculated move.
Was this another attempt to position Anna?s closer to the Crown, or a veiled challenge to Reiya’s place as Tazahrina?
The meeting started with Zahalyar, Asadia’s northern territory. Maps unfurled across the table, detailing the arid region and its scattered settlements.
Advisor Arman spoke first. “The drought worsens each season. The brackish wells are failing, leaving villages entirely reliant on water caravans. It’s costly, unsustainable, and risks unrest.”
Kaelen studied the map, gaze lingering on the dried salt basins where wells had once sustained life. Zahalyar bore the scars of ancient seas, their ghosts lingering in the form of mineral-crusted plains. The brackish wells, once a lifeline, were now rendered useless as the water table dropped.
“Villages are emptying,” Arman continued, frustration heavy in his tone. “The looms in Zahalyar—once the heart of our silk trade—sit quiet. Without weavers, silk industry collapses, and with it, Asadia’s standing as the finest silk producer in the nine kingdoms.”
Marzius crossed his arms. “Bandits are targeting water supply routes. Even with increased patrols, we’re stretched thin.”
Kaelen’s gaze flicked to the Suhadrin River on the map. “What if we diverted it to replenish the wells?”
Arman sighed. “Suhadrin already irrigates our farmlands and sustains our orange groves, which nourish the desert silkworms. Drawing more could risk both our harvest and our trade.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. A new aqueduct project was already underway to secure water from Nafara Oasis for larger towns, but Zahalyar’s settlements had been left behind.
“What about extending the aqueducts? Adding branches north?”
The king replied, “Where would we get the funds? The current aqueduct plan is stretching the treasury thin as it is.”
“A temporary levy on luxury goods—spices, oils, silk—would generate the necessary funds without burdening the working class,” Kaelen mused, tapping his chin.
“Merchants rely on Zahalyar’s silk trade.
If the drought continues, their industries will crumble, and so will their profits.
A levy ensures they contribute to the solution without breaking their own foundation. ”
Arman frowned. “The merchants won’t see it that way. They’ll resist.”
“Which is why this must be framed as a shared investment, not a tax. The funds will be earmarked for water infrastructure, and the merchants will have a seat on the committee overseeing the projects. They won’t just pay—they’ll be part of the solution.”
Hassamir’s quiet voice cut through the room. “What stops them from taking their business elsewhere?”
The High Chancellor steepled his fingers, his tone measured yet pointed.
“Dravuniel and Aquris also produce silks. If we impose this levy, what’s to stop our merchants from turning to them instead?
They’ve long sought to undermine Asadia’s hold on the trade.
And now”—his gaze flicked to Kaelen, something sharp behind his eyes—“we’ve given them every reason to do so. ”
Silence settled over the chamber .
“They once sought alliances with us—alliances that would have solidified trade and secured our dominance.” Hassamir’s voice remained smooth, but the deliberate weight behind his words was palpable.
“But those negotiations have failed, haven’t they?
” He let the question hang before adding, “A royal marriage would have ensured their cooperation. Instead, we’ve taken . . . a different path.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. Hassamir hadn’t said Reiya’s name; he didn’t need to. The accusation was woven into every syllable—Asadia turned away from two powerful kingdoms, and for what? A foreign princess from a distant land with no political leverage?
Across the table, Alarik exhaled through his nose. “What, precisely, are you implying, Hassamir?”
The older man tilted his head. “Nothing beyond simple reality, Prince Alarik. Had we secured an alliance through marriage, we would not be standing on such precarious ground.”
Kaelen’s fingers curled against the table’s edge. “You speak as if alliances are built on marriage alone.”
Straightening, he clasped his hands. “Dravuniel’s court is fickle, and Aquris is loyal only to profit.
A marriage might have bought us temporary favour, but it wouldn’t guarantee stability.
Asadia’s strength must come from within.
We won’t build our future on borrowed ties that can unravel at the next political shift. ”
His gaze swept the council. “Asadian silk is unmatched.” He let the statement settle.
“Dravuniel and Aquris weave fine silk, yes, but they import their threads from X?en-Sarai. Every bolt they produce relies on a foreign market.” He gestured to the map, tracing Zahalyar with his fingers.
“We produce our own. Our silkworms thrive in Asadia’s climate, feeding on our citrus groves, yielding silk with a unique iridescent quality.
It adapts to both climate and body warmth. No other kingdom can replicate this.”
His golden eyes flicked to Hassamir. “We shouldn’t rely on outsiders to solve Asadia’s problems. And we certainly won’t weaken our own position just to appease them.”
Hassamir held his gaze before offering a tight, unreadable smile. “A compelling argument, Prince. Let us hope the merchants see it as clearly as you do. ”
The king exhaled, decisive. “Then let us proceed. Kaelendrin, prepare your proposal. If it holds, you’ll have my endorsement.”
Hassamir leaned back, silent once more.
Kaelen inclined his head, satisfaction settling in his chest. The High Chancellor’s doubt stung, but he must look beyond one man’s discontent.
He reckoned this wouldn’t be the last time he heard about it.