Beside her, Leif—the brother closest to her in age—looked up for the first time from the colourful rope he’d been weaving. His fingers stilled mid-knot. A sailor at heart, his hands were rarely idle, always braiding or tying something.
But for once, the rhythm faltered.
“Well, well,” he muttered, smile deepening. “The desert princes actually showed up.”
She leaned closer to him. “Who?”
Her eldest brother, Thorir, seated on her other side, turned slightly. “Kaelendrin, the golden-haired one, is Asadia’s heir apparent,” he said, just as the master of ceremonies announced the names. “And that’s his half-brother, Prince Alarik.”
“Half-brother,” Reiya repeated, the word settling into place. “But . . . Kaelendrin is the crown prince? His brother looks older.”
Thorir nodded. “In Asadia, bloodline matters more than age. Kaelendrin is the queen’s son, so the throne belongs to him.”
Her attention drifted back to Prince Alarik, his quiet presence a perfect foil to his brother’s golden charms.
A concubine’s son, then?
Leif, always quick with a sly remark, chuckled. “Didn’t think they’d come, considering their father declined our invitation.”
“Declined?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Aethonia must be too small and too far to matter much to them.”
Asadia had always felt like a distant dream to her—mysterious and untouched. She recalled the stories of their legendary horses, sleek and swift as desert winds, and the goods trickling into Nymaris’s markets: the highly coveted iridescent silk, fragrant oils, spices, and all kinds of citrus. It was a place she’d only imagined through books and tales—a distant land of fragrant groves and endless golden sands.
Yet now, two of its princes stood here, real as the blazing sun, their presence turning stories into reality.
“Why would they come,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone, “if their king saw no value in Aethonia?”
Leif leaned closer, mischief sparking in his blue eyes. “Maybe they’ve realized it’s harder than expected to find an Omega willing to agree to the pact.”
She frowned. “What pact?”
Thorir cut in before Leif could answer. “No need to trouble Rei with those stories.”
Leif rolled his eyes but held his tongue, though the glint in his gaze lingered.
She pressed again, voice firm. “What pact?”
Thorir only shook his head.
Heat prickled her scalp, her gown suddenly stifling as she clenched her fists. The truth was always just out of reach, dangled over her, yet never dropped. Her brothers always did this—especially Thorir, the only Alpha in the family, deciding what she needed to know as if she were too fragile for the truth.
Torsten, her second eldest brother, leaned in, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “Rei, don’t look so sour. I’ll tell you something that might make things more . . . interesting.”
Her gaze snapped to him. “What do you mean?”
His eyes flicked to the arena before returning to hers, his voice dropping to a hush, clearly savouring her anticipation. “Let’s just say there’s more to Prince Kaelendrin than meets the eye. Something rare. Something that would make anyone take notice.”
Reiya stilled. “And what’s that?”
Before Torsten could respond, Thorir cut in again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Enough. Rei doesn’t need voices in her ear.”
His blue eyes met hers. “The choice of a husband will be yours alone—no outside influence.”
Torsten leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk. “Sure, sure. Just remember—you heard it from me first.”
She glanced between her three brothers, perturbed by the mystery in Torsten’s words.
