‘No child should have to prove their worth like that.’
He hadn’t understood the depth of her words until now. She didn’t say them from principle—she meant them, fiercely, with every fibre of her being. She didn’t simply speak for him, or Kaelen, or the children they’d been—she spoke a truth she would live by.
He pictured her with a child in her arms, whispering soft reassurances. Guiding small, unsteady hands. Kissing away scraped knees and furrowed brows. And he knew, with a certainty that gripped him to his bones—whether her child was Alpha, Beta, or Omega, they would never have to wonder if they were enough.
They would never have to earn her love.
A dangerous kind of longing twisted through his chest, the kind he had spent his whole life pretending he didn’t need. He hadn’t let himself dream beyond survival. But now, looking at her, he realized—if he ever dared to build something more, it would look a lot like this.
It would look a lot likeher.
His fingers flexed at his sides, the thought lodging itself deep, immovable.
The road ahead remained uncertain, as it always had.
But now, for the first time, he knew precisely what he would fight for.
Andwhy.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
REIYANA
The soreness had already set in—a low, steady thrum deep in her arms. Alarik hadn’t exaggerated. By the time the archery lesson ended, her muscles ached from the strain, and tomorrow, her body would surely curse her for it.
Still, the ache felt earned. A reminder she was carving out something of her own—a skill not gifted by birthright or title, but claimed by choice. A skill that made her less defenceless, less vulnerable.
She lingered near the Xians’ stall, weaving between displays of earthenware jars and baskets of ripened dates, the late afternoon sun spilling molten gold across the market. The air shimmered with life: the rhythmic cadence of haggling, the bark of laughter, the distant trill of a flute threading through the din. Yet beneath it all, something felt different.
Quieter.
Her gaze drifted toward the caravanserai, where Kaelen and Alarik had disappeared to help Xian Jun with the horses. Without them, a space had opened—subtle, but keenly felt.
Something felt missing, as if their presence had settled too comfortably beside her, and now its absence tugged at the edges of her awareness.
They’d entered her life like a shifting tide—relentless, inevitable. Before she could decide whether to resist or surrender, she was already caught in the current.
Yet, she wasn’t drowning.
Idly, she traced the rim of a ceramic dish on the stall’s counter, her thoughts drifting back to the archery lesson, to Alarik, the way his voice had softened—almost reluctantly—when he’d spoken of the Sunborn Trial.
His words had settled in her chest like a marble slab. Even now, their weight pressed against her ribs.
Six and ten. Two children, forced to prove their worth before they could even understand what it meant. A test that demanded absolute certainty—no doubts, no second chances, only success or failure.
She exhaled slowly, fingertips stilling against the cool ceramic.
‘No glow. No reaction. Just this,’Alarik had said, gesturing to the mark that would forever brand him as less in the eyes of those who cared about such things.
What had he felt, tracing that mark over the years? Had he hated it? Had he resented how it exposed a truth he never asked for? That no matter what he did, no matter how strong or skilled he became, he’d always be viewed as lesser?
And then, there was his mother, who’d built her future on the promise her son would be extraordinary.
Reiya had never met Alarik’s mother, and she never would, but she could picture her all the same. A Beta, desperate to carve out a place in a world that only valued those born into power. Had she seen Alarik as a victory? A claim to something greater?
And when he’d failed her—when the ink had sunk into his skin, dull and lifeless—had she felt cheated? Betrayed?
Reiya swallowed, glancing down at her own hands, the faint sheen of sweat on her palms suddenly noticeable.
