Thorir gave her a decisive nod. “When the time comes, you’ll know what’s right.”
Reiya bit the inside of her cheek.Would she?
Despite her frustration, she leaned forward, drawn to the Asadian princes’ every move. Her heart skipped a beat as Prince Kaelendrin lifted his head. Their eyes met, and for the first time, she saw his eyes were golden, as bright as the sun. Amusement flickered over his lips—subtle, knowing, as though he’d glimpsed something in her she hadn’t yet discovered.
A jolt shot through her chest, heat rising to her cheeks before she forced herself to turn away. But the sensation lingered, quickening her pulse.
Kaelendrin stepped to the archery line, the palace’s white spires gleaming behind him. With effortless grace, he drew his bow, muscles coiling with precision. The crowd hushed. He loosed, the arrow arced, striking the bullseye with a crisp thud.
Applause thundered across the stands, and he waved with a smile before notching another arrow and firing again. A second perfect shot. Murmurs of admiration buzzed like a swarm of dragonflies.
Then, Prince Alarik stepped forward—an imposing contrast to his brother’s agility. Where Kaelendrin moved like flowing water, he stood solid as a rock.
He planted his feet, flexed his arms, and drew.
His arrow buried itself just beside Kaelendrin’s. Another followed, so close that the fletching nearly brushed.
Unruffled, the golden prince upped the challenge, aiming for a distant, nearly impossible target. His arrow struck true, the crowd gasping. Alarik followed, his shot landing deeper into the wood.
The stands erupted into cheers.
Reiya exhaled, captivated despite herself. They were unlike any Alphas she’d ever seen—opposites yet synchronized, each a master in his own right. While Kaelendrin’s charm and charisma pulled the crowd in, Alarik’s quiet power was no less of a force, impossible to overlook.
The brothers dominated each event with an effortless rhythm. In swordsmanship, Kaelendrin’s quick, darting strikes matched Alarik’scrushing blows to dismantle even the most skilled opponents. During the joust, Kaelendrin unseated riders with surgical precision, while Alarik’s sheer force made his charges feel like thunderclaps.
She noted the ease between them—neither rivalry nor pretence, but unwavering trust. A silent language spoken between brothers of different mothers.
The tournament concluded with the inevitable announcement: Prince Kaelendrin and Alarik had tied for first place. Lord Callahan sulked at his defeat, and murmurs speculated whether Alexander Wulfbane might’ve posed a true challenge had he stayed.
Her father declared the brothers joint victors, sparing them the morbid spectacle of fighting each other in an event meant to be celebratory. Applause swelled, a bright clamour around her. As she left the dais, she glimpsed Leif’s grin, then Torsten’s answering glance, quick as a knife. She didn’t know why it lodged under her skin, only that it did.
The victory garlands would be presented at the Temple of Luneth, where the sea kissed the rocky cliffs and waves echoed softly beneath the open archways. Perched at the edge of Nymaris, the temple’s marble pillars framed the endless horizon, their surfaces polished smooth by centuries of salt and wind. Fragrant fresh blooms mingled with the tang of the sea breeze, and murmured prayers drifted through the gathered crowd.
Reiya took a swift look around, searching for Castiel’s familiar face, but he wasn’t among the gathering crowd here, either.
The goddess’s name, invoked in ceremonies like this, carried weight. Luneth was the cherished patron of Omegas—her blessings shaped destinies. Those lucky enough to receive her favours wove bonds as enduring as the tides.
And today, under her watchful stone likeness, two victors awaited their garlands.
Reiya stepped forward, the circles of flowers in her hands. She focused on her breathing, ignoring her parents’ stares pressing down on her shoulders, or the way her brothers hovered just out of sight.
Kaelendrin met her gaze first. Those golden eyes, sharp as sunlight on glass, held hers with unnerving clarity. Unlike Lord Callahan’slecherous glances, his felt deliberate—focused, though not invasive. Yet the faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips left her unsettled.
Reiya stepped closer and raised the necklace of flowers. Warmth bloomed across her cheeks as her fingers skimmed his hair, the strands finer, softer than she expected. She laid the garland on his shoulders—but before she could retreat, he turned his head.
His lips brushed the inside of her wrist—no more than a graze, light as a whisper. It wasn’t the searing intensity of an Alpha’s claim, nor the practiced charm of a courtier. It was unlike anything she’d felt from a man. Her fingers trembled before she could still them, and a sharp flutter, swift and disorienting, rose in her chest.
She withdrew her hands, careful to mask the faint tremor in her fingers. His golden eyes followed every motion, but he no longer smiled.
Their titles were a mouthful, but she let the syllables roll off her tongue.
“Well fought, Ethereal Sovereign,TazahrinKaelendrin Asad,” she managed in Isseric, the common language of the nine kingdoms.
His reply was a rich baritone, smooth and effortless. “Thank you, Princess Rei.”
The casual shortening of her name sent a ripple of murmurs through the gathered courtiers. Only her brothers had ever called her thus.
She felt the weight of her brothers’ disapproval, especially Thorir’s. Their stares bore into her back, but the prince’s gaze never wavered. If anything, it seemed to say he wasn’t done with her—not yet.
