Forcing herself to turn away, she faced Prince Alarik. His quiet presence seemed like solace from his brother’s burning brightness, but she shouldn’t be fooled. Where Kaelendrin’s charm felt like a spark, Alarik’s was a slow-burning ember—unwavering, grounded, harder to discern. She finally noticed that, despite their differing complexions and hair, his eyes were the same shade of gold as his brother’s.
They met hers without pretence. Calm and measured, but as impenetrable as a fortress.
She placed the garland over his shoulders, more carefully than the first time. With Alarik, there was no jolt, no searing intensity—just aflicker of something she couldn’t name. His lips curved slightly, a whisper of amusement that barely touched his face, yet lingered in his eyes.
“Well done, Ethereal Sovereign,TazahrivAlarik Asad,” she said, her voice quieter.
He inclined his head, his silence somehow more eloquent than words.
If Kaelendrin was a challenge, Alarik was a mystery—and that, too, unnerved her.
She turned away, her heart heavier than before, though she wasn’t sure why. The garlands had been given, the ceremony complete, yet she couldn’t shake off their presence.
Was it merely an Alpha’s influence, or a real attraction?
As she strode away from the crowd, the sea wind tugged at her skirts. Each step felt harder to take than the last, like wading against a current. She thought of the ocean—serene on the surface but powerful beneath, able to drag even the strongest swimmer under.
Her dilemma felt the same: fighting the waves was futile, dangerous even—yet surrendering promised no better fate. Only a slow sinking, a quiet loss of self.
Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her skirts as she slowed and leaned against a marble pillar. The cool stone pressed against her spine, anchoring her body even as her mind filled with images of drowning.
This tournament, these princes, even the goddess’s so-called blessings—it all felt like a tide pulling her farther and farther from the safety of the shore.
And for all her floundering, she couldn’t tell whether she was swimming toward something—or simply being carried away.
Chapter Four
ALARIK
The grand ballroom’s windows framed the cliffs of Nymaris, where sky and ocean blended together in deepening blues. Fires blazed at the Temple of Luneth farther down the slope, offerings of food and flowers set aflame in gratitude to the Moonfire Goddess.
Across from it, Solthar’s temple stood cold and unlit, the Sunborn God waiting for his tribute. No flames would burn until the princess chose a husband, though the offerings were already stacked on its terrace, ready to blaze at tomorrow’s announcement.
The magnificent view did little to ease Alarik’s concerns. What should’ve been a brief stop after a diplomatic visit to Tremore had unravelled into something extensive. One event bled into the next, and now they were the victors of a tournament he’d never cared to win. A tournament their father had declined.
Kaelen, of course, had embraced this detour as easily as he always did, sweeping through like wind on the edge of a storm. But for Alarik, competitions like these only stirred memories best left buried, and victory brought no satisfaction.
He’d considered skipping the ball, but a publicslight against the Aethonian king wasn’t a risk worth taking. So he let himself be pulled along, as always, yielding to the path of least resistance.
He turned around to watch the scene behind him. The ballroom hummed with laughter, music, and the clink of goblets, yet the princess was nowhere to be seen.
Kaelen joined him, a flame to his coolness, dressed in evening finery and turning heads with every step. A midnight blue silk jacket, embroidered with golden sunbursts and serpents, the emblem of Asadia’s ruling house, clung to his brother like a second skin—regal, effortless, a stark contrast to the travel-stained clothes they’d shed earlier.
His own attire was similar, only ruby-red and silver.
“The princess should arrive soon,” Kaelen murmured, his gaze lingering on the entrance.
Alarik caught the edge of anticipation in his brother’s voice. Kaelen didn’t fixate—not like this. He was usually all charm and careless glances, never giving anyone more attention than necessary.
That he was now watching the doors with something closer to hunger than curiosity told Alarik everything he needed to know: the princess had already left her mark—and Kaelen, without hesitation, was willing to follow where instinct would lead.
“Patience. The evening will unfold as it needs to,” he said, keeping his tone and gaze level.
He glanced toward the marble archways beyond the ballroom. These gatherings always followed the same rhythm—bright gowns, lingering stares, hollow conversations about alliances and heirs. The princess would arrive soon, no doubt in a carefully timed flourish, as tradition dictated.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Princess Reiyana appeared at the threshold, haloed by the last slivers of daylight. A collective inhale swept through the hall, the previous levity dissolving into an awed hush. The shift in atmosphere was immediate—camaraderie giving way to rivalry, the air thickening with unspoken challenges as Alpha instincts flared to life.
Alarik suppressed a smirk, resisting the urge to drag a hand down his face. Corralling a cluster of dominant males around a singleunclaimed Omega felt reckless, even audacious. But it was the king’s will—a father granting his daughter the right to choose among the finest Alphas in the nine kingdoms.
