Devoted to ensuring the prosperity of his house? A tactful way of saying he was ambitious—perhaps dangerously so.
She asked, “Is he an Alpha, like King Azarion?”
“No, a Beta.”
Shadows rippled across Lady Neda’s features—so brief, so subtle that Reiya might have missed it had she not been watching closely. The faint tightening of her lips, the carefully measured pause.
The implication was clear. Whatever facade Annaïs and her father presented to the court, their influence ran deep. The capital city bore their name. Their reach extended further than mere titles.
And Reiya was the woman who’d put an end to one of those ambitions.
A knock at the door broke the moment.
Amina entered, bowing slightly. “The princes are here, Your Highness.”
Lady Neda placed a hand on Reiya’s arm, warmth returning to her tone. “We’ll leave you to greet them in private. Join us in the dining hall when you’re ready.”
As Lady Neda and Thalina departed, Reiya ran her fingers over hergown. The fabric shimmered like desert twilight, gold embroidery curling in patterns of blooming vines and crescent moons. A sheer, open-front tunic draped over it, cinched at the waist with an ornate brocade belt.
Elegant yet unrestrictive—softness without fragility.
Her hair, swept into an intricate updo, was woven with pearls and jasmine blossoms, their faint fragrance lingering in the warm air. The Numerian sun had deepened her skin to a golden hue, making her blue eyes seem even brighter.
She turned to Amina. “I’ll see the princes now.”
Stepping into the adjoining chamber, she found Kaelen and Alarik in quiet conversation, their backs to her. At the soft brush of her steps, they turned—both stilling at the sight of her.
And she at the sight ofthem.
Kaelen stood resplendent in sapphire, the gold embroidery at his collar and hem catching the lantern light—sunbursts and serpents winding in elegant loops, the proud sigils of House Asad. Beside him, Alarik wore black trimmed in silver, the fabric tailored clean to his broad frame, every line sharp with quiet control. Bronze threads glinted at the edges—swirling desert winds that whispered rather than declared.
Together, they were a study in contrast—Kaelen, golden and sunlit, all warmth and bold energy; Alarik, the steady storm on the horizon, silent yet impossible to ignore.
And both were wholly, undeniablyhers.
Their gazes swept over her, lingering. Something unspoken passed between them. Weeks ago, they’d been strangers she couldn’t wait to escape.
Now, she never wanted them to leave.
Alarik was the first to break the silence. “You may leave us, Amina.”
The maid bowed and slipped away, a knowing smile on her lips.
Kaelen stepped forward, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips in a lingering kiss. His voice, softer than she’d ever heard it, brushed against her skin.
“Reiya,” he murmured. “My heart. You were enchanting with black hair, but?—”
“The gold suits me better?” she teased, arching a brow.
His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, gaze warm, unwavering. “How could I want anything but the real you?”
He stepped back, taking her in fully. “Seeing you like this . . . It’s a vision I didn’t know I needed.” A slow grin curved his lips. “I could get used to this.”
“You wear the dress as if it were meant for you,” Alarik said, his voice a low rumble. “As if the sands of the Numeria stitched it for you alone.”
Their gazes were like a warm touch. The heat of their words stirring a deep emotion in her chest—half delight, half a twinge of shyness she hadn’t expected to feel. For a heartbeat, she wondered if she’d ever grow used to the way they looked at her, as though she were something rare and radiant.
Kaelen extended his arm. “Shall we? The rest of the family is waiting.”
