Kaelen’s jaw tightened. Hassamir hadn’t said Reiya’s name; he didn’t need to. The accusation was woven into every syllable—Asadia turned away from two powerful kingdoms, and for what? A foreign princess from a distant land with no political leverage?
Across the table, Alarik exhaled through his nose. “What, precisely, are you implying, Hassamir?”
The older man tilted his head. “Nothing beyond simple reality, Prince Alarik. Had we secured an alliance through marriage, we would not be standing on such precarious ground.”
Kaelen’s fingers curled against the table’s edge. “You speak as if alliances are built on marriage alone.”
Straightening, he clasped his hands. “Dravuniel’s court is fickle, and Aquris is loyal only to profit. A marriage might have bought us temporary favour, but it wouldn’t guarantee stability. Asadia’s strength must come from within. We won’t build our future on borrowed ties that can unravel at the next political shift.”
His gaze swept the council. “Asadian silk is unmatched.” He let the statement settle. “Dravuniel and Aquris weave fine silk, yes, but they import their threads from Xûen-Sarai. Every bolt they produce relies on a foreign market.” He gestured to the map, tracing Zahalyar with his fingers. “We produce our own. Our silkworms thrive in Asadia’s climate, feeding on our citrus groves, yielding silk with a unique iridescent quality. It adapts to both climate and body warmth. No other kingdom can replicate this.”
His golden eyes flicked to Hassamir. “We shouldn’t rely on outsiders to solve Asadia’s problems. And we certainly won’t weaken our own position just to appease them.”
Hassamir held his gaze before offering a tight, unreadable smile. “A compelling argument, Prince. Let us hope the merchants see it as clearly as you do.”
The king exhaled, decisive. “Then let us proceed. Kaelendrin, prepare your proposal. If it holds, you’ll have my endorsement.”
Hassamir leaned back, silent once more.
Kaelen inclined his head, satisfaction settling in his chest. The High Chancellor’s doubt stung, but he must look beyond one man’s discontent.
He reckoned this wouldn’t be the last time he heard about it.
Chapter Forty-Eight
REIYANA
Amina had dressed her with meticulous care for the afternoon’s desert picnic. The riding habit was a striking ensemble—a blend of elegance and practicality, tailored for both grace and movement.
The foundation was a deep green silk tunic, its high collar lending a regal edge. The bodice and sleeves fit closely, cinching at the waist before flaring into an A-line overskirt, with discreet slits revealing loose gold silk trousers beneath. Turquoise buttons fastened the tunic from throat to waist, while gold-threaded vines curled along the cuffs and hem.
Her hair was plaited and coiled into a sleek bun, hidden beneath a dark green pillbox hat adorned with pale ostrich feathers. A sheer white veil cascaded from its base, softening her features rather than concealing them—an artful blend of mystery and grace.
Amina had lined her eyes with kohl, sharpening their contours, deepening her lashes until they framed her gaze in a veil of shadow. The effect was striking—an illusion of intensity against her fair skin.
When Kaelen and Alarik arrived to escort her to the courtyard and meet their horses, Reiya immediately understood why Amina had chosen thisattire.
Her Alphas arrived in matching ensembles—fitted high-collared gold jackets, tailored to perfection, paired wit dark green breeches. The same gold embroidery curled along their sleeves and lapels in desert vine motifs, echoing her tunic’s embellishments.
Atop their heads, structured silk headpieces—wrapped and secured with golden falcon’s talon pins—trailed fabric down the back, a subtle nod to desert necessity should they need to shield their faces from wind and sun.
They looked every inch the desert lords she’d once read about in stories—sharp-eyed, remarkably handsome, sensual, radiating power in a way that was effortless and entirely theirs.
But the symmetry of their attire was no accident. This was a statement. A deliberate choice.
Today, they would present themselves to the court not as individuals, but as a unified front.
They would ride out of Mezerin and into the vast desert beyond as one. Reiya dreaded this part—not the ride itself, but the inevitable ache that would plague her after last night’s thorough pleasure.
She felt open, wet, every slow shift of her body a reminder of how deeply they’d claimed her. The tender place beneath her navel still pulsed with the lingering echoes of their strength, as though her body had memorized the rhythm of their thrusts.
Even with the soreness, she couldn’t stop her soft, contented sighs. Last night had been . . .
Heat curled in her belly at the mere thought of it, a flush creeping up her throat. It was impossible to recall without feeling giddy, molten, utterly undone all over again.
A shadow fell over her, and she blinked up to find Kaelen’s golden gaze fixed on her, warm and knowing. His fingers brushed against her jaw as he reached to adjust her veil, the touch deft yet lingering, as though savouring the excuse to touch her.
“Any pain?” he murmured, voice low, intimate.
