Annaïs’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “Yes,” she murmured. “Testing one’s mettle reveals who we truly are.”
“Then the court has done us both a favour,” she said evenly, turning with a calm smile. “We’ll learnso muchabout each other in the days to come.”
The tension thickened. Annaïs’s mask didn’t crack again, but Reiya noted the faint edge in her expression.
She nodded. “I look forward to it.”
As they neared the temple entrance, a hush fell, the scent of incense and moonflowers growing pungent. Captain Marzius handed over two moonflower bouquets he’d sent his man to purchase.
“We’ll wait here, Princess,” he told her. “Take as much time as you need.”
Reiya nodded in gratitude. As tradition dictated, Alphas and othermen weren’t permitted inside Luneth’s temple unless accompanying their Omegas, during festivals, or for rare ceremonies.
She and Annaïs stepped inside and toward the altar, where fragrant smoke curled from bronze censers. The flickering flames reflected in the polished limestone floor, shifting beneath their feet.
Reiya lit her offering. Her companion did the same. They stood side by side, watching the fire burn.
“I simply wonder . . .” Annaïs murmured. “What does a princess like you, who has everything, pray for?”
She studied the woman carefully. There were many answers she could give, but Annaïs didn’t care for words—only what she could extract from them.
“I suppose I pray for what we all do,” Reiya said at last. “To be free to choose my own path.”
Annaïs’s eyes never left the flame, but her brow arched. “Assuming one has the choice, of course.”
Reiya’s heart skipped a beat. Those words were so similar to what she’d once told herself when she felt trapped by expectation.
Annaïs tipped her chin toward the towering statue of Luneth behind the altar. “Do you thinkshelistens?”
Reiya turned her head slightly. “Luneth?”
The woman gave a light shrug. “Luneth, the gods. Do you think they hear us? Care about us?” A pause, then softer—almost bitter: “Do you think she spares a thought for the Omegas who suffer for things they cannot control?”
Blasphemous words.
And yet, Reiya had asked herself those same questions on countless nights after her Awakening—quiet, aching nights when she’d cried herself to sleep.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe we don’t pray because we expect answers, but because we need to believe someone is listening. That we aren’t as alone as we think we are.”
Annaïs turned, holding her gaze for a long, quiet moment. And when she finally smiled, it was different—softer, unguarded.
It felt . . . real.
“You sound like my mother,” she murmured.
Reiya blinked. “Your mother?”
She nodded, exhaling slowly. “She used to say something similar. That even if the gods were silent, we should speak to them anyway. That sometimes, it’s not about being heard, but about saying the words.”
Reiya hesitated. “Was she a Beta, like your father?”
“No. She was an Omega.”
An Omega, married to a Beta? Had it been a love match, or had Hassamir simply been powerful enough to claim her despite his caste?
“What was she like?”
Annaïs’s gaze flickered toward the statue of Luneth. “She believed in dreams,” she said at last. “She used to burn frankincense every night because she heard it warded off bad dreams.” A long pause, and a chill entered her voice. “But dreams die. They don’t last forever.”
