But . . . Sunborn?
Reiya swallowed, trying to calm the tremor in her chest. Sunborns were more than rare—they were legends in flesh. Warriors blessed by Solthar himself, harbingers of golden eras. But it wasn’t just their strength or the omen of their birth that set them apart. They carried an undeniable pull, a presence that turned heads, bent wills, and commanded devotion without effort.
The realization settled sharp and unwelcome.
He had danced with her, teased her, met her gaze like any other man. And she—foolishly—had let herself believe it was equal. That her laughter had been hers to give.
But it hadn’t been, had it?
Her stomach twisted. Of course he knew precisely what to say, how to look at her, how to tilt his head just so. His Sunborn gaze—bright, impossible to ignore—drew her in as easily as the tide followed the moon. His presence wrapped around her, blurring the lines between choice and instinct, until she couldn’t tell where his influence ended and her own will began.
And she had laughed with him—laughed—as if it’d been her own decision.
Her pulse quickened, and she clenched his hand until her knuckles whitened, as if that might somehow quell the shake threatening to creep in.
In the face of her silence, and under the pressure of her grip, Thorir’s expression softened, a rare glimpse of the brother beneath the stoic figure.
“Rei, this world . . . it isn’t kind to Omegas—especially ones without a protector. Many Omegas have gone missing during the last few years. Kidnapped, enslaved, smuggled out of Issoirea, no one knows. With Kaelendrin and Alarik by your side, you’ll have two Alphas who’d do anything to keep you safe.”
Yes, the world wasn’t kind to Omegas—she’d heard the stories of Omegas taken from their homes by force, even married ones, only to vanish or be dragged into forced unions with new Alphas. Some were rumoured to vanish into the underground Omega auction in the city of Bashkor, a bustling trade hub known as much for its legitimate commerce as its illegal dealings.
But as Thorir spoke of Kaelendrin and Alarik—two Alphas, two shields between her and the world—another realization twisted in her chest.
Their ultimate goal wouldn’t be to protect her. It would be topossessher.
Two Alphas didn’t mean twice the freedom. It meant twice the shackles, double the cage.
With that realization, something inside her snapped—clean and sudden. The ache that had simmered beneath the surface ignited, burning away the last remnants of restraint.
Enough of this.
She had swallowed their expectations, worn the mask of obedience, and waited for far too long.
Before she could think twice, Reiya spun on her heel, her decision crystallizing with every step. The silk of her gown brushed against her legs as she strode away, cool and slippery against her heated skin. Thorir called after her, his voice distant, but she didn’t falter. Her heart drummed against her ribcage, each beat an echo of defiance. Dancingcouples parted, their smiles faltering into curiosity as she glided between them.
Let them watch. Let them wonder.
By the time they realized what she’d done, it would already be too late.
Chapter Seven
REIYANA
Reiya’s gaze swept the ballroom, skimming past nobles draped in silks and jewels until it landed on three figures standing by the windows.
The Vaelmont brothers—Ambrose, Draven, and Lucen—stood together, unbothered by the crowd and conversation, as if the ballroom existed to frame their presence, not the other way around.
Betas, all of them, yet their poise and striking features set them apart—no finer specimens of men could be found in Aethonia.
And yet, Castiel, the fourth and youngest, was nowhere to be seen.
As she approached, their greeting had been polite but cool, laced with quiet disapproval. It was evident they saw her as the woman about to break their brother’s heart.
“My lords, have you seen Castiel?” she asked, keeping her tone firm against the weight of their scrutiny.
The brothers exchanged a glance, brief but loaded, as if debating how much to reveal. Ambrose—the future Duke of Caerelle—was the first to move, though his delay felt deliberate, a quiet test of her patience. He inclined his head toward the terrace doors.
“Castiel went out for some air.” His tone was neutral, as though commenting on nothing more than the weather.
