This didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like drowning.
When the kiss broke, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cool air. His fingers skimmed her jaw, searching her gaze for reassurance, for proof she was truly, finally his. The weight of her choice settled over her, but she held his gaze, unwilling to falter.
“You’ll regret this,” Castiel murmured, his voice low, almost tender: A warning and a promise. “I’ll ruin you.”
A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes—so fleeting she might’ve imagined it—but the truth lingered. He knew what this meant. There’d be no going back. The scandal would be endless. Her family would be furious, so would his.
Reiya gave a small, bittersweet smile. “My life’s already in pieces. At least now, I get to decide which ones to keep.”
He kissed her temple. “Watch the water clock closely. Meet me by the old carob tree three turns before sunrise. Bring only what you truly need. I’ll see to everything else on the ship and beyond.”
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, the world tilting slightly beneath her—but she nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be there.”
He kissed her again—brief and fierce. When he stepped back, the cold air rushed in, filling the space between them. He lingered for a beat, his gaze holding hers, then turned and vanished into the shadows.
Reiya remained in the pavilion, her pulse shaky, Castiel’s kiss still warm on her lips. Unease flickered through her, like a lighthouse cutting through fog. Was this freedom—or a mirage? Would it hold, or crumble like a sandcastle swept away by the tide?
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and looked to the direction of the ballroom.
What were her choices? The life waiting there felt like a borrowed costume, ill-fitted and foreign. But Castiel had always been hers, like the ship, the open horizon—reckless and uncertain, but hers to claim.
She turned back to the palace, the hush of the garden settling over her, calming the excitement thrumming in her veins.
Then she sawthem.
The Asadian princes stood beneath the flickering lantern glow—Kaelendrin, all effortless confidence, one hand resting at his hip, a faintsmile tugging at his mouth; Alarik, taller and quieter, watched her with a gaze too steady to ignore.
As if they’d been waiting.
As if they already knew she was there.
She skidded to a stop. In a heartbeat, both sets of eyes locked onto hers. The light cast their features into stark relief. Two halves of something whole, yet dangerous.
The contrast had always struck her. But now, standing in their presence, their unity unsettled her.
Two Alphas. One Omega.
The pact hovered in her mind, loud despite their silence. The bond she’d once admired now felt like something that could cage her as easily as protect her.
Reiya dipped into a curtsy, schooling her features into calm composure. “A beautiful night for a walk. Far better than the stifling heat of the ballroom.”
Kaelendrin’s smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and disarming. “We saw you step outside, Princess. I hope it’s not too presumptuous to be concerned. It’s not often that the star of the celebration escapes it for the garden’s solitude.”
Reiya hesitated, her fingers smoothing over her gown. “I needed air.”
Kaelendrin nodded. “Of course. Though you weren’t entirely alone, so perhaps our interference was unnecessary. Unwelcome, even.”
Her heart stumbled, grip tightening on her skirt. “Lord Castiel offered to accompany me for a moment, that’s all.”
Alarik tilted his head, studying her. His voice slipped into something quieter, almost careful. “He seemed . . . protective of you. An old acquaintance, perhaps?”
“We’ve known each other since childhood,” she replied. Her skin tingled beneath their combined gazes, but she suppressed the sensation.
Kaelendrin’s brow lifted, just slightly. “Childhood friendships are precious things,” he said, the words easy enough—but something in the slow, deliberate way he spoke made her skin prickle. It wasn’t justreflection. It felt like he was leading her somewhere, to a certain truth she wasn’t ready to face.
“They are,” she concurred. “Like anchors, they keep us grounded, reminding us where we came from.”
