The intensity of his gaze made her chest tighten, but before she could reply, he sighed, stepping back—not retreating, but giving her the space he seemed to know she needed.
Kaelendrin’s absence left a silence behind—until Alarik stepped into it. His voice, calm and steady, cut through the space between them.
“Can you give us that, Princess? Before you make an irrevocable decision, let us speak to your father. Ask for more time. A courtship, if you will, before paths are set in stone.”
His words landed heavier than they should have. Reiya gripped the folds of her skirt, willing herself to force air through the sudden tightness in her chest.
A courtship. Not a claim, not a command—anoffer.
Alarik’s eyes never left hers, steady and unflinching, as if daring her to believe he meant it.
“You spoke of freedom during our dance,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though trying not to startle the fragile thing blooming between them. “You shouldn’t have to choose between duty and desire. There’s another way—a life where you don’t have to run to be free.”
The ground tilted beneath her—or maybe it was just the way his words scraped against walls she had spent so long fortifying. Hope was a dangerous thing. She knew better than to reach for it.
And yet, here he stood, offering it anyway.
She clenched her fists, burying the doubt before it could truly take root.
“The king has given me until morning,” she lowered her head and whispered. “Until then, you’ll have to wait.”
Her curtsy was swift, a sharp punctuation. She couldn’t afford to stand here anymore, drawn further into their orbit, helpless to resist.
“Good night, Prince Kaelendrin. Prince Alarik.”
She turned, steps brisk, the cool breeze skimming her flushed cheeks.
Let them think what they wanted.
She belonged to Castiel. His alone.
That was the truth.
Ithadto be.
But with every step, the certainty frayed. Leaving them felt like leaving something vital behind—something she couldn’t name.
She wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the chill that wasn’t there.
If this was what she wanted, why did it feel like a loss?
Chapter Eight
REIYANA
The warmth of the ballroom, filled with laughter and conversation, greeted her upon return. She slipped seamlessly into the swirl of dancers and courtiers; every smile, every laugh, every graceful tilt of her head a carefully measured performance.
Yet tonight, her well-honed mask felt fragile, as if it might crack under the weight of what had transpired.
Across the room, she spotted the Asadian princes with Lord Alexander Wulfbane, who’d decided to grace the celebration after all. Their presence thrummed beneath the ballroom’s chatter. She tried to focus on the courtiers around her, but her senses betrayed her, drawn inexorably back to them—the way they simply were, effortless yet commanding.
She turned away. Her path was set, her choice made, sealed with a kiss beneath the moonlight. No sense dwelling on fleeting words or stolen glances.
Her future demanded focus.
The night stretched on, the revelry relentless. Laughter wove through the music, gilding the air with deceptive lightness. Beneath it all, her pulse pounded, quickening with each passing moment.
She needed to leave—before the ship sailed, before Castiel thought she’d changed her mind.
