“A part of me thought you’d changed your mind,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together.
“I wouldn’t be here if I had.”
His hand tightened as he bent to kiss her—soft, certain, sealing a promise unspoken yet understood.
He led her through the palace’s hidden paths, his familiarity steadying her fraying nerves. They slipped through a rarely-used gate, the towering walls fading behind them.
Beyond an olive grove outside the palace, a horse-drawn cart waited beneath the twisted branches, its silhouette blending into the dark. Castiel climbed onto the seat, offering his hand as she settled beside him. The cart creaked forward, swallowed by the hush of the night.
The path wound between low stone walls and gnarled olive trees, the ground shifting from smooth rock to packed earth. The rhythmic clatter of wheels mingled with the distant crash of waves, the scent of brine laced with the lingering warmth of sunbaked leaves.
Reiya pulled her cloak tighter to ward off the cool breeze, nerves humming beneath the night air.
“Where are we going first?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“To Batteron.” Castiel’s tone was effortlessly calm. “I sent a Sparoahead to arrange for a priest. We’ll be married at the earliest opportunity.”
A Sparo—one of the swift, sharp-eyed birds bred for carrying urgent missives across land and sea. Quick, discreet, loyal to their handlers. Trust Castiel to think of everything.
And . . . Batteron. A peaceful, neutral kingdom not far from Aethonia—two days of leisurely sailing. Small, prosperous. As a diplomat, Castiel had ties there, favours earned through years of negotiations on behalf of Aethonia. It was the perfect place to lay low, where a noble Beta and an Omega princess could marry before anyone stopped them.
A flicker of guilt stirred. She’d never imagined marrying like an orphan—no family, no community, no celebration with her loved ones.
But perhaps freedom demanded its own kind of sacrifice.
“You’ve thought of everything,” she praised, casting him a sidelong glance.
He grinned, moonlight catching the glint in his eyes. “It’s the diplomat in me. Sending a Sparo ahead is the least I could do.”
It was just like him—always one step ahead, leaving nothing to chance.
As the cart rumbled closer to the harbour, Reiya pushed her hood back just enough to peer into the night, shoulders dropping with relief at the sight before her. The pier stood eerily still, quieter than during those restless nights she’d spent watching it from her window. Normally, dockworkers would be hauling crates under lantern light, and sailors would bustle around their vessels, calling out to one another as they prepared for the next tide.
Tonight, the harbour felt as if it had exhaled along with the sea, draped in stillness.
From a storage house farther down the pier, muted sounds of laughter and clinking goblets drifted through the air. Reiya’s lips curled, realizing the whole city must’ve joined in the celebration, and even the coast guards and harbourmasters were drawn away by wine and revelry. The palace had surely sent barrels of refreshments to ensure no corner of Nymaris was excluded from the festivities.
Castiel parked the wagon against a low stone wall and climbeddown. She took his proffered hand, boots landing softly on the sand. Her gaze flicked toward the wharves. For once, silence was an ally. No watchful eyes meant slipping onto the ship would be easier than she had dared hope—her escape more tangible.
He led her to the end of the pier, where their ship awaited, moored apart from the others, tucked into shadow. Its sails lay neatly furled against the masts, moonlight casting a soft gleam on the polished wood. His hand remained at the small of her back, steady as he guided her up the gangplank.
“Where will we go after Batteron?” she asked halfway up, eager to imagine carefree days beyond these shores.
When Castiel didn’t respond, she glanced over her shoulder. His smile was tight.
“One step at a time, dove.”
Her pulse fluttered uneasily, but she pushed the feeling aside. Just nerves, she told herself. He was taking risks too—angering the prestigious Vaelmont family, inciting a scandal, jeopardizing his diplomatic position, abandoning everything just as she was.
It was only natural he felt on edge.
Wasn’t it?
On the dock, the crew moved with quiet precision, offering nods in passing. Castiel exchanged brief words with the captain—just enough to confirm their readiness—before ushering her toward the cabin below deck.
It was small but comfortable. A low dresser stood against one wall, a brass oil lamp casting a warm glow. A narrow bed rested beneath the cabin’s small porthole, a wool blanket folded neatly at the foot. The scent of polished wood and lingering sea air gave the space an odd comfort.
Castiel helped with her cloak and went to the table beside the bed, where a bottle of wine and two goblets awaited. He poured, the deep burgundy liquid glistening under the low light.
