She looked up. For one second, she was awake, fully awake.
And in that moment, there was freedom.
Shouts grew louder. Boots hammered against the planks. Reiya didn’t stop. She ran until the gunwale pressed against her stomach, legs wobbling on the ship’s edge, slick with moisture. Dark sea churned below, promising nothing but oblivion.
But anything was better than what lay behind her.
Reiya closed her eyes, citing a short prayer:‘Goddess Luneth, guard my soul; Sea God Thalassazor, carry me safely to shore.’
She flung herself into the ocean.
The icy water was a fist to her chest, knocking the air from her lungs. Her body seized, limbs locked in the sea’s frigid grip. For a moment, everything stilled—cold, dark, silent. Then, instinct surged. She kicked, fought, but the waves pulled harder. The current coiled around her, dragging her under. Legs flailed, useless against the undertow. Her lungs burned, starving for air that wouldn’t come.
Only salt, only silence.
A voice—Kaelendrin’s—cut through the dark.‘I wouldn’t hold you down.’
Her chest heaved, water rushing in.
Then, Alarik’s steady gaze.‘You shouldn’t have to choose between duty and desire.’
Her body convulsed, limbs growing heavier, the fight slipping from her grasp.
Had she misjudged them? Had their promises been another illusion, another snare in different hands?
If she hadn’t run?—
Another wave crashed over her, snatching the thought away.
It didn’t matter. The ocean swallowed her breath, her questions—everything.
Until only darkness remained.
Chapter Ten
ALARIK
At any palace, the first hint of trouble usually came with the uneasy shift in the servants’ demeanour. Alarik was accustomed to quiet mornings, but this one carried a strange tension, like the pause before a blade dropped.
This morning, the Aethonian palace buzzed with it, heavy enough to spoil his first sip of tea.
He left the door to their room ajar, keeping eyes and ears open. A hushed conversation between two passing stewards caught his attention, their voices clipped and furtive.
Missing . . . The princess . . . gone from her chambers . . . just like that.
The whispered fragments pricked at his senses. All those years ago, he’d learned of his mother’s death the same way—hushed whispers and hurried steps hinting at a loss beyond his understanding. That same quiet dread now coiled in his chest, an old wound reopening.
Kaelen appeared at his side, the scent of herbs and cedar from his morning ablution still clinging to him. “What happened?”
Alarik shut the door quietly. “The princess is missing.”
Kaelen’s expression shifted from surprise to concern, and finally suspicion.
“Missing, or did she run away?”
His voice was even, but sharpness lurked beneath it—the edge of a realization forming too quickly for comfort.
Alarik didn’t need to ask. Kaelen’s mind was already retracing last night’s steps, the memory still fresh and unavoidable.
