REIYANA
At dawn, Reiya stirred to the call of distant seagulls and the rhythmic crash of waves—sounds so familiar they almost lulled her back to sleep. But the hard ground beneath her and the coarse wool blanket scratching her skin were stark reminders: this wasn’t her feathered mattress in Nymaris.
This was the wilderness. Luxury had no place here.
Her muscles ached as she sat up, still stiff from yesterday’s ordeal. She glanced at the empty space beside her. Mei Mei was already up, her cheerful voice carrying from somewhere near the centre of the camp. Guilt churned in her stomach. She’d meant to rise early, to show the Xians she could pull her weight.
Instead, she’d slept in.
Her gaze drifted to the smouldering embers in the fire pit—a sharp reminder of last night’s failure. Su Lian had asked her to help with dinner, and Reiya had jumped at the chance. How hard could making stew be? She’d supervised cooks before, hadn’t she?
As she’d soon learn, watching chefs in the royal kitchen wasn’t the same as cooking a meal over an open fire. The stew had burned—charred into an inedible sludge clinging stubbornly to the bottom ofthe pot. She’d stirred too little, added water too late, kept the fire too high.
Simple mistakes. Obvious mistakes. The ones others would’ve known better than to make.
During supper last night, Xian Jun had spooned up a portion without flinching.
‘It has . . . a nostalgic taste,’he remarked dryly, chewing on a piece of leathery meat with exaggerated thoughtfulness.
Ru Rong had chuckled. Su Lian had playfully swatted his arm, hinting she’d burned a pot of stew or two herself in her early days as a wife.
Their warmth hit harder than any scolding could have.
It burned, because it laid her bare—the truth she hadn’t wanted to name. She wasn’t ready, never had been.
Every step she’d taken had leaned on someone else’s strength, someone else’s choices. And now, with nothing to hide behind, she felt small. Exposed.
Foolish.
Here, failure wasn’t a minor misstep brushed away with charm or gentle chiding. It had real consequences. A ruined dinner meant no food, their precious resources wasted. In this way of life, a single mistake could be costly—even fatal.
Reiya flexed her hands, the skin still raw from scrubbing the ruined pot long after the others had gone to bed. She’d insisted on cleaning it herself, though every scrape of the washing rag made her fingers throb.
How long would she keep letting others fix what she had broken?
Some damage ran deeper than a spoiled pot of stew—wounds that clung like shadows, impossible to mend.
Like the hurt she had caused her family.
The truth pressed down on her: She hadn’t just misjudged Castiel—she’d clung to a lie of her own making. She’d believed running would loosen the knots binding her, that distance alone could break chains.
But running hadn’t freed her.
It had only carried her into another kind of trap—one woven with her own blind hopes.
Castielhadbetrayed her, but she was the one handing him the knife.
A sigh slipped from her lips. She rose and folded her blanket carefully, smoothing every wrinkle. Dwelling on Castiel and the decision that brought her here wouldn’t help. Regret wouldn’t make her useful, earn her a place with the Xians, or guide her home.
The past was done . . . but she could learn from it.
Today, she would do better. For the Xians. For the people she’d betrayed.
For herself.
Reiya straightened, tugging at the tunic Su Lian had lent her. Her own clothes had been ruined beyond repair, torn by the ocean’s fury. The Xians had given her a pleated brown cotton skirt and a matching tunic, embroidered along the hem with tiny beads catching the morning light. A simple ochre belt hugged her waist. The outfit wasn’t silk, but it was clean and warm—comfortable in a way that mattered more than luxury.
She adjusted the scarf tied over her head, tucking in loose strands of golden hair. Standing out wasn’t an option. The fewer questions she invited, the better.
