The tournament had come close—the swell of power in the arena, the undercurrent of challenge and barely leashed dominance—but decorum had kept the contenders in check. Even at the victory ball, etiquette had softened the edges.
Only Kaelendrin and Alarik had defied that.
They tested rules, bent them—just enough to see if she’d bend too.
They made her want. Made herfeel, even when she’d already chosen another. That was their danger—not malice, not force, but the quiet undoing of everything she thought she knew about herself.
Alphas like Jodhar were different. Cruder. Cruel-edged.
On their shared bedroll, she pressed closer to Mei Mei, hoping the girl’s warmth might chase away the unease. The princes were far from this caravan now, but their memory lingered like a fading note in the dark.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her. But sleep offered no peace—only ghosts of what had been, and the shadows waiting on the road ahead.
The next morning, Reiya woke at dawn, her sleep fractured by dreams that scattered like mist the moment she opened her eyes. Fatigue clung to her bones, but the day was already stirring—and she must follow.
The morning chill bit her skin as she carried buckets to the creek, the cold air sharpening her senses, chasing away the remnants of unease. Each step grounded her—a simple routine, a fragile sense of normalcy she couldn’t afford to lose.
Then she heard it: a distant rumble.
She froze, gaze snapping upward. Dust churned along the horizon, trailing behind a line of riders moving at a relentless pace—dark silhouettes framed by the rising sun. Light glinted off dull armour and worn weapons, their outlines shifting like mirages as they raced toward the encampment.
Her pulse quickened. Aethonian soldiers? Hope flickered, but as she scanned for the royal blue banner—the insignia of a sailing ship under the sun—her heart sank. No silver shields. No braided rope designs.
Only bare shields, scuffed leather, and mercenary steel.
They were not rescuers—just hired blades, men loyal to coin alone.
Murmurs spread as families emerged from their tents, faces growing tighter with unease. Reiya gripped the buckets, every instinct screaming to move, to disappear into the crowd.
But her feet wouldn’t budge.
The mercenaries thundered into camp, hooves kicking up dust. Their leader dismounted in one smooth motion, chainmail clinking softly as his sharp gaze swept over the gathering crowd. There was no urgency in his stance—just cold patience, a predator biding its time. A prickle of unease crawled down Reiya’s spine.
“Good morrow, wanderers,” he called out. His expression was friendly, but his voice had a politeness that rang false.
Elder Tasim stepped forward, shoulders squared, his expression carefully neutral. “Good morrow to you as well, Sirs. What brings you to our camp?”
The mercenary smiled, teeth white against the grime on his face. “We’re looking for an Omega,” he said, his tone too smooth, too easy. “Poor thing got lost. We’re here to bring her home.”
Reiya’s stomach dropped. Her grip on the buckets faltered, water sloshing over the rims.Omega. The word slithered through her mind, tightening like a snare around her throat.
Had the news of her disappearance travelled this far already? Or was it a cruel coincidence? No—coincidence felt like too much to hope for.
Had Castiel sent them? Did someone track her from Aethonia? Or—gods forbid—did the Sparo draw the wrong kind of attention?
Her thoughts scrambled for answers, but all she could hear was the mercenary’s voice, curling around each word like a noose waiting to tighten.
Elder Tasim’s gaze flickered warily over the gathered families, his fingers combing through his white beard in a restless rhythm. “Sirs, we’re Beta merchants. We’ve hired a few Alpha guards for protection, but there are no Omegas among us.”
The mercenary tilted his head. “Is that so?”
“If there are, they would’ve been reported.”
The smile never left the mercenary’s face. “Then you won’t mind if we take a look. Just to be sure.”
Without waiting for permission, the mercenaries spread out, rifling through wagons, their sharp eyes combing every inch of the camp. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but no one dared to protest.
Reiya’s pulse hammered. Gently, she set the buckets down by the creek and slipped away, each step careful, measured.
