Kaelen chuckled. “Good. I like to think I’ve brightened someone’s night. Nothing wrong with a tale or two to keep the drinks flowing.” He cast a sly glance at his brother and winked. “If I can’t win heartswith deeds alone, I may as well leave them guessing with a bit of mystery.”
Alarik snorted, shaking his head. “Flashing that tattoo isn’t precisely subtle. If mystery is the goal, you’ve made it a little harder for yourself.”
It wasn’t long before the squire returned with a court official who gave them a seal of approval and let them pass.
With his arm around Alarik’s shoulder, Kaelen crossed the threshold into the sunlit tournament grounds. He lifted his gaze to the sky, where the Aethonian sun greeted them with an intensity rivalling Asadia’s relentless blaze. But here, the ocean’s kiss cooled his skin with every breeze, each gust laced with the briny promise of the sea.
They’d made it just in time for the first event of the day to begin—archery. The arena stretched before him, bathed in the sun, long shadows pooling beneath the stands where spectators gathered in raucous anticipation. The scent of freshly trampled grass mingled with the musk of horses and sun-warmed iron. Overhead, banners snapped and fluttered—noble houses flaunting their colours like plumage in the midday light.
His gaze swept over the crowd: Mostly Betas blending into the background, with the occasional Alphas standing apart, shoulders squared and postures taut, as if the arena itself demanded they prove their worth.
It was a look he recognized all too well—the hunger to stand out, to be seen, the need ingrained in his kind.
He let the spectators fade, his attention sliding toward the archery range ahead, where sleek bows stood in neat rows, polished and waiting.
Unlike Alarik, he didn’t have his own bow; a scimitar being his weapon of choice. His hand was just brushing the grip of one, wrapped in deep indigo leather, when his focus was snagged elsewhere.
He followed his instinct, turning around, his gaze catching on a figure atop the dais.
She wasn’t the most elaborately dressed among the courtiers, nor did she posture like those accustomed to admiration. Yet, something about her stillness hooked him. She held herself apart—not with thepracticed indifference of nobles who wielded aloofness like a blade, but as if she were observing the world from a distance, untouched by it. Her gaze swept over the crowd, cool and detached, passing over him without a second glance.
A breeze stirred the air, carrying the faintest trace of jasmine and warm honey. Subtle, yet unmistakable. His body tensed.
Omega.
His fingers flexed against the bow, eyes narrowing as the realization settled.
She was Princess Reiyana.
His eyes traced the shape of her—the pale blue gown whispering with each shift of the wind, the coronet of golden braids gleaming beneath the sun, the wing-shaped crystal resting at her throat. She was poised, refined, untouchable. Yet, it wasn’t the finery that made him look twice.
It was her restraint.
She didn’t preen like other Omega nobles he’d known, or revel in the spectacle held solely for her. If anything, she seemed to shrink within herself, as though she wanted to disappear, be anywhere but here.
Before he could place why that unsettled him, the herald’s voice cut through the arena, summoning contenders to the archery line.
One last glance toward the dais found her eyes lowered to her lap, as if he never existed. Still, the moment lingered, threading itself into his thoughts like a half-finished melody.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he turned away, the faintest trace of a smile curving his lips.
He hadn’t expected much from the event—just entertainment, a passing diversion.
And yet, something about her stayed with him, quiet and unshakable, like a note still waiting to be played. A tale still unfolding.
And hadn’t he always loved a good tale?
Chapter Three
REIYANA
The day’s warmth curled against Reiya’s skin, heavy with the salt of the sea. Aethonia’s summer was always glorious, but today, the heat was oppressive.
The thick scent of Alphas hung in the air, heady and suffocating. Power and dominance tangled with something primal, tugging at her senses, pulling her deeper into the tournament’s preparations despite her resistance.
Her eyes swept over the crowd, slipping past the contenders filing into the arena. She searched for the one face that’d soothe her, but Castiel wasn’t among the spectators.
A knot tightened in her chest. Had his duties at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs kept him away? Or worse—had he chosen to not attend, unwilling to witness the pompous Alphas competing for her hand?
