She didn’t answer. Did she understand him? Perhaps she spoke only Xûengua.
His jaw ticked. What was he thinking? He’d agreed to marry a woman who didn’t speak his language, didn’t know his lands, had no knowledge of his ways.
Madness.
Then, in accented yet smooth Tremesi, she replied, “I am well, my lord. Thank you.”
His brows lifted, not just at her command of his language, but at the voice itself. Low. Husky. The kind of voice that left a hum in the air, something felt more than heard. A strange thrill curled low in his stomach, but he pushed it down.
He offered his hand and gently pulled her upright, mindful of her slight frame. Standing upright, the top of her head barely reached his chin. Her hand was small, her fingers slender, but he could feel their strength even through his gloves. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood, the stench of sweat and fear. His instinct strained, searching for her natural fragrance—the sharp, sweet signature of an Omega. He found nothing. No trace of her, a hollow absence in the air where her scent should’ve been.
He glanced over her, looking for injuries, but the bloodstains on her silks weren’t hers. They belonged to the corpse at their feet.
Damn them all.
“What a welcome we’ve given you, Princess,” he said grimly. “I assure you, I had better intentions than this.”
A beat of silence. Then, she said—soft, slightly unsteady, but with a voice laced with humour, “I could hardly accuse you of planning this attack, my lord.”
His gaze flicked toward her in mild surprise. “Indeed. My scout spotted them in the woods earlier. Omega traders. They might’ve watched your arrival in Terresard and planned the ambush.”
“Are there many Omega traders in Tremore?”
“More so in Niewberg and the larger port cities. Blackwood-Veyrde is remote. We haven’t had trouble with them for years.”
Why now?That question sat uncomfortably in his gut.
“Many Omega traders come to Xûen-Sarai as well,” she said. “Mostly to Changzihua, the capital. They take their chances, kidnapping Omegas in the night.”
A pause. Then, her voice turned colder. “Their punishment is death.”
He glanced at her. “As it should be, for all human traffickers.”
Alexander sensed she wanted to say more. He wished she would, but silence stretched between them. Then, finally?—
“Once the Omegas are retrieved, they are sent to the Imperial Palace of Thousand Suns and added to my father’s harem.”
The admission landed like a boulder between them. The implication was clear: rescued only to be claimed, their freedom merely an illusion.
An urgent voice shattered the moment. “Alexander!”
He turned sharply. Darion rushed over, expression grim. “It’s Conrad.”
The air between them went taut.
“What about Conrad?” Alexander demanded. He kept his voice even, but his heartbeat was anything but. Conrad wasn’t just his ward. He was the youngest son of Krystoff Reave—the man who had practically raised Alexander. Who had taught him to hold a sword, track a deer, take a beating and rise again. Alexander had fought and bled beside him, sworn an oath to him. Now he had promised to shape the boy into a warrior. Promised his mother to keep him safe.
Darion’s gaze landed on the princess briefly before he answered, “One of the bastards got him in the chest.”
Alexander took off at a sprint, boots hammering against the earth, his breath tight in his chest. The battle had ended, leaving only the muted groans of the wounded, the rustle of men moving through the aftermath. But Conrad’s pained moans cut through it all.
The boy lay on the ground, his chest plate removed, the blood-soaked shirt sticking to his skin. His face had lost all colour; lips tinged an alarming shade of blue.
Alexander dropped to his knees, scanning the wound. The smell of iron filled the air but beneath it, something sickly sweet.Poison.
A dark, coiling dread settled in his gut.
“Set up camp,” he ordered his men. The soldiers scattered, moving to secure the area. Alexander’s focus remained fixed on Conrad. The boy’s fevered eyes fluttered open, struggling for clarity.
