“How very protective,” she murmured, making no move to pull away from his steady hold. “Though if you keep hovering, I’ll have to distract you.”
“With what?”
“A board game rematch.” Her mouth quirked. “Same rules as before—one question for every captured tile.”
She felt him smile against her temple.
“What about new stakes?” he murmured, voice skating warm along her ear. “Each tile I take, you surrender an article of clothing.”
Her brows rose. “On a crowded deck?”
“In our cabin,” he said, unbothered. “With doors barred, curtains drawn. I’ll start with something innocent—hairpins,ribbons, or a glove.” His voice dropped a pitch. “I can be a patient man.”
She laughed softly. “Patient? The man I once diagnosed with an irritable temperament from a stagnant liver speaks of patience?”
He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow. “Irritable temperament, is it? And here I thought you, being the great healer you are, would have cured me by now.”
“It is a chronic condition.” She rose on her toes to brush her lips against his. “But it can be managed with ongoing care. Daily doses of wife. Frequent kisses. The occasional board game victory.”
He caught her mouth in a kiss that was pure joy—light and warm and full of laughter. When he released her, his forehead rested against hers.
As the ship cleaved the water toward the open sea, the curved roofs of Xûen-Sarai receded behind them, a silhouette of her past. Before them stretched the horizon—a blank page, a shared breath, the vast and waiting map of their life.
They stood together—warrior and healer, wolf and raven, two souls who had weathered every storm to finally find their way home.
EPILOGUE
AMBROSE
The Sparo was still warm.
Ambrose felt the last of its heat leaching out—a small, fading pulse against his palm. The arrow had flown true, as always, fletched with nightingale feathers. Some songs were too dangerous to let spread.
He set the bird down on the desk, its legs still curling slightly, as if reaching for the perch it would never find. Princess Reiyana’s words lay beside it, every desperate syllable transcribed in his own neat hand.
My family,
Do not trust the Vaelmonts. Castiel is still alive, and Lucen traffics Omegas through nefarious channels. Warn everyone. I will send proof when I have it. Until then, be vigilant.
—Reiya
Ambrose’s lips curved. A daughter and sister’s futile worry, all wrapped in urgency and sent across desert and sea. Whymust she be so stubborn when they’d allow her a happy ending? She had her Alphas, a new kingdom to call home, and soon, a newborn baby.
The world was sick, and she worried about a single symptom?
The door opened without sound. Draven stepped inside, grey eyes landing first to the dead bird, then to the scroll on the desk. He picked it up, reading in silence. When he finished, his expression hadn’t changed, but something behind his eyes shifted.
He set the scroll down. “She will try another way. When Sparos fail, she will send messengers.”
“The old order clings to its prayers,” Ambrose replied. “When gods do not answer, they will send champions instead.” He turned. “Tighten security. Capture any foreigners who approach the palace.”
“And if the princess sends one of her husbands?”
His smile deepened. “There is a saying from beyond the Nine Kingdoms, brother:‘killing two birds with one stone.’We should be so fortunate.”
Draven stepped further inside, close enough that the sunlight from the window caught the scar on his throat. “Are we continuing with the experiments? It is . . . costly. In resources and attention. We could simply kill the Omegas and achieve the same disruption.”
Ambrose studied his brother. Draven rarely questioned their course—he implemented, secured, and obeyed. But lately, a thread of doubt seemed to have begun to weave through his questions.
