The word cut through the square’s tension like a blade through mist.Wife.Not Princess. Not Your Highness. The claim was public, unequivocal.
Jingyi turned. Alexander stood at the square’s edge, the morning sun gilding his silhouette. His expression was granite, but his eyes held a familiar, protective storm. He had heard.
He stepped forward, gaze landing on her briefly before fixing on Bertrand. “My wife speaks with the full authority of House Wulfbane. You will not challenge her again—especially not in her territory.”
Bertrand’s mouth opened, but no sound came. Jingyi watched the twitch at his jaw, the hitch of breath. For the first time since arriving, he looked insecure. Afraid.
Alexander didn’t stop.
“You’re far too eager to involve yourself in matters that don’t concern you—my marriage included.” His voice sharpened, though his posture remained calm. “Perhaps it is time you focus on your own conduct instead.”
His pale brow quirked. A meaningful silence ensued—a hush that demanded stillness. Then Alexander added, voice lower, “It would be a shame if your name reached the wrong ears. Especially now.”
Jingyi caught the nervousness in Bertrand’s eyes. A long beat passed before he recovered, schooling his expression back into vague civility.
Alexander turned to her at last. He didn’t reach for her hand, but the invitation in his gaze was unmistakable. “Come, Wife. I believe you’re needed elsewhere.”
She followed him, the wordwifeechoing where Hevlan’s insults had been. Was it a shield fashioned in the moment to defend his house? Or was it a claim? The difference terrified her, because one was politics, and the other was a promise she was no longer sure she had the strength to refuse.
By the time they reached the blacksmith’s cottage, Ulrik was already waiting at his door. If he had heard the commotion in the square, he showed no indication.
“Come inside, Highness,” he said. “Warm yourself by the fire. Annett has been waiting all morning.”
Jingyi nodded, grateful for the welcome. Inside, the room was dim but cozy, the smoke-sweet warmth of peat and herbs sinking into her skin. She crossed the space, the hush broken only by the creak of floorboards and Tedric’s low exchange with Conrad just outside. No one mentioned what had just occurred in the square, but she could still feel it pressing at her back, clinging to her cloak.
She drew the heavy linen curtain around Annett’s cot, the fabric muffling the conversations beyond. Here, she could finally draw breath.
“Did something happen outside, Your Highness?” the girl asked. “I heard a commotion.”
JingYi smiled reassuringly at her. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Annett. Let’s see how you’re doing after your bout of nausea yesterday, shall we?”
Annett lay propped against a cushion, a little pale but no longer wan. Her breathing was steady, her gaze more lucid than the day before, though fatigue still seemed to cling to her.
“You look steadier,” JingYi commented and sat on a stool. “Have you eaten anything today?”
“We tried some porridge and a bit of broth.”
“Did you keep it down?”
A nod.
That was something. That waseverything. JingYi’s shoulders sagged with relief. To keep food down meant the stomach was settling, the body’s pathways clearing. The violent purge was over. Now came the slow work of healing.
She unwrapped the girl’s wrist, exposing the inside of her forearm. The bruise was yellow-green now, a sign of healing. She pressed lightly around it.
“No tenderness?”
“No, Highness.”
She checked the other points—the ankle, the elbow—each one fading in colour, no sign of new swelling.
“I won’t use the needles today, but I’ll press a few points to keep your core energy open and the fetus steady.”
Annett smiled. “I trust your hands, Princess. They never hurt me.”
The words snagged at her chest. JingYi smiled at the girl’s faith in her and reached for the wrist. Her fingers rested against the pulse point. Yesterday it had been thin and thready, now it moved with purpose. Deeper, rounder. Rooted. She lingered before placing her hands over the girl’s lower belly, pressing delicately through the wool of her dress.
“You’re progressing well,” she told Annett. “Baby, too. The energy in the womb is drawing down. I don’t believe you’ll be waiting much longer.”
