A voice inside him urged:Tell her.
Yet how could he convince her when he’d damned himself with careless words while he thought she wasn’t listening?
He left his study and descended the stairs. Parandor hummed with preparations—servants carrying linens and garlands, the scent of roasting squash and honeyed bread drifting through the halls. Children darted ahead of their mothers, laughter threading through the autumn air. On the back terrace, Yrenna directed the hanging of flower chains and altar arrangements with the practiced ease of a woman who still remembered how to make this place shine.
Darion passed through the side corridor with a small group of guards, giving a quick nod as he headed for the outer courtyard. Alexander caught him with a low call.
“Check the path to the hilltop,” he said. “Make sure it’s as flat as possible. I want every step secured.”
Darion slowed. “For the procession?”
“Princess JingYi is leading it herself.”
Darion’s eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. “Ulrik mentioned that. Said he and a few of the lads offered to carry her in a litter. She turned them down?”
“She insists on walking.” Alexander’s tone was even, though he couldn’t quite keep out the tension.
Darion exhaled through his nose. “Stubborn woman.”
“She wouldn’t thank you for saying so.”
“No, but I might thankher. If half our nobles had that kind of spine, we wouldn’t be up to our ears in foolishness.”
Alexander didn’t smile, but his tension eased. He lowered his voice. “Her scent has also begun to change. I need your help in keeping the younger Alphas in line.”
Darion’s posture changed immediately, all amusement gone. “Her Heat is arriving?”
“Not yet. But the signs are there. And the younger Alphas?—”
“Are already getting stirred,” Darion finished, grim. “I saw a young one trailing behind her like a dog this morning. I had to reassign him to the battlements before I beat the impertinence out of him.”
Alexander’s jaw flexed. “I will be close by, but I want a wider buffer.”
Darion leaned in close. “You know there’s a surer way to shield her. A stronger one, which no other Alpha can refute.”
Alexander said nothing.
Darion’s voice dropped lower. “A claim, even just a scent-mark, would be enough to make the others back off. You wouldn’t even have to make it formal yet, if you want to court her or do something lord-like.”
The suggestion sent a bolt of pure, territorial heat through Alexander’s veins. The instinct was immediate and fierce: to do it, to mark what was his, to silence every challenge before it began. He clenched his jaw against the impulse and looked away.
“She hasn’t asked for that.”
Darion sighed. “Sometimes you have to read the signs, my lord.”
Alexander looked back. “What do you mean?”
Darion studied him for a long beat, then inclined his head. “Never mind. You guard her. I’ll keep the others back. But you’re walking on a knife’s edge.”
“I know.”
Yrenna approached with a bundle of altar cloths folded neatly against her side, her steps unhurried despite the flurry of preparations behind her. She raised a brow—not in displeasure, but in that odd, teasing way she always did when Darion was involved.
“Why does every conversation between you two sound like troop deployment?” she asked.
Darion, one shoulder braced against the gatepost, glanced her way. “Because when the ground shifts beneath you, my lady, it pays to know where you stand.”
Yrenna gave a soft, unimpressed click of her tongue. “It’s a festival, Commander. You might consider smiling before you startle the children and frighten the horses.”
