Alexander rode through the night, pushing Duskwane harder than he should, stopping only when the stallion’s flanks heaved and foam laced the bit. At a narrow creek, he let the horse drink while he chewed absently on an apple Ulrik had packed. The fruit was the pride of Tremore—sweet and juicy as if autumn had melted on the tongue—but he could only taste ash.
He mounted again before the stars shifted overhead, wind scouring his cheeks raw. Even riding hard, it was nearly sunset the next day when the spires of Niewberg pierced the skyline. He didn’t slow. He veered toward the southern roads, bypassing the palace gates and threading down the muddy track toward the lower docks.
If she’d boarded a ship, it would have been from Port Terresard.
His heart galloped faster than Duskwane’s hooves as the briny scent of the sea reached him. The salt stung his eyes.
JingYi. Please.
The harbour appeared. He dismounted. The smell of fish and tar hit him, but he barely registered it. He pushed through the crowded docks, asking again and again. No one had seen her.
At the harbourmaster’s post, he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Show me today’s ship logs. Quickly.”
The man hesitated until Alexander placed his signet ring heavily on the desk. That spurred him to rifle through the records, scanning ship names and cargo until he found it:Barge Eighty-Two.Same registry. Same trader.
But the destination had changed:Aethonia.
Alexander’s breath left in a sharp exhale. Of course. A barge couldn’t take her all the way to Bashkor. But from Aethonia, she could board a larger ship bound for any corner of the Nine Kingdoms.
He straightened. “Are there any ships bound for Nymaris tonight?”
“Yes, my lord. Sails in three turns of the clock.”
A small mercy. He was late, but perhaps not too late. If he caught the first ship to Aethonia, he might reach Nymaris before she moved on. Hopefully, the city’s brilliance would tempt her to linger.
He looked up and caught sight of Limyere Palace’s spires in the distance. First . . . hemustsee his king.
The palace stewards showed him inside straightaway. He’d certainly been expected. The throne room, though less ceremonial at this hour, was no less imposing. As he entered, he found King Ferdinand standing alone near the window, a goblet in hand. When he turned, his expression looked carved from stone.
“It arrived in front of everyone, you know,” he said, “Your annulment request.”
Alexander stepped closer. The king didn’t mince words today, which was just as well. He had no time for small talks.
“It was never meant to be delivered.” After a pause, he added, “Someone did it without my knowledge.”
Ferdinand arched a brow and scoffed. “Then you’re either careless with your correspondence, or someone in yourhousehold doesn’t fear you enough to respect it.” His voice was mild, controlled, which was worse than anger. “Which is it?”
The accusation burned, but he couldn’t deny the logic. “Both, perhaps.”
Ferdinand turned fully to study him. “Did you know this match wasn’t my idea?”
His brow furrowed. For a moment, the words didn’t make sense. If the king didn’t broker this marriage, then who?—
“It was ShunLi,” the king said, the words emerging low and slow, “who wrote to me in secret. He would make Princess Adelise his empress, but only if I swore to find an honourable man to marry his sister.”
The words were a blow to the chest.Her brotherproposed it? The brother who—by JingYi’s own account—had let her fade into the background, a ghost in her own family. The one whose indifference she wore like a second skin, a fact so ingrained she never even questioned it?
The contradiction was a blade, twisting. If ShunLi cared so little, why arrange this deal? Why wager his own future to ensure she was given a position in a kingdom so far away?
“I chose you,” Ferdinand continued, stepping closer, “because I believed you would be honourable. I thought you, of all people, understood what it was to be unwanted. Judged for a past you cannot change.” The king’s eyes hardened as he took a sip. “You could have met her with empathy. Instead, you shamed her.”
Alexander opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. The defence ‘I never meant to hurt her’ withered before it could take form. Truth, yet utterly worthless. A thin, self-serving plea of a man caught in the consequences of his own carelessness.
“Your intent is irrelevant. Your action was a betrayal of my trust and an insult to her dignity.” Ferdinand’s voice dropped, icy. “Where is your bride? Safely ignorant in your keep, I pray?”
Alexander held his gaze and confessed: “She left yesterday, slipping away by river from Blackwood-Veyrde after your messenger arrived.”
“Youlether flee?” Ferdinand’s control finally cracked, his hand slashing through the air. “By Solthar’s bollocks, Wulfbane, why?!”
