She rose as the prince did, bringing her clasped hands to her forehead in the Xûen formal bow. “Since I am to be in your care, may I ask Your Highness’s name so I may address you properly?”
The prince inclined his head, courteous and at ease. “I am Kaelendrin, theTazahrinof Asadia.”
JingYi froze. She knew that name. Memories of that afternoon in Alexander’s study, of the letter from a distant cousin—a warning about purple limyerite in Bashkor, all rushed back.
Kaelendrin.
That cousin was now her master and employer. The crown prince of Asadia, Kaelendrin.
She lowered her hands. Chill prickled down her neck despite the sun’s warmth. If she became part of his wife’s household, would it be only a matter of time before Alexander found out? Or worse—visit?
Her mind began to spiral, drawing shapes from her fears.Stop.She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and drew a breath. She’d just accepted this role. It washerchoice. Forhersafety, and that of the life she might hold inside her.
She bowed again. “I thank you, Tazahrin Kaelendrin, for your offer of sanctuary. I will serve the princess to the best of my ability.”
Her voice was even. Her hands, however, not quite.
And behind her eyes, a single question bloomed: Had the gods brought her here . . . or led her in a circle, straight back to him?
CHAPTER 38
JINGYI
The sun had begun to descend when they left the market, horses clopping on cobblestones as they wound uphill toward the palace. Princess Reiyana rode ahead, sidesaddle, one hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly. Only four months along, she already had a soft fullness—tired but serene, the glow of someone who had passed through pain into ease.
She had clasped JingYi’s hands earlier, and said,‘You’ve no idea how grateful I am.’
The warmth in her voice had startled JingYi. She’d expected formality, polite thanks, a little entitlement, perhaps, but instead found sincerity.
‘It will ease my husbands’ worries. And mine.’
A princess with two husbands. JingYi’s gaze slid briefly to the men riding at Reiyana’s flanks: Princes Kaelendrin and Alarik of Asadia—so different in bearing yet aligned in the way they hovered protectively around her, like day and night circling the same sun.
“Mistress JingYi,” a deep voice called. She turned to regard the man walking beside her horse, holding the reins.
He was a tall Alpha in half-plate and dark leathers, introduced to her as Marzius, captain of the princes’ personal guards. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words since they set off, and even those had been spare, perfunctory.
“Yes, Captain?”
“If you need to return to the market for herbs or supplies, tell me. I’ll provide the appropriate escort.”
“I will, Captain, thank you.”
He gave a single nod, his expression unchanging. He had a face that looked carved rather than born—sharp bones, unsmiling angles. Unreadable. Unmoving. Beneath a fall of dark hair, his skin was the same rich, deep brown as Prince Alarik’s. From the start, he didn’t crowd her, but his presence was a constant weight. A sheathed blade at her side.
He reminded her, painfully, of Alexander. The same restraint in the lines of his back, the same unflinching posture of a man trained to shoulder weight without complaint. An Alpha who didn’t announce himself with barks or swagger, but with certainty of presence alone.
And yet?—
She found herself oddly at ease under his escort. He didn’t look at her like a burden. He didn’t look at her at all, really. Simply guided her horse, watching the street for threats with the diligence of someone who’d spent his life bleeding for others. It was a strange comfort. Familiar in the way firelight was familiar to someone who’d been burned.
They passed beneath an arch heavy with olives. The air turned sweeter. Sunlight tangled in the leaves, gulls crying behind them. The palace rose ahead—terraces of sun-warmed stone and marble towers crowned in gold leaf, each level blooming with vines in front of sapphire-glass windows. At the gate, guards in sea-blue sashes saluted. The horses slowed, and the procession halted before the palace doors.
JingYi hesitated, unsure whether to stay astride or risk dismounting alone.
“Allow me.” It wasn’t the captain’s voice.
Prince Alarik stood beside her mount, one hand steadying the reins, the other extended to help her down. His strength was quiet, his grip secure but brief. JingYi leaned into it just enough to dismount without jarring her leg. He set her down carefully and stepped back with a courteous nod. Only when her feet touched the cobbles did she understand why it had been him, not Captain Marzius.
