That earned a real smile. “You’ll see for yourself tomorrow—my parents, my three brothers. I’ll introduce you properly.”
JingYi inclined her head, even as anxiety danced beneath her ribs. Being introduced, seen by royalty, was a threshold. Once crossed, there was no fading back into anonymity.
“Any other discomforts, Your Highness? Have you been sleeping well?” she asked, returning to the familiar territory of symptoms and remedies.
“Not since the baby discovered kicking.” The princess’s hand drifted to her belly. “They seem to think nighttime is the perfect time for acrobatics.”
JingYi’s chuckle was genuine this time. “I’ll prepare a salve for your lower back, and a mild tisane to help you sleep. Nothing strong. It’ll be safe for the baby.” She paused, glancing toward the windows. “Is there an herb garden in the palace?”
“Beyond the west wing. It’s walled in on three sides, open to the sea on the fourth. My mother says it catches both moonlight and salt.”
“Then I’ll go now while the light’s still good.”
After she settled Reiyana in bed, JingYi slipped into the corridor. For a moment, she just stood, back against the door, savouring the restful hum of the palace. The herb beds waited—green, familiar, a language she spoke fluently. That was her ground. Her sanctuary.
As she walked toward the west wing, her fingers itched for the rough texture of soil, the sharp scent of crushed leaves, and the tangible work of healing that always began with her own two hands.
CHAPTER 39
JINGYI
She found raised beds brimming with herbs. Gravel paths wove neat patterns between them, terracotta pots standing like little soldiers. Beyond, the sea stretched wide, deepening with each breath of evening.
Jing Yi knelt by a cluster of lemon balm, fingers brushing the fragrant leaves. Its calming properties suited the princess’s tonic, but it lacked the cooling quality of the blueleaf variety she’d once read about in theSunland Flora Compendium. She shifted to the next bed, scanning the small wooden stakes with curling script, noting which herbs might serve not just Reiyana’s needs but also her own—yet another replacement for the Heat suppressants.
Her knees ached. She rose slowly, brushing her hands on her skirt, and moved toward the shaded row near the wall—still scanning the herbs—when she heard footsteps. Not the soft tread of a maid. Firmer, heavier.
The scents reached her first: saltwater and steel, clean spice from a soapcake, and the sharper undercurrent that marked him unmistakably as Alpha.
“Still at work, healer?” came Captain Marzius’s voice behind her, mild and amused.
JingYi straightened and turned to greet him. He looked more relaxed than he had in full regalia—his sleeves rolled to the elbow, leather armour but no plates. He stopped a few paces away, arms clasped loosely behind him.
JingYi inclined her head. “Captain.”
He returned the gesture, eyes flicking briefly to her basket. “You’ve found the gardens.”
“I needed a few herbs for the princess’s tonic.”
“Anything I can help you locate?”
She hesitated. There was an openness to his offer she hadn’t expected.
Her gaze swept across the beds. “If you have the inclination,” she said at last, “I’m searching for something called blueleaf balm. The underside should be tinged violet.”
He nodded and moved to the opposite bed, crouching low, hands already brushing through the foliage carefully. For a few minutes, they worked in silence, breathing the same air scented with lavender and lemon. Gravel crunched beneath shifting feet.
She should’ve left it there. But something about his presence—the lack of posturing, the lack of appraisal—felt disarmingly . . .safe.
“I’ve seen how the princes trust you,” she broke the silence. “You’ve served them long?”
He didn’t glance up, but his hand paused before brushing aside a stem.
“I joined the guard at sixteen, but I’ve known Prince Alarik since we were boys. Our mothers hailed from the same village. Mine used to take me to visit the palace.”
She studied his profile. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, not in the way pampered court men were. But there was something pleasant about the set of his mouth, the arch of his eyebrows, the steady way he held himself, as if he hadlong ago made peace with who he was and his place in the world and needed no validation for it.
“They’ve earned your loyalty,” she said. “That’s no small thing.”
