“That’s generous of you, Captain. But . . . I can’t accept.”
His brow lifted. “Forgive me. Are you attached?”
JingYi didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t want to lie, but neither did she want to explain.
“In my homeland,” she said gently, “even a gesture like this might be misunderstood. I’m in no position to invite questions. Not when I’ve only just begun to find my footing.”
A long pause. Then, without a word, he lowered the blossoms—not into her hands, but into the basket itself, tucking them among the herbs as if they’d always belonged there.
“For your tinctures, then,” he said. “They’re also good for headaches.”
JingYi dipped her head in thanks, even when guilt stirred, wanting to be seen and not knowing how to accept it. But she did know this: She wasn’t ready to be looked at like that. Not when her heart still bore the shape of someone else.
They walked the rest of the way. Near the gate leading to the royal family’s wing, the hush of the palace grounds gave way to the low murmur of guards.
Prince Kaelendrin stepped through the gate, coat half-buttoned, the early evening sun catching at the edges of his hair. His eyes found her first.
“Healer, the princess is napping for a bit before supper,” he told her. “She said to wake her in an hour.”
JingYi curtsied. “Very well, Your Highness.”
His eyes then dipped to the basket in Marzius’s hand, then to the man himself. Golden irises glinted with amused recognition.
“I never imagined you the type to go around picking herbs, Marzius.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “Is this some new pastime you’ve taken up in this charming kingdom? Or has the new addition to the princess’s household proven . . . persuasive?”
The captain didn’t miss a beat. “Only thought to keep the healer’s hands free, Your Highness. She knows what to do with them. Mine aren’t as useful.”
Prince Kaelendrin’s smile deepened, clearly entertained.
JingYi dipped her head, careful not to betray the heat creeping up her neck. “These are all remedies for the princess. The palace’s herb garden is well-equipped.”
“And my captain of the guards insisted on carrying it? I’ll have to worry when he begins sprouting poetry next.”
Marzius didn’t rise to the bait. He gave the prince a rather droll look. “Are you finished, Your Highness?”
The prince only beamed. Then, the captain addressed her, “Shall I take this inside for you?”
She shook her head. “I won’t keep you any longer, Captain. Thank you.”
He handed back the basket without a word. JingYi bowed, then went inside. When she reached the princess’s corridor, she nearly collided with a man standing just outside her door.
Tall and regal, he was unmistakably cut from the same cloth as Princess Reiyana—his hair a paler gold, his eyes sharper. Evenif she hadn’t recognized the resemblance, the authority in his stance gave him away.
An Alpha prince.
He looked her up and down. “This is the royal family wing,” he said, cool and clipped. “State your identity, and your purpose.”
JingYi dipped into a low curtsy. “I am JingYi, Your Highness, newly assigned as the princess’s healer.”
There was a pause before he responded, the edge in his tone easing. “I wanted to see my sister, but I’m afraid she is indisposed.”
The eldest brother, JingYi guessed. She could feel the weight of his presence—that particular gravity that came with being firstborn, with carrying a crown’s worth of expectation.
She curtsied again, keeping her gaze lowered. “Forgive me, my prince. Her Highness had a spell during her walk through the market. The rest will do her good.”
When she stole a glance, she saw his gaze had sharpened, jaw ticking. “I see the pregnancy has been . . . trying. She hadn’t seen a single healthy day since returning home.”
“It is nothing that cannot be managed,” JingYi said gently. “Now that I am here.”
