A beat passed. Then: “You seem sure of yourself, Healer.”
“I am, my prince,” she replied, lifting her chin slightly, though careful to not be impertinent. “Otherwise, the princess and her husbands wouldn’t trust me with her care.”
His flaxen brows rose a fraction. The corner of his mouth twitched—something like reluctant amusement—before settling again.
“Few in this court speak so plainly,” he said. “Fewer still among the serving ranks.”
JingYi’s fingers curled. “I speak plainly when it concerns the health of my patient. Whether in a palace or a sickbed, there’slittle room for pretty words when a mother and child are at stake.”
That drew a longer pause from him. Then, unexpectedly, he nodded. “Good.”
His stance shifted. Shoulders loosened, the frost seemed to thaw. After a moment, he added, “She was hesitant about marrying. One Alpha already unsettled her, not to mention two. We didn’t think she’d ever accept it.”
Before JingYi could respond, a harried-looking steward rounded the corner and bowed. “Prince Thorir, His Majesty asks if you’ve reviewed the final guest list for the ball.”
The prince gave a curt nod to the man. “In a moment.” He returned his gaze to her, the interruption seeming to crystallize his assessment.
JingYi glanced at the closed door beside them, then looked back at him. “If this eases Your Highness’s concerns, the princess isn’t just accepting her new life—she’s also thriving. She’s surrounded by those who care for her. Not all Alphas are tyrants, after all.”
That earned her a longer look. He didn’t smile, but she sensed a monumental change in his eyes.
“I suppose that statement carries more weight coming from an Omega,” he finally said.
JingYi sucked in a breath. So, he’d guessed. Before more could be said, he gave a brisk nod and disappeared around the corner.
That night, JingYi brewed medicines, set the remedies on the princess’s tray, and checked her pulse one last time before supper. Her own dinner tray was set in her room, and she ate by the window, staring out at the dark Issoirea Sea. Only when she finally lay down on her bed did she feel the weight in her bones—the deep ache of travel, worry, and too much held in.
She shut her eyes and tried not to think of a man with eyes bluer than the sea.
Of how easily someone could vanish from one’s life while still taking up space inside it.
But tomorrow, she told herself, was a new day.
CHAPTER 40
JINGYI
Breakfast at the Aethonian Palace was a family affair, though not without its diplomatic complexities. The palace overlooked the coast, and the morning menu often swam before they were put on the plate. JingYi quite enjoyed the slices of smoked whitefish and soft custard, served with a sea-salt bun still warm from the hearth.
Princess Reiyana, however, couldn’t abide the smell. Since her pregnancy, seafood of any kind turned her green. JingYi had pinned a sachet of herbs near her collar that morning.
“Just don’t let it fall into your porridge, Your Highness,” she’d said.
It worked, thank goodness. With the remedy tucked discreetly, the princess could now sit through breakfast without turning green.
Even her mother, Queen Aurelia, noted with pleasure. “Your colour has improved greatly, my dear.”
Reiyana offered a soft smile as she reached for her tea. “It’s the sachet JingYi prepared for me this morning.”
The queen’s gaze shifted toward her, calm but appraising. “It was Luneth’s will that you two met at the market, then.”
JingYi bowed her head, hands folded neatly before her. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“A simple remedy, but effective. It’s good to see my daughter eating again, especially during this delicate time.”
The king, seated beside the queen, gave a small nod. “And in better spirits, too. A healer who knows how to read her patient is worth her weight in gold.”
This also meant Prince Kaelendrin could resume eating what he referred to as ‘a proper start to the day,’ which usually involved a platter heaping with steamed crabs.
