Her voice—composed, devastating—sliced clean through the moment.
Alexander froze. His gaze snapped past the man barring his way, locking onto his wife. She hadn’t moved, save to raise a single hand to stop him. The other hand, he now saw, rested lightly over her stomach.
And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.
He hadn’t held back. Not once. He’d spent himself inside her again and again. How foolish he was.Not once had he thought beyond the moment.
All the while, she’d been alone.Gods.
“Please,” JingYi said softly. “There’s no need for this.”
Her voice locked him in place. His pulse climbed, knuckles trembling as he reached. Then he saw her face and let his hand drop.
She didn’t want him near her.
“Lord Wulfbane.”
A second voice broke the silence—clear, commanding, unmistakably royal. He turned. Princess Reiyana stood beside JingYi now, one hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly, blue eyes cool and guarded. She was polite, yes, but far from warm. Alexander had seen that look before. It belonged to women who’d fought to carve out their own safety and would not watch it be stripped away.
“We didn’t expect your arrival,” Reiyana said. “You are welcomed here. However”—she nodded at JingYi and her voice hardened—“this woman has been retained as a healer in my household. She is under my protection. I kindly ask you to step back.”
Deep down, he knew they were protecting his wife. To realize that in one week he had become the danger she needed shielding from—it rattled him.
“She is not a servant for Tazahrina Reiyana to retain.” The Alpha in him bled into every syllable, turning each word into a rumble. “She is Princess JingYi of Xûen-Sarai, andmy wife, the Lady Wulfbane of Blackwood-Veyrde.”
The group stilled at the declaration. The soldier, however, shifted fractionally, seemingly even more protective. Alexander didn’t care. His body was strung tight. The half-formed bond burned in his chest. He hadn’t crossed Issoirea for a week only to lose her again.
Kaelen took his place beside Reiyana, all loose limbs and lazy grace, but Alexander knew that glint in his cousin’s golden eyes. Any threat would be handled swiftly, efficiently.
“Well,” Kaelen drawled, “we can hardly fault her, can we? Reiya fled across the ocean hiding she was a princess. Alarik and I haven’t travelled with our real names in years. Seems to me, Princess JingYi is simply upholding a long-standing Nine Kingdoms tradition.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Alexander saw Reiyana’s mouth twitch. Kaelen’s grin widened. “You’ve got to admit, cousin. It takes skill to outmaneuver a Wulfbane Alpha.”
He turned to JingYi and offered a theatrical bow, one hand over his heart. “Well played, Your Highness. On behalf of the Asadian delegation, I offer our sincerest apologies. Clearly, we underestimated the cleverness of a princess who could makeeven the fiercest Alpha cross half the Nine Kingdoms to find her.”
JingYi inclined her head, voice cool and composed. “No apology necessary, Prince Kaelendrin. You gave me refuge when I had none. I remain in your debt.”
Her gaze flicked to Alexander only briefly, but he felt it like a lash across his chest.
“Lord Wulfbane knows,” she continued, “though I was born a princess, I was raised a servant. This role suits me better than any crown. As for our marriage”—her lips thinned—“he saw fit to annul it. It is as good as over.”
Heat crept up Alexander’s neck, rebuttal clawing up his throat. Leaning in, he rumbled, “You may be pregnant.”
The group froze again.
JingYi’s composure didn’t break, but something in her face shuttered—a fortress door slamming shut. Her hand, which had been hovering near her belly, clenched at her side, the knuckles whitening.
Alarik’s voice broke the silence. “You consummated the marriage,” he said flatly, golden eyes narrowing, “then tried to annul it?”
Alexander ignored the question. He addressed JingYi directly. “Yes, I wrote the annulment request.” The admission lodged in his throat. “In a moment of blind, selfish fury on our wedding night. I wrote it to exorcise a demon, then buried it in my desk drawer. But someone stole it and sent it to the king.”
He watched the words land. The brittle hurt in her eyes, momentarily displaced by sheer shock. Her porcelain composure didn’t crack, but it grew very, very still.
“Stolen,” she repeated, the word a hollow echo.
“Yes. This was an intentional ploy to tear us apart—or a diversion.”
The edge in her gaze now held a sharp, assessing quality. The wounded wife was receding; the survivor calculating.
