His gaze swept over her clean, composed appearance—the good-quality Aethonian-style gown that spoke of someone else’s provision. His own wife, seeking employment. She had taken nothing from their home but her medicine chest and the clothes on her back. She had chosen to arrive with nothing, to accept another’s help, rather than touch what was his.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You left without a single coin, though you must have seen them on my desk. Do you truly think me so miserly that I wouldn’t spare a coin for my wife’s comfort?”
She finally met his eyes. Her gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it hardened. “I didn’t want to be branded a thief in addition to an ugly cripple.”
The breath left him in a ragged rush. For a moment, he forgot they were in a public square, forgot the world beyond the two of them. The thought of her believing that—believing him capable of that kind of cruelty—cut deep.
“I crossed Issoirea to find you,” he said, quieter now. “Because I couldn’t leave this—couldn’t leave us—broken. King Ferdinand thinks I cast you aside. He’s commanded me to bring you back without delay.”
At that, JingYi blinked. Her face was still calm, but her words were honed thin as glass. “Of course,” she murmured. “The king’s command.”
She didn’t need to say more. The truth hung between them:Duty, not desire. Decree, not devotion.
A sick, hollow feeling punched through his chest. “No. JingYi, that’s not why—” The words tangled in his throat. “Please, listen?—”
She lowered her head. A dismissal as she turned away.
Kaelen’s hand clamped onto his shoulder. “Enough,” he muttered. Then louder, to Reiyana and JingYi, “We should continue this at the palace, before the lemon ices lose their title as the main attraction.”
Alexander began to protest. At the palace, JingYi would vanish behind doors he had no right to open. And Reiyana would make damn sure he couldn’t even try.
“Leave it, Cousin,” Kaelen hissed, “before you make an even bigger mess of things. Your wife looks ready to have you thrown into the sea. And, frankly? I’d help her.”
Alexander watched as Reiyana gathered JingYi close, the gesture speaking volumes. Over her shoulder, the princess cast him a scathing look and turned her back on him.
The two women walked toward the palace. Together, they formed a wall he couldn’t scale, a silence he couldn’t breach.
He had no choice but to follow.
CHAPTER 42
JINGYI
She had thought herself prepared. Prepared to run until the ocean or a foreign border swallowed her whole. Prepared to face Alexander again. She’d imagined this moment so many times, convincing herself it would mean nothing.
But when their eyes met across the plaza, every fragile wall crumbled. She had fooled herself.
The Alpha in him had always carried weight, but now it pressed heavier, reminding her body what her mind refused to acknowledge. Even before he spoke, her marrow recognized him, pulling taut on the thread left half-woven the night of her Heat. It throbbed like an infected wound.
And now—a stolen letter? A ploy, he’d said. A deliberate strike meant to break them apart.
Her mind split. Two truths warred for dominance. The first was a clean, familiar blade:He wrote it. He rejected her.That pain had a shape she knew how to carry. The second was formless:Someone else did this. They were both targeted.It reframed everything—his absence, the king’s summons, the cruel timing—as moves on a board she hadn’t known she was on.
She could not reconcile them. The first had broken her heart; the second shattered her understanding of the breaking. Whichwound was she supposed to tend first? The one from his hand, or the one from the dark?
It was almost easier to cling to his failing. To be hurt by a husband was a private grief. To be a pawn felt like standing on a cliff in the dark, not knowing when the ground would give way.
She was grateful when Reiyana tugged her toward the palace. She let the princess’s presence override the urge to turn back. But just once, she looked over her shoulder. He walked several paces behind, the princes flanking him. Each stolen glance was like pressing her hand to an open flame. It hurt, but she kept testing whether the fire still burned.
“JingYi,” Reiyana called in a low voice. “That is . . . if I may still call you JingYi?”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Please. Nothing needs to change.”
They climbed into the shadowed walkway overlooking the gardens. Reiyana smiled, though her voice was firm. “Some thingsmustchange. Lord Wulfbane, for all his foolishness, was right about one thing: You are a princess, not a servant. You should be treated as such.”
JingYi’s stomach twisted.Princess.What did she know about being a princess? She didn’t want to be one. The memory of cold halls, whispered scorn, her mother’s hissed curses—it all rose like smoke.
Reiyana’s hand remained lightly on hers. “You understand, don’t you? If word reaches the Xûen Emperor that his daughter was housed and treated as a servant in Aethonia, my parents will be placed in an impossible position.”
