Alarik leaned in, golden eyes unblinking. “We heard your story in the square. The theft explains how it reached the king, but the letter still exists, and the king has seen it.” His voice dropped. “When an Alpha initiates annulment, the Omega is freed the moment she formally accepts. Legally unbound. Another Alpha may claim her.”
Kaelen leaned lazily against a marble column. “Which means,” he said, swirling the wine in his goblet before raising his eyes to Alexander, “at any moment, cousin . . . she could belong to someone else.”
The thought of it—another Alpha beside her, touching her—was a fist around his lungs.
“She’s my wife.” His voice scraped out of him. “She belongs with me.”
Kaelen raised an elegant brow. “Does she?” He placed his goblet on the ledge and leaned forward, voice silk-smooth and lethal. “Let me explain. Our wife is fond of your wife. We areextremelyfond of our wife. We’d do anything for her, including employing someone she’d come to consider as a friend.”
Kaelen leaned back and smirked. “A gifted healer is worth their weight in gold, Wulfbane. We can offer Princess JingYi something you cannot.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”
Kaelen’s smile deepened. “Financial independence. A highly desirable thing, for an Omega fleeing an Alpha’s mistake.” He nodded toward Alarik. “We intend to offer her a permanent role in the Asadian royal household. A generous stipend. Lifetime pension. She would serve as healer to the Tazahrina herself, under our direct protection.
Alexander’s blood turned to ice—then to fire. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white.
“She’d want for nothing,” Kaelen continued, clearly relishing this moment. “And if she wished for companionship, well . . .”His sly gaze slid to the captain. “We’ve no shortage of honourable Alphas who already know how to treasure her.” He picked up his glass and lifted it in a lazy salute.
Alexander’s pulse thundered. He wanted to roar, to strike something, to lay claim with teeth and tongue and oath—but hehadfailed her.
And now, she could walk away—legally, publicly, completely.
The noise dimmed. Music faltered, and the ballroom fell into a hush. Heads turned, bodies pivoting to face the entrance.
“Here she comes,” Kaelen warned.
But it was Reiyana, regal in her usual sapphire blue, who appeared at the doors. The court folded around her like petals drawn to the sun, eager to flatter, to praise. Alexander’s gaze cut past them, searching.
No JingYi.
He’d hoped the two Omegas would arrive together. How foolish. Even now, his wife excelled at avoiding him.
He turned away from the crowd and slipped through one of the open arches to the outdoor terrace. Cool night air kissed his skin, smelling like citrus blossoms, salt, and stone. The stars above Aethonia glimmered fainter than those over Blackwood-Veyrde, but the moon hung low and full, casting silver across the garden’s edge.
He braced both hands on the balustrade, dragging in a breath. It filled his lungs, but not the hollowness inside him.
Then—movement. At the far end of the terrace, half-lost to shadows where ivy curled around a white marble pillar, a figure stood alone.
At first, she didn’t turn, seemingly absorbed in the view—formal gardens unfolding into shadowed cliffs below. Then she turned, and the moonlight found her. It caught the strands of raven hair framing her face, stirred by the breeze. Her gownrustled softly as she shifted her weight, almost as if testing the shape of her full skirt.
And then—lightly, unexpectedly—she twirled.
It wasn’t graceful, not a practiced court spin. But the unguardedness in that move, its child-like innocence, sent a pang through his chest. It was as though he’d stumbled upon a moment not meant to be witnessed. A glimpse of wonder in a world that had offered her so little.
He took a step forward. The sound of his boot on the marble stilled her. She looked up, and his breath vanished.
It was JingYi, and not JingYi. A version of her he’d never been so privileged to see.
She wasn’t made beautiful by the gown—no, the gown only revealed it. It revealed how finely she carried herself, how her features—soft, strong, unpainted—held a kind of quiet defiance. The birthmark on her cheek, no longer something to hide, caught the silver light like lacquered plum blossom. Stark. Unapologetic.
Magnificent.
“JingYi,” he said.
She flinched, just barely, but it was enough to stop him. Her back came up against the balustrade, as if bracing herself.
“You should go back inside,” she said. “The ballroom suits you better than the shadows.”
