Her fingers brushed the gold phoenix pin in her hair, a parting gift from LinXin that very morning. Her sister had at least seen her off, pressing the pin into her palm with uncharacteristic gentleness.
‘Live well,’LinXinhad said.
Wu Ma and Feng, too, had said their goodbyes. They’d tied a new Heat suppressant pouch at her waist.
‘Now that you’ll have an Alpha husband,’Wu Ma said, pulling the knot firm,‘may you never need this cunningconcoction again. But one last cycle’s worth won’t hurt. Remember: keep the pouch close. Your body heat activates them. If the blend gets wet and spoils . . .’
JingYi’s hand closed over Wu Ma’s—dry, warm palms, fingers gnarled from years of manual labour.
‘You don’t need to remind me,’she said, smiling.‘I’ve been wearing them for twelve years. Remember?’
Wu Ma’s lips parted, but then she pursed them and nodded. JingYi squeezed once more before the woman could pull away.
‘You cared for me when my own mother turned away. These hands raised me.’She bent and pressed them to her forehead.‘I know they ache. I’ve left a jar of salve by your bed, enough for the year. Every night, warm a spoonful and rub it deep into the joints, then wrap them.’
Her eyes held Wu Ma’s, unwavering.‘Keep your hands strong so no one will have cause to turn you out.’
Wu Ma sniffed.‘Bossy child.’
‘Promise you’ll do it. For me,’JingYi insisted.
A small, steady grip.‘I promise.’
She had carried memories of that parting from the palace gates onto the pier—a comfort against the sharper truths that awaited. Her father hadn’t sent her into this journey alone. He’d saddled her with companions of a crueller sort.
The three ladies-in-waiting chosen were none other than her tormentors: LánYàn, RenHua, and MeiYün. Their fathers saw honour in the posting; the women saw only gross inconvenience.
“She should be grateful,” LánYàn murmured behind her. “Sent so far away to a man who doesn’t know what he’s getting.”
RenHua’s laugh was muffled. “Perhaps he’ll send her back once he sees her.”
“Imagine—returned before the year is out.” MeiYün’s giggle was shallow, eager.
JingYi didn’t react. She didn’t need them to see that she feared the same.
The emperor had said her husband was appraised of her condition. Hemusthave. Her father wouldn’t risk the loss of the bride price, nor the disgrace of a broken treaty, by omitting two irrefutable facts. Lord Wulfbane had agreed to the terms—to her, as documented. If anything, she could take solace in that cold certainty.
A stir swept through the gathered party. JingYi watched as everyone around her turned and bowed. She followed their gaze, and her heart stopped.
Crown Prince ShunLi stood at the edge of the pier, flanked by his guards. Clothed in indigo robes and a black belt with jade pendants, he held himself with the elegance of an empire’s heir, but it was the gauntlets on his forearms that drew the eye: forged in overlapping plates, gleaming like a pangolin’s scales.
Hehadbeen born in the Year of the Pangolin—an animal deemed shy, reclusive, unworthy of a future emperor. Instead of hiding from the association, he’d embraced it, transforming its symbolism into strength. The scales spoke for him: Beneath the silk was armour. Beneath the heir, a warrior.
They hadn’t spoken last night either.
Now, as she curtsied, his stare pressed down on her, cold and measuring. A thought emerged: one day, this Alpha would be emperor, and she would never truly know what he carried behind that silence.
His guards parted as she approached, and then it was just the two of them, the noise of the docks falling away. At last, he spoke, just loud enough for her to hear.
“You’ve been given a fresh start. Do not squander it.”
JingYi’s stomach seized. Was this brotherly advice? An ominous premonition? His voice was too controlled, too distant for her to glean any true meaning.
Before she could speak, he turned—long black hair flowing, stride unbroken—and disappeared into his palanquin as his retinue closed around him. He did not look back. She stood, watching until the ornate litter vanished into the chaos of Changzihua.
“Your Highness.” The ship captain’s voice cut through her stillness. “It is time.”
Behind her, the Imperial Phoenix towered, its great red sails taut like wings ready for flight. Beyond its stern, the Jiandeng River widened, a path leading to the open sea and a foreign shore.
