By now, she knew only three of the Omegas spoke the common tongue, but it didn’t stop the rest of them from giving her a small, shy smile.
“Lady Wulfbane,” said the youngest, her eyes hesitant, her voice still trembling from too many sleepless nights. “Is it true . . . we will be sent home?”
JingYi took the girl’s hand. “Yes,” she said softly and looked at the others. “I believe you will each be returned to your family, under royal escort and with every protection ensured.”
Relief flickered across the girl’s face. She bit her lip, glancing at the others. “Will they ask us questions?”
There it was—the fear not just of harm, but of being forced to relive it. JingYi hesitated, then gave the truth its gentlest shape.
“There may be questions, yes,” she said. “But no one will force you. And nothing will be asked of you without care.” Her gaze swept the room, finding the eyes of the others, even those who didn’t understand her words. “You are not prisoners. You are survivors. And the palace will treat you as such.”
She saw the subtle shift in the girl’s shoulders. A breath released.
“Will you be there with us?”
The old answer rose like a reflex:Yes. Of course. I will stay until you don’t need me anymore.
But Tedric’s voice slithered through her memory.‘You heal because it’s the only thing that makes you worth anything. What are you without it?’
She had despised him for it. For seeing it. For naming it.
But standing here, with seven pairs of eyes watching her, she understood: he wasn’t . . . entirely wrong. Shehadspent her whole life pouring herself out for others because that was the only way she’d learned to matter. She would give and give until she was empty, and then she’d scrape the bottom so she could give again.
She didn’t want to be empty anymore.
“I may not always be here,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring for you. And in my place, Princess Adelise will support you.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “I will write. I will check in with your physicians. Send word when you need advice, and I will answer.”
JingYi looked at the others, meeting each gaze in turn. Their eyes glistened, but each of them nodded. “Even when we’re not together, I’m not abandoning you. I am trusting you to heal, and trusting myself to let you.”
She waited for the emptiness to come—the familiar lurch of being unmoored, adrift without the purpose that had always defined her.
Her ribs didn’t cave. Her lungs kept drawing air.
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to check that she was still whole. She was.Morethan whole. Beneath her palm, steady and sure, a space had opened.
It was room to breathe. Room to want.
Room, she realized with a small, startled breath, togrow.
The infirmary where Haorán rested was peaceful. JingYi stepped inside while Alexander lingered outside the door.
Haorán’s cot was near the back, screened partially from view. A healer was adjusting his woollen blanket, but as she approached, the woman nodded and excused herself.
He was seated against a pile of pillows, back straight despite the bandages around his ribs, eyes already on her as she neared.
Now that they were out of danger, she could see, even injured, Haorán held the calm stillness of someone trained to kill with a flick of the wrist. A fading bruise painted the edge of his jaw, but his eyes were sharp.
“Princess,” he said, dipping his chin. His voice was level—calm, even though clipped with fatigue.
“You’re awake.” She sat on the chair beside the bed. “How is your injury?”
“Painful enough to remind me I’m not dead.”
They looked at each other and smiled.
“Lord Wulfbane came last night,” he said. “Asked me how I was doing. He told me the charges against his father have been lifted, and his family’s good name is put to right. Felicitations to you, too, Your Highness.”
It was strange to accept the well-wishes, but she inclined her head. “Thank you.”
