With one last look, Alexander nodded and turned, the guard falling into step beside him. His footsteps faded, and JingYi turned to Darion.
“Alright, Sir Darion,” she said. “But if you so much as wobble, I’m turning us around.”
He chuckled, slow and dry. “Understood, Highness. I’ll behave.”
They stepped into the corridor together, his pace measured, her watchful eye making sure of it. The palace felt more peaceful here, the morning hush broken only by the soft tap of boots against marble.
After a moment, Darion nodded toward a lacquered door ahead. “He’s just in there. They moved him from the Golden Hare to the palace the moment we returned.”
She stepped inside while Darion waited in the corridor. Light spilled across the woven rug and the edge of the bed, where Conrad sat propped against a bolster, a thick blanket folded at his waist. She spotted a wide swath of bandage stretchingbeneath his tunic’s collar and across one shoulder. A forgotten book lay beside him, pages bent but unread.
He looked up—and went still, as if something inside him seized. Colour drained from his face. His gaze locked on her. Not her eyes, but slightly to the left, at all the cuts and bruises.
He tried to smile.
“Well.” His hoarse voice was ruthlessly forced into teasing. “Look who survived a kidnapping and still manages to look better than I do.”
JingYi didn’t call attention to his reaction. She only stepped closer. “That’s because I didn’t fall off a horse.”
“Ididn’tfall off.” His laugh was brittle. “Just stabbed, punched, and emotionally scarred for life.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “Your jokes are definitely getting worse. A sure sign you’re on the mend.”
“I’m saving the good ones for when I can sit up without groaning.”
But even as he spoke, she saw the effort behind the humour. His mouth wobbled at the corners, his fingers clutching the blanket. She reached the side of the bed just as his shoulders gave a single, silent shake.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice cracking. “Princess, I—I’m so sorry.”
“Conrad . . .”
“I saw him every day. I trained beside him. And when he took you, when he—” He broke off with a shudder. “I thought I could stop him. I really did. But I didn’t even come close.”
“You tried.” She sat on the chair beside his bed. “You followed your instinct, and you found me.”
“He disarmed me in less than three moves. I was useless?—”
“You were brave,” she insisted. “You still fought when most would’ve run. You faced a threat none of us saw coming.”
He wiped at his damp cheek, frustration written in every movement. “It wasn’t enough.”
“Maybe not in the way you hoped,” she said, placing a hand on his. “But itwasenough. You brought Lord Wulfbane to me.”
He looked at her again, eyes red-rimmed. “He did all that to your face, didn’t he? Tedric?”
“In the end,” she said, “he got tired of pretending. He showed his true colours.”
Silence stretched between them. A breeze stirred the curtains. Then, after a long moment, he breathed out. “When I’m healed, I’m going to train ten, twenty times as hard. Next time, I won’t freeze. I’ll fight better. I’llbebetter. I promise.”
She knew he meant it—every word. He would grow stronger. He would become a knight worthy of every vow he’d make. Her chest ached, as if she were already missing him. Missing the man the boy would become, before she even left.
She squeezed his hand. “I believe you. But for now, just focus on healing. That’s enough of a promise for me.”
When she left Conrad’s bed, Sir Darion still waited outside, arms folded. He gave her a brief once-over, then jerked his chin at the door behind her. “That boy’s harder on himself than any blade I’ve ever trained with.”
JingYi drew a breath. “He’ll make a fine knight.”
“He will.” Darion started walking, his pace leisurely enough to match hers. “Takes his knocks hard, but he doesn’t flinch from them. That’s a good sign.”
