Happy? Well?
He settled on neither.
“. . . safe?”
Something flickered across Haorán’s face. It wasn’t quite a smile but something drier. A touch sardonic. “Safe enough, for now.”
Alexander’s frown deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Haorán dipped his tsaiwàn into the bowl to pick up strands of noodles and tilted his head, as if weighing the value of a bite versus the pleasure of a small cruelty.
“The Dowager is set on securing another match for Her Highness. Talk of marriage has returned to the court.”
Alexander froze. “Marriage?” The word came out loud and sharp, but he didn’t care. “To whom?”
“That changes by the week, but the pressure is mounting. The court prefers her wed while the public is still dazzled by her return.” Haorán lifted his tea, watching him over the rim. “They say a list of suitors has been drafted.”
Alexander set his bowl down with more force than necessary. Broth sloshed over the rim.
“Does she wish it?” At this point, his voice sounded more like a growl.
Haorán didn’t respond right away. Silence spooled out. A tactic, no doubt, learned in court to sharpen a pause into a weapon.
The thought of her—a second wedding band slipped onto her hand, another Alpha claiming her name and scent—stilled him. A low, tight heat gathered in his chest. He didn’t have the right, not anymore, but that didn’t stop the feeling.
She was his wife. His Omega.His.Even if the ink had never dried on their future.
“Why do you care so much?” Haorán asked, finally meeting his gaze. Then, after deliberate silence: “It’s not like you’re her husband.”
Alexander’s hands curled into fists against the table.
“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t deserve her before, but I let her go so I could earn the right to try again.”
Across the table, Haorán stared at him—not with surprise or skepticism, just silence. That unreadable calm that made him impossible to anticipate.
Around them, the teahouse swelled with life. Eating rods clicked against porcelain. Someone at a nearby table let out a wheezy laugh. Then finally, the Beta leaned back slightly, arms folding.
“In two weeks,” he began, “the emperor will hold an audience with his people. The two Omega High Princesses will attend.”
The rest of the teahouse blurred. Alexander could barely hear the clink of dishes over the roaring in his ears.
“It’s open to all, to anyone with a grievance,” Haorán paused, then added with an arch of his brow, “or a plea.”
Two weeks.
Alexander’s knuckles whitened where they curled against the table. Time was already slipping, each second peeling away like bark from a dying tree. Across from him, Haorán stood. He strapped his sword back to his hip, laid a few crisp notes on the table and, with a flick of his wrist, sent something glinting through the air.
Alexander caught it by instinct. Cool metal bit into his hand. He looked down and found his signet ring on his palm. For weeks now, he’d kept it hidden beneath his shirt, strung on a thin gold chain around his neck. Close. Protected.
Or so he thought.
His gaze snapped up. Haorán was already turning away, his voice light over his shoulder.
“Guard your treasures, Lán mùyân.” A pause, just enough for the cut to land. “Before someone else steals them from under your nose.”
Then, he vanished into the hum of the teahouse.
CHAPTER 69
