You will be welcome here. Truly.
And you will be met not with ceremony, but with gladness.
Yours, in goodwill and kinship,
Tazahrin Kaelendrin Asad
She closed her eyes and eased the breath from her chest, slow and steady. Another path lay before her, one shaped by her own will and not someone else’s decree. A hand extended not in pity but in respect, by the people who had welcomed her, trusted her, seen her worth.
Independence, safety, without her name attached to an Alpha. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. It was the life she’d dreamed of—before Tremore.
Then . . . why did her mind still show her images of tending herbs in a mountain garden, his voice in the next room?
ShunLi rose from the golden salamander throne, his expression unreadable as he glanced toward the window veiled in morning mist. “There is time before my council meeting,” he said. “Shall we walk?”
She nodded, and the two of them stepped out of the Hall of Serenity. The air outside was cool and tinged with the perfume of wet magnolia petals. Jade-coloured stones paved the garden path, slick with dew. White cranes stirred in the distance, wings flashing.
With a gesture, ShunLi dismissed his retinue. The guards bowed and fell behind, vanishing into the willows lining the perimeter of the courtyard. It was a rare moment: emperor and sister, alone.
“This offer came at an auspicious time,” ShunLi began, “when your heart and mind must be filled with thoughts of political marriages.”
JingYi gave a noncommittal sound. She had stopped trying to count how many offers had crossed her name in whispers behind palace screens.
He continued. “Asadia, like Xûen-Sarai, is a gateway to the Nine Kingdoms, the guardian of our eastern border. With two Alphas in its direct royal line and one of the strongest cavalry corps in Issoirea, you will be well protected.”
JingYi said nothing.
“The terms are generous,” he added, glancing at her. “And should you accept, at the end of your full term, you will be a woman of independent means.” He let that last phrase linger. “A rare thing, for an unclaimed Omega.”
JingYi’s hands tightened briefly around the folded letter.
“If I were to accept the employment,” she asked at last, “what of your rule?”
He slowed his pace, then stopped near the carp pond. The fish rippled beneath the surface, mouths opening and closing without sound.
“What of it?”
She turned toward him. “Let us not pretend there aren’t any nobles who believe your unfilial actions will incite riots and invite calamity.”
His jaw tensed. “The calamity ended with our father’s death.”
“I’m sure you’d like to believe that, but from where I stand, it might have only just begun.”
A silence stretched between them, taut and wary. She wandered to the edge of the pond and peered down. The carps shimmered like living opals, oblivious to politics or power.
“When I visited the city market yesterday,” she said, “the people were flourishing. It’s a good sign, truly. But signs mean little if your own ministers are sowing discontent behind palace doors.”
He joined her there, gazing at the water with a guarded expression.
“If you lose the court,” she murmured, “you lose the crown, no matter how loyal the people.”
He was silent for a moment.
“JingYi,” he said. “My rule is not for you to concern yourself. My actions and decisions are not for you to bear. Some nobles may not understand my intentions now, but the truth will prevail.”
She whirled around. “Truth?” she parroted. “What good istruthwhen it is ignored? The truth did not shield me. It did not lift the stain from my mother’s memory or grant me a place in this court.” She swallowed, forcing the quiver from her words. “Impression is what matters. Perception is the current that directs power.”
ShunLi did not reply at once. He simply looked at her, at the fierce, wounded defiance in her eyes, at the tremor she could not suppress. For a heartbeat, the emperor was gone, and she saw only her brother, hearing the childhood pain she had never before voiced. The raw honesty hung between them, stripping away the layers of throne and title.
