Her other hand rose. Cool and sure, her fingers brushed his cheek, traced his jaw. Her thumb settled over his pulse, claiming the very beat of his heart. No court. No past. Only her eyes, dark and luminous, holding his entire world.
She leaned down. Her kiss was not a question, but an answer.
Soft at first, then deepening—a desperate, shared breath that held every lonely night, every unanswered thought, every mile he had traveled to find her. A tear traced from her cheek to his; he tasted its salt. He rose from his knees, one arm circling her waist, the other cradling her head, fingers tangling in her hair. He kissed her back with every shattered vow reforged into a promise.
When they finally parted, her forehead rested against his. Her breath warmed his skin. For a moment, only the sound of it—uneven, shared. Then she laughed—a soft, astonished sound that held more joy than any symphony. His chest squeezed so tightly he couldn’t breathe.
In that moment, he saw no High Princess, no healer. He saw past the silks and jewels, past the blemish that once condemned her—and saw the soul tempered into brilliance.
She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
CHAPTER 72
JINGYI
JingYi was crying and laughing at once, joy cutting so bright it smarted. Her forehead pressed to his, breath trembling. She’d been weeping behind the screen since he began speaking—sobs she couldn’t let him see.
Now, she didn’t care who saw.
She said, “I chose myself once. Now, I choose again.” She looked into his eyes, thumb brushing his cheek. “This time, I chooseus.”
He kissed her forehead, a lingering warmth. He held her hands, steadied her when they both rose, as if she was fragile when—foolish Alpha—hewas the one shaking. For a heartbeat he stared, as if scarcely daring to trust this moment. Then, a sound broke out of him—half-laugh, half-sob—and he caught her at the waist, lifting her high, joy spilling out of him like light through a cracked wall.
From her perch in his arms, JingYi saw ShunLi and LinXin exchanging a look—her brother wearing the faintest smile, her sister’s eyes suspiciously bright. Nobles and peasants alike gaped. Nothing like this had ever happened in the Imperial Palace, after all.
Her voice rang clear, steady as a bell. “I choose my husband.”
The hall rippled with murmurs. ShunLi inclined his head once, the final weight of his sanction. To a guard, the emperor said, “Escort the High Princess and her husband to Magnolia Palace.”
A servant hurried forward, bowing low as he picked up the carved box containing the limyerite crown. JingYi had silently gasped when she glimpsed the jewel. The wreath was exquisite, but not even its beauty could compare to Alexander’s words.
They began to walk, but the familiar, weary throb in her leg, a phantom pain summoned by the day’s tension, stopped her. The walk to Magnolia Palace was long. Before, she would’ve gritted her teeth and limped every step, clinging to a sense of usefulness that had been armour. Now, she saw a different kind of strength.
She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. “Carry me. I wish to be in my palace with you. Now.”
Understanding flashed in his eyes. “As my wife commands.”
Just before he scooped her up, she pressed a hand to his chest. “I might have put on a little weight since we parted.”
He arched a brow. “Is that a challenge? We can circle the palace complex several times if you need proof my strength hasn’t diminished.”
She laughed and let him lift her. They passed through rows of stunned onlookers, the guards straining not to stare. Officials and servants froze, eyes widening before they snapped into deep, flustered bows. JingYi saw it all from her perch. She was a spectacle, being carried like a treasure through the halls of her former prison, and she did not care.
And then—by the lacquered doors—she glimpsed Haorán leaning against the wall, hiding what she thought was an amused smile behind his knuckles. Alexander nodded at him as they strode past.
It was not a short walk to Magnolia Palace, but Alexander carried her easily. The gates swung open at their approach.When the great doors thudded shut behind them, the silence in her residence was a living thing—warm, soft, scented with her favourite incense and the day’s fresh flowers.
JingYi turned to her maids. “Draw a bath. For both of us.”
The women bowed, knowing smiles tugging at their lips, and slipped away.
Alexander didn’t put her down until they entered the receiving room, though he hesitated, as if he needed to hold her, to feel the solid reality of her after the terrifying precipice they’d just walked away from.
On her feet, she watched him. His eyes observed the small details of her life he hadn’t seen since their parting—the scrolls and unfinished letters on her desk, the pressed flowers drying near the window, the cushion where she sat to read.
“It is a beautiful home, Wife,” he said, his voice a low rumble that fit perfectly in her space. He turned to look at her, his expression earnest. “I am happy you are treated the way you deserve.”
The title—wife—spoken not as a formality but as a wondrous fact, sent a thrill through her. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly shy.
