She hesitated, her fingers curling once before she steadied herself and raised her hand, a small and careful gesture.
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then a child began to wave. A man by the cart tipped his cap. Someone murmured a greeting, and the stiffness in a few faces eased.
JingYi let out a breath.
A start.
She waved again, this time steadier.
The road carried them past a bakery, exhaling warmth and the scent of spice. Chickens scattered as market stalls were packed away for the evening. She saw the essentials of a self-sufficient village—a smithy, a cooper’s shed, a turning millwheel—all nestled together, providing food, tools, and shelter.
But she didn’t see a healer’s cottage.
“Does Lord Fortier’s healer who also serve your people?” she asked.
His grip on the reins tightened. “His physicians tend only to his workers. That courtesy does not extend to my domain. Our own healer left a decade ago. There has been no one since. Not even a midwife.”
No healer? At all? In Xûen-Sarai, medicine was woven into daily life—not for mercy, but for order. Every court had its physician. Every village its herbalist. A community without one wasn’t just neglected; it was unravelling. To hear of a whole village in such a state was staggering.
She hesitated only for a moment. “If no one has stepped forward, then, may I?”
He stilled behind her, the weight of his regard pressing close. His voice, when it came, carried gravity. “I was hoping you’d ask, but it must be your choice.”
A choice—hers alone.
She’d lived too long in the shadows of what she’d been denied. This was a chance to shape something new. The thought rooted in her like spring’s first seed. Perhaps this land of wind-tossed meadows and timeworn stone could offer more than duty. Perhaps here, she could finally lay her roots.
The castle loomed closer now, banners snapping red and black against the grey. The gates yawned wide, the bridge ringing hollow beneath the thunder of hooves. She looked up at the imposing castle.
Parandor.
Not gilded, but solid. Its warmth came from the scent of baking bread, voices raised in welcome, the lived-in hum of stone. Beyond the gates, the courtyard burst into motion as grooms and servants scurried to attend them.
Lord Wulfbane dismounted, handed off the reins, and turned back to assist her. His hand did not release her as her feetmet the ground. His grip held—a firm, public claim. An Alpha’s steadiness wrapped around her before his people. A ripple of instinct stirred, her Omega nature leaning into the hold, traitorous in its hunger for anchor and shelter.
He bent close. “This is it, Princess. My home. Yours now, too.”
That word curled through her like flame against chilled limbs, sparking deep in her marrow.
He turned to Sir Darion. “Escort Her Highness’s three ladies-in-waiting back to the village. Put them up at the inn. They are not welcome in the castle.”
JingYi’s breath faltered. For a moment, the courtyard sounds faded into a distant rush. Her knees weakened, buckling under the sheer, staggering force of his command. No one had ever . . .
No one had ever.
“But my lord?—”
The protest slipped out, a brittle, automatic thing—a habit born of fear, years of swallowing her own pain to appease the tormentors at her elbow. She almost tried to excuse them, to soften his decree, but the look on his face silenced her. Fierce. Unyielding. And it wasn’t turned on her—it was turnedforher.
“They are fortunate I am showing restraint,” he said. “My men testified they pushed you out of the carriage. Were they not under the emperor’s protection . . .”
His words tapered off, but the weight of what was left unsaid was unmistakable. He was trying, she realized, to carve out a space of peace for her. To shield her from further cruelty.
A hot pressure built behind her eyes. She looked away, focusing on the worn cobblestones beneath her feet until the stinging subsided.
The soft groan of the great doors swinging open drew her gaze up. A figure emerged from the shadows. Lord Wulfbane looked toward the sound, and his expression softened.
“Ah. There she is. My sister.”
