“I’m fine,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
LánYàn’s eyes gleamed, a victory claimed. She turned, cloak sweeping, and set off with RenHua and MeiYün toward the approaching carriage.
Conrad exhaled. “Beg pardon—one moment.” He strode after them. “Mind your step, my lady!” he called, far too cheerfully.
He didn’t slow his approach. An innocent sidestep—just enough to force LánYàn off the path. Her heel slipped. She went backward into the gardener’s manure heap with an unmistakablesquelch.
When she flailed up, the damage was done. Jade damask streaked brown. Phoenix embroidery clogged with straw. The smell rose in a hot wave. RenHua and MeiYün froze, then squeaked in unison, pinching at LánYàn’s elbows with only their fingertips.
Conrad winced, polite as a suitor at court. “Ah. Cow dung is excellent for cabbages.” He plucked a twig from her cuff and flicked it away. “But maybe not for brocade.”
The coachman’s face folded in dread. He opened the door anyway. The horses tossed their heads, unimpressed.
“Windows open all the way to the capital,” Conrad advised, all concern. “Air does absolute wonders for foul odour, less so for foul characters.”
LánYàn sputtered something that wasn’t words. RenHua shoved her into the carriage, MeiYün diving in after her. The door thumped shut. A beat later, it cracked open again as someone gagged. The driver snapped the reins. The coach rattled off, trailing an unmistakable scent.
For a heartbeat, the square held its breath. Then, a child snorted. Laughter broke—muffled at first, then spilling free. JingYi’s lips pressed together against an answering smile. Still, it slipped.
Conrad sauntered back, hands behind his back, eyes innocent. “Terrible patch of ground,” he said gravely. “I shall have it marked.”
“Conrad,” she admonished, attempting sternness and failing.
He bowed, shameless. “Garden safety is everyone’s duty, Your Highness.”
When laughter subsided, one of the village women said, “Don’t let their tongues sting you, Your Highness. You’re the only healer we’ve seen for a few years now.”
“And you’ve got the touch,” said another.
A breath shuddered out of her. The tight coil of humiliation eased, just a little.
“I believe someone asked me to look at their ankle,” she said. A few heads nodded. One older man stepped forward, rolling up his trouser leg with a hopeful look.
She spent time making sure each villager was seen. The sun had begun to descend when she left the last house. They’d barely taken a few steps toward the wagon when hooves crunched over gravel and distant voices called to one another. From the bend in the forest road, a small procession emerged—a dozen riders cloaked in furs, bows strapped across their backs.
At the head of them rode Lord Wulfbane.
He sat tall in the saddle, his crimson-lined cloak flaring in the breeze. The shadows of the hunt still clung to him—windblown hair, a furrowed brow, and the unmistakable tension of a man who hadn’t slept well. His eyes found her at once.
Alexander snapped his reins, the gesture halting his horse mid-stride. His hunting party flowed past them with a murmur of nods and curious glances. Only Lord Krystoff Reave and his twin sons offered a genuine, fleeting smile in her direction and a wave at Conrad before moving on.
And then, there was only the distance between them, charged and still.
Alexander dismounted in one swift motion, boots striking the earth with a dull thud. His gaze swept over her, and the scowl that followed made her grimace before she could stop herself.
“Did you come on foot?” His gaze dropped to her leg. “In your condition?”
JingYi’s pulse thundered, but she lifted her chin. “What condition is that, my lord?”
She caught the flicker in his eyes, but it disappeared within a breath.
“You know what I meant,” he said.
“Do I?”
“We rode the wagon, my lord,” Conrad offered quickly. “Not walked.”
Alexander’s glare didn’t soften. “No one thought to tell the princess that riding half the valley on this cold day was reckless?”
