“No more bruises, Father.” The crown prince’s tone was calm, but it cut with the weight of steel. “The birthmark is nauseating enough.”
A hot pulse throbbed behind her eyes. Her fingers found the swelling, then the familiar, slightly raised dark-rose stain fromcheekbone to jaw. She jerked her hand back, the map of her disgrace searing her fingertips.
The emperor scoffed, then climbed the dais and reclined once more.
“You will leave for Blackwood-Veyrde next month,” he decreed. “Preparations will be made immediately.”
JingYi pressed her forehead to the floor once more—the obligatory show of gratitude for the emperor’s ‘boundless’ generosity.
Footsteps reached her ears as attendants approached. Raising her head just enough, she glimpsed massive trunks—lacquered black, limyerite veins glinting in the light—borne forward with effort.
Tremore’s payment for an Omega bride.
It seemed the emperor didn’t just strip the kingdom’s land by the ounce—he traded his daughter by the pound.
One of the Imperial Geomancers stepped forward, bowing deeply to the emperor before turning toward her.
“This union is written in the stars,” he announced. “Lord Wulfbane was born in the Year of the Wolf, an unyielding force, a harbinger of strength. Princess Xûen JingYi of the Tsaiqun-Veyara clan was born in the Year of the Raven, a symbol of foresight and resilience. Together, they form an unshakable bond: hunter and messenger, wisdom and might.”
Laughter pricked her throat. The name and title rolled through the hall as if they’d never been stripped from her, as if her mother’s disgrace hadn’t erased them from every scroll, every mouth.
Tsaiqun-Veyara—Lineage of the Celestial Tide—was the emperor’s clan, the ruling blood of Xûen, said to rise and fall with the rhythm of the heavens.
It was a title ripped from her at birth. Her mother, the late Imperial Consort JingMei, had begged, wept, and bled for theemperor to believe her fidelity. She’d sliced off her fingers as proof of her innocence, her screams echoing through the Peony Court. But no amount of tears, no offering of flesh and blood, had been enough.
The emperor had already decided. The court had already whispered its verdict.
JingYi’s birthmark had damned them both.
Now, twenty-six years later, they returned her name as if nothing had happened. A princess again, back into Tsaiqun-Veyara’s folds.
The officer continued, almost buoyant, “Their four-year difference in age is auspicious. Four legs of a table, four seasons to a cycle. This union stands balanced, destined to endure, to bring forth many heirs.”
A stable table. A fine illusion for a woman who’d never known a stable thing in her life.
“By His Majesty’s wisdom, this fortuitous match binds Tremore and Xûen-Sarai in shared prosperity,” he declared, bowing low. “Princess Xûen JingYi’s departure marks the dawn of an era blessed by the heavens.”
JingYi inhaled, the cold floor biting her skin. The urge to laugh, to cry, caught sharp in her throat.
The heavens had never blessed her before.
Crisp air hit her cheeks as she stepped out, moving on instinct. The drag of one foot, then the next. She barely noticed sitting down in the sedan until the ground fell around her as the bearers lifted it. Celestial Court faded in the background, swallowed by courtyards and cloisters until there was only the dull ache blooming across her neck.
The next thing she knew, she was stepping into the Royal Dispensary.
The scents met her first—dried roots and bitter bark, goldenroot steam curling from the clay pots. Here, the air was warm, alive with the familiar order of jars and scales. Here, at least, the world made sense.
Feng looked up from the worktable. Her widened eyes found the bruise. She blurted, “What happened to your neck?!”
Wu Ma rose from her seat, the movement slow and shaky, like someone bracing for bad news. “What happened?”
JingYi crossed to a stool and sat, the simple movement sending a throb through her skull. Wu Ma rushed over and held a cool cloth against the bruise.
“I received a command from the emperor,” JingYi muttered.
Wu Ma’s hands stilled. “What command?”
JingYi kept her eyes on the table before her. “I’m to marry a Tremorian Alpha Lord, Alexander Wulfbane of Blackwood-Veyrde.”
