The mist had begun to lift again when they rode through Parandor’s gates. The courtyard hummed with life—haulers shouting, horses snorting, the clanging of a smith’s hammer somewhere beyond the stables. Smoke curled from the kitchen flue, carrying the scent of barley bread and braised onions.
As Tedric helped her dismount, she spotted Yrenna descending the castle steps, her dark plum velvet skirt swaying around her. Those pale eyes crinkled with welcoming light as she approached.
“Back at last,” she said. “You’ve been gone so long, we almost sent a search party.”
Alexander swung down and handed Duskwane’s reins to a stable boy. “Many families needed the princess’s help.”
Conrad sauntered over, looking sly, mouth curling into a smirk. “Come now. Lornhelm isn’t that large.”
Warmth crept up her cheeks.
“Not everything requires your commentary, pup,” Alexander said warningly.
The boy shrugged, unruffled. “Perhaps. But when the villagers are already whispering about the princess more than their lord, it may be worth my notice.”
Before Alexander could reply, Darion’s voice cut through, “Gossip is wind. What matters is what people see, and they saw her on her knees doing what needed doing. That’s worth more than all the courtly harp-playing in the Nine Kingdoms.”
JingYi glanced at the commander, startled by his staunch defence. Tedric, now perched on the edge of a wagon, gave a languid stretch.
“So, it wasn’t a honeymoon stroll, after all?” he drawled. “Here I was, picturing leisurely glances by the river, laughter over wildflowers. Instead, you’ve both been labouring like peasants.” His grin widened, eyes flicking between them. “A disappointment for me, though perhaps not for the villagers.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the yard, easy camaraderie softening the air. JingYi lowered her head, cheeks now flushed. They teased as though she and Alexander shared an easy bond—moonlit walk along the river, stolen glances—but she still didn’t know if he wanted her at all.
And still, she kept their secret interlude in the forest close to her chest. That memory felt too private to cast into their laughter.
Alexander’s gaze found hers across the yard. It was just a glance—a brief, silent acknowledgment of the shared road, but it struck with the weight of a hammer. Then, he gave a slight,almost imperceptible nod before striding toward the keep. It wasn’t much, but it wassomething. A thread of connection, however fine.
Yrenna stepped closer and slipped an arm beneath hers. “A Sparo arrived not long ago,” she mentioned as they walked into the castle. “I placed the letter in your chambers.”
A Sparo.JingYi’s chest jolted. “Thank you.”
The noise faded to stone-quiet halls as she left the courtyard behind. Aliz had lit the hearth in her chamber, the fire smouldering low.
On the desk by the window lay a tray with a tiny, folded parchment. She crossed the room and opened it, brow furrowing as she traced each character. After reading twice, she refolded the letter and hurried toward Alexander’s study.
As soon as she reached the door, she paused. Yesterday, she had stood in this very place and heard words not meant for her—words that left her raw. Now, here she was again, about to intrude on his private domain.
Her hand hovered at the wood. The old insecurities urged her to retreat, but the message she carried was too grave to let hurt hold her back.
Her knuckles rapped the wood.
“Enter,” came his reply from the other side.
JingYi pushed the door open. The study smelled of parchment and smoke. A fresh log had been set on the fire, its light flickering over the maps and ledgers spread across his desk. Alexander sat behind it, shoulders straight. His hand stilled when he saw her.
“JingYi.” He rose at once, as though surprised by her presence. Her name, not ‘Princess,’ stilled her. After all the formality, it sounded strangely intimate on his lips. Like a simple, disarming gift.
She cleared her throat. “LinXin’s letter arrived by a Sparo,” she said, stepping inside. The door closed softly at her back.
His eyes sharpened. He gestured to the chair across from him and she sat.
“It is written in Xûengua,” she said, “so I will translate.”
She set her eyes on the paper and read,
JingYi,
Your message surprised me, though perhaps it shouldn’t. Even across distance, I might’ve guessed your thoughts would turn not toward jewels or gowns, but illness and cure.
