Chapter 6
JINGYI
The tent in the roped-off corner of the port was modest but orderly. As her ladies-in-waiting sneered at the ‘servant’s fare,’ JingYi took the farthest chair. Stomach still lurching from the voyage, she only sipped tea while watching the others freely eat the offerings they’d scorned.
Minutes later, Conrad appeared at the entrance. “Your Highness, we’re ready to depart, if you are.”
JingYi rose swiftly, forgetting about her right leg. She’d barely caught herself before she stumbled.
The boy reached out to steady her, eyebrow arched. “Your voyage must’ve been incredibly rough. I see your legs are still shaking from the turbulent seas.”
She bit her lower lip, heat scalding her cheeks. Lord Wulfbane hadn’t told his men, it seemed, perhaps in an attempt to preserve her dignity.
As if on cue, the three women behind her tittered. Conrad’s gaze flicked past her shoulder, brown eyes cooling before he smoothed his expression back into careful neutrality.
“Forgive me,” he said, “You must be eager for fresh air that doesn’t taste like salt.”
“It is certainly an adjustment,” she admitted, “but I don’t mind it.”
His mouth quirked. “Inland air is kinder. And if it isn’t, ginger works wonders against nausea.”
He must’ve caught the way she tilted her head with surprise, because he chuckled. “Did I shock you, Your Highness? I’m not a scholar, but I know a thing or two about travel remedies.”
Before she could stop herself, she said, “I would not have taken you for a man who studies healing.”
Conrad grinned. “I don’t. Not yet, at least. But I spend a lot of time on horseback, and I’ve no patience for an upset stomach.”
A small smile touched her lips. The weight in her chest lightened a fraction. As they walked, she gathered her courage. “How long to Blackwood-Veyrde?”
“For a party of our size? Two days. We’ll camp tonight.” He gestured to the carriage. “Lord Wulfbane wanted you to travel comfortably. Though, if you’d rather ride—”
“I do not ride,” she admitted, then in careful Tremesi, “I will go . . . in the carriage.”
Conrad’s eyes widened. Then, an encouraging grin flashed. “Well done, Highness! Much better than most on their first day.”
“And the roads . . . safe?”
He corrected kindly, “Are the roads safe? Yes. We ride under Wulfbane colours. And Sir Darion,” he glanced at the Alpha, “is second only to your husband.”
The carriage was a sturdy, well-appointed vehicle drawn by a team of four matching chestnut horses, its doors embossed with Wulfbane’s sigil—a black wolf against a crescent moon.
As she’d expected, her three companions were to share the carriage with her.
The moment the door shut, the complaints began—the jostling, the lack of attendants, the perceived insult from a lord who didn’t bother to come himself.
JingYi turned to the window. From it, she watched the final preparations, her eyes finding her own small trunk.
Inside were her medicinal herbs and her precious medicine chest. For years, she’d believed her healing skills would be her ticket out.
Yet it wasn’t her knowledge, but an arranged marriage, that had delivered her.
Fate was not without its humour.
Outside, Conrad swung himself into the saddle of his white mare, the creature prancing as he gathered the reins. He adjusted the leather straps with the ease of someone who’d been riding since a young age. He nudged his horse toward Sir Darion who already sat atop his sable-coloured stallion.
“Reckon we’ll make good time?” Conrad asked in Tremesi, squinting toward the road ahead.
Darion scoffed. “If we don’t waste too much time stopping for complaints, maybe.” He shook his head. “Travelling through the forests with four highborn ladies? I’d rather be in a pit fight with a starving bear.”
JingYi watched as Conrad elbowed the larger man in the ribs, earning a grunt. The younger man dipped his head slightly, speaking low, but she could guess the warning in his voice.
‘She speaks a bit of our language. Enough to understand bits and pieces, at least.’
Sir Darion stilled. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted to meet hers.
JingYi held her breath. For a beat, he simply studied her. Then, to her surprise, he tipped back his head and laughed heartily.
It wasn’t mocking. It was amused. Pleased, even.
She smiled. It was the most genuine emotion she’d seen from the Alpha commander so far.
As soon as they left the heart of the city, the noise faded behind them. Trees and shrubs replaced the buildings and homes. Beside JingYi, LánYàn let out a languid sigh, stretching her arms as though the journey already wearied her.
“Straight to Blackwood-Veyrde?” she mused, tilting her head toward RenHuā. “How disappointing. I’d hoped for a glimpse inside Limyere Palace. Maybe stay a day or two.”
RenHuā, sitting on the bench across, arched a delicate brow, smirking. “Oh? You didn’t truly expect that, did you? Lord Wulfbane has no intention of parading his bride through court. I imagine he values his dignity.”
JingYi kept her eyes on the window, but her stomach twisted.
She had no way of knowing what her husband thought.
But she knew precisely what they wanted her to think: Alexander Wulfbane was ashamed of her.
He didn’t wish to present a blemished, limping wife before his king.
His only priority was to sweep her away out of sight and hide her in his castle.
“Perhaps,” she spoke up, “with the wedding day imminent, Lord Wulfbane has more pressing matters to attend to.”
LánYàn let out a delicate laugh, soft and silken. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
JingYi shook her head, remembering Wu Mā’s warning when she’d been seven years old: ‘Tears are precious. Do not waste them where cruelty may drink them.’
She set her eyes on the scenery, forced herself to breathe, and focused on the wheels’ rhythm against the road.
Outside, the gentle hills of early autumn had given way to steeper, wilder terrain.
The golds had deepened to russet and bronze, the wildflowers sparser, the soil rockier.
The air turned crisper still, and she inhaled deeply.
How peaceful, how beautifully pristine.
Her companions, however, remained unimpressed. Or, more accurately, uninterested in anything but their own standing.
LánYàn tapped a manicured finger against her lip. JingYi recognized the glint in her eyes—a barb was coming. “Perhaps Tremore will host a royal feast before we leave. We ought to be presented at court.”
RenHuā adjusted her jade bangles with a theatrical clink. “You assume anyone will care about a few foreign ladies.”
“We are nobility,” LánYàn scoffed. “My father is the Minister of Defence. That should matter anywhere.”
RenHuā snickered. “In any case, you’d best pray Tremorian lords don’t prefer a woman with a nose like that.”
JingYi kept her gaze fixed on the window, but she felt MeiYün’s giggle vibrate through the carriage. These were not directed at her, but the shape of the cruelty was familiar.
LánYàn’s voice cooled. “Bold words. Especially from the youngest among us. Perhaps some respect for your elders?”
RenHuā examined her buffed nails. “The youngest, yet I’m the only one already engaged.”
MeiYün pounced, her voice bright with innocence JingYi had learned to recognize as a hidden dagger. “Oh, yes. To a minor lord, isn’t it?”
JingYi watched the crack in RenHuā’s composure—a flash of genuine irritation before the haughty mask slid back. Even among predators, there was always a hierarchy. And at the bottom, always, was her.
She turned back toward the window, letting their words dissolve into the rumble of the carriage. Their battles were not her concern. That, at least, was something she could be thankful for.
When Sir Darion finally halted the procession—the ladies’ complaints about their delicate bones having worn his patience to a nub—RenHuā and MeiYün refused to leave the carriage. LánYàn opened the door, set one foot down, wrinkled her nose, and retreated inside.
JingYi didn’t hesitate. She gripped the carriage frame and eased herself down, shifting her weight to her left leg before testing the right.
The stiffness bit, but the cool air and solid ground beneath her were worth it.
She rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck, and let herself breathe freely for the first time in hours.
Nearby, the soldiers gathered in loose clusters, passing around a waterskin as they spoke in the easy manner of men accustomed to each other’s company. She had no intention of eavesdropping—at least, not until a familiar name caught her attention.
Lord Wulfbane. The Wolf of Tremore.
She hesitated, fingers curling around her skirt as she edged closer to catch the men’s words.
A soldier, beard streaked with grey, chuckled as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Strange, isn’t it? Blackwood-Veyrde dressed for a wedding again. Not since the old lord—”
He stopped. The pause that followed was heavy enough that even the younger men stilled.
JingYi didn’t understand every word, but she knew that silence. The kind that came before unspoken grief.
A younger soldier cleared his throat. “Aye, well. That was then.”
Gathering her courage, she stepped forward. The men straightened immediately, bowing their heads.
Conrad caught her eye and tilted his head. “Do you require anything, Your Highness?”
From beneath her veil, she looked up at him. “What kind of man is he?” she asked carefully in Tremesi. “Lord Wulfbane?”
The men exchanged glances, perhaps surprised that she’d ask directly.
Conrad’s grin softened into something genuine. “Honourable, Your Highness. Fierce when he needs to be, but fair. The kind of lord who eats the same rations as his men and sleeps on the same ground.”