Chapter 12
JINGYI
They paused once along the road for a simple meal and hot tea. Afterward, JingYi checked on Conrad and found the boy asleep in the back of a wagon. His wound, thankfully, had not reopened. When Lord Wulfbane asked if she wished to ride with him again, she found herself agreeing at once.
For the briefest instant, his expression changed. Not a smile, for he didn’t smile easily, but she thought she saw his shoulders ease. His voice softened when he gave his men the order, enough for her to wonder if her choice had pleased him after all.
She told herself it was only to escape her ladies-in-waiting. Or perhaps it was for the clean air. The healthier posture of horseback riding over a carriage bench.
Sensible reasons, all of them.
But when his hands lifted her once more into the saddle, and she felt the solid line of his arm steady her, she couldn’t deny the truth.
No matter how she tried to reason otherwise, it was his nearness she sought.
She told no one—and would tell no one—that even during the short break, she had missed the scent of leather and sun-warmed wool, the faint musk of skin, the heat radiating from his chest and soaking into her spine. His presence had curled around her, and she’d leaned into it more than she should.
She’d dared not look up too often, but when she did, she caught his sharp jawline, the pale hair neatly braided along his temples, the hard gleam of his eyes as they scanned the horizon.
He looked carved from something older than the world—stone and ice, fire and silence.
But when his gaze dropped to her, it softened like spring melting frost.
“I should’ve sent your ladies to ride with the soldiers and given you the comfort of the carriage,” he said. “Forgive me. I find myself yearning for your company.”
Her heart lurched. She stared at Duskwane’s mane, afraid to look back. What would a proper Omega princess say at a moment like this? One raised for courtship, trained to answer an Alpha’s attention with polished wit and soft allure.
“I—I fear . . . my company is not much of a prize, my lord.”
A puff of warm breath ghosted her nape, and some part of her—the part bred to respond to an Alpha’s nearness—thrummed at the contact.
“Not much of a prize,” he echoed. “Then how come I find myself seeking it?”
“Perhaps my lord has been deprived of company for too long . . . that you would seek mine.”
He huffed. “I’m not so starved for company as to confuse one voice for another. I seek yours because I desire it, though judging by your surprise, you’d sooner think me mad than to believe it.”
Her breath tangled. Desire. He’d said it plainly, as if wanting her were the simplest truth in the world.
Men didn’t look at her that way, didn’t speak to her that way.
A flutter of panic pulsed low in her belly.
Her hand drifted instinctively to the small pouch at her belt, its texture a grounding presence.
But he was still waiting for an answer, and her thoughts scrambled. She bit the inside of her cheek.
“I . . . I’m sorry, my lord,” she said. “I don’t know how to respond in a way a man would find pleasing.”
He was silent while her shame burned red beneath her veil.
Then he said, his voice low, “It’s a strange situation we’re in.
Strangers, yet already married by proxy.
Tomorrow, we’ll stand together as true husband and wife.
The road ahead may not be easy, but I give you this: you may always speak to me in whatever manner you choose.
And you may always be yourself. If there is anything I value most in the world, it is honesty. ”
Tears stung her eyes. Her hands locked on the saddle, knuckles whitening, breath sharp in her chest. Her father commanded, her siblings ignored, others sneered. She had learned long ago her voice carried little weight. To be told she could speak freely . . . it felt like a gift.
Then, she felt his lips brush her nape in a fleeting kiss, so light it could’ve been imagined. She closed her eyes. A shudder wracked her to the core, heat blooming where instinct told her an Alpha’s claim should go.
His presence overwhelmed her. This closeness overwhelmed her. His body pressed firm and solid behind her, a protective fortress. The steady beat of his heart, the strength of his arms, the stillness he carried—it all wrapped around her like something she hadn’t known she needed.
And without meaning to, she leaned back into him. An Omega’s silent confession of trust.
His voice came husky. “I know this won’t be easy, but I’ll do everything in my power to make this marriage work. I hope we’ll build something good together. Something lasting.”
JingYi turned her head, just enough to feel the rasp of his chin against her temple.
“I trust you,” she breathed. “And I will . . . try. I want this marriage to work too.”
The words surprised even her. But once spoken, they felt true. Doubts and hesitation pressed in. Fear clawed at her chest. But hope . . . for once, hope triumphed.
Maybe she could belong with him. Maybe he could be a home.
They rode on. Beneath her, Duskwane’s gait was steady, and ahead stretched a landscape of rough beauty—fiery red rolling hills, thick forests looming at the edge of distant meadows, birdsong threading the wind.
It wasn’t the manicured elegance of the Imperial Gardens, but it was free. Untamed. Alive.
She tightened her grip on the saddle, but her eyelids dragged—heavy as river stones.
She told herself she could endure a little longer, but her body wasn’t listening.
A night of no sleep was catching up to her, and every sway of the horse pulled her deeper into a warm, treacherous haze.
Her head dipped before she caught it, her spine softening against her will.
“Forgive me—” she began, straightening abruptly.
His voice rumbled, a low vibration she felt through his chest. “We’ve still some time before Parandor. Best use the opportunity while you can.”
She stiffened. “I’m not tired.”
“Hm.” The sound was skeptical, almost a grunt. “Lean back anyway. Saves me from catching you when you finally drop.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he added, “It’s only sense, Princess. The horse won’t mind. Nor will I.”
For a moment, she sat rigid, caught between the desire to memorize every new sensation and the bone-deep pull of weariness. Then, cautiously, she let herself lean back into the solid warmth of him.
He shifted just enough to brace her, cradling her within the crook of his arms. “There,” he muttered, his breath stirring her veil. “Better.”
Her words came out half-slurred with drowsiness. “You’ll wake me when the castle comes into view?”
She couldn’t see him, but somehow, she knew he was smiling.
“I promise.”
Her eyes fluttered shut.
This time, she didn’t fight it.
Acareful touch on her arm stirred her, just enough to rouse her without startling.
“Princess.” Lord Wulfbane’s voice came close to her ear. “Wake. We’re nearly there.”
Her lashes fluttered open. Hoofbeats drummed a steady rhythm beneath her.
The air was cooler now, the smell of hearth smoke stronger.
She blinked against the spill of light filtering through the trees and straightened carefully in the saddle.
His arm shifted as if by instinct, steadying her as she regained her balance.
Ahead, the trees began to thin, their shadows loosening into bands of sunlight streaming gold across the road.
They crested a hill, the horizon opened, and her breath caught.
The castle. Grey stone towers caught the late light, their western faces burning gold while shadows gathered in the joins—ancient, solid, unmoved by time.
She had imagined this place for weeks, but imagination had failed her.
The curtain walls rose from the cliffs, moss-dark stone veined with ivy, their battlements cut against the sky.
Below, houses clustered in the hill’s shadow, their roofs exhaling thin smoke above the winding road. People lived there. People who looked up every day at those walls and called it home. She would soon be among them, and the weight of that—of finally arriving—settled deep in her stomach.
She lifted her chin and straightened her spine. When she glanced back, she saw he was watching her.
Lord Wulfbane’s lips curved into a small smile.
“There it is,” he murmured. “Parandor Castle. Your new home, Princess.”
The word was a lump in her throat.
Home.
She’d never truly had one. The Imperial Palace had been a prison made of jade, gold, and limyerite crystal. A place of surveillance, not sanctuary.
This place . . . this man . . . It might be too much to hope things would be perfect, but she sensed already it would be different.
For once, the warmth she felt in return didn’t frighten her.
They rode on. The road smoothed beneath the horses’ hooves, earth giving way to cobbled stone. A polished wooden sign marked the edge of the settlement.
“This is the village of Everglen,” Lord Wulfbane told her.
JingYi took in her surroundings. The countryside here looked unnaturally neat.
Hedgerows clipped with precision, cottages whitewashed, roofs gleaming.
Window boxes spilled blooms as if arranged for display.
Even the villagers who stepped out to bow seemed prosperous, their linen tunics crisp, their boots showing no wear. No shadow of hunger in their faces.
It was all striking, yet almost staged. More curated than lived in.
An elegant, angular manor rose not far beyond. Pale stone walls reflected the sun and a garden terrace spilled toward the slope with sculpted hedges and imported statuary. It looked rather out of place on this rugged land.
She tilted her head. “Is that one of your vassals’ homes, my lord?”
He stiffened behind her. “Not a vassal. That is Lord Bertrand Fortier’s estate.”
“Who is Lord Fortier?”
She felt the shift before he spoke—a held breath, then nothing.
“The overseer of the limyerite mines,” he said, voice clipped.