Chapter 12 #3
“Princess JingYi,” he said, leading her forward, “may I present my sister, Lady Yrenna Wulfbane.”
The woman dipped into a curtsy, a wide smile on soft rose-coloured lips. “Welcome to Parandor, Sister. May I call you that? I’ve longed for a sister all my life. Alexander is away too often, and I’m left rattling about this castle with no one to chatter with.”
JingYi blinked, caught off guard. A sister?
She had twenty-seven siblings, yet never once had she been greeted with such eager warmth.
Even her interactions with LinXin were always coolly correct—a stiff, baffling distance.
A carefully maintained wall rather than kinship.
Her fingers curled into her gown, unsure of how to hold this sudden, genuine swell in her chest.
She curtsied. “It would be my honour,” she said. Yrenna’s open smile drew her own tentative one. “I, too, have longed for a sister.”
Lord Wulfbane’s glance caught hers then, and though he didn’t smile, she saw warmth cross his features.
He bent close to Yrenna. “My betrothed’s right leg is injured. Take her carefully.”
Then, to her, “Go on, Princess. Rest. I’ll see you at supper.”
JingYi nodded and took Yrenna’s offered arm. The woman’s grip was firm and steady as they turned toward the waiting castle.
Inside, the keep was quieter than JingYi expected.
Not lifeless; reserved. Parandor didn’t bustle with the pomp of the Peony Court, nor gleam like her father’s Celestial Court.
Its strength seemed to lie elsewhere: in stone walls burnished by years, timber worn smooth by countless hands, banners faded by sun.
Yrenna matched her uneven gait easily, her chatter genuine without pressing.
“Much of the castle hasn’t been touched since my mother’s time,” she said, brushing the balustrade as they climbed the steps side by side.
The wood groaned, but she paid it no mind.
“We’ve done what we can, but most of the coins go to keeping the estate running. ”
They passed tapestries bearing the wolf-and-moon crest of House Wulfbane, their threads frayed in places, stitched over in others. They’d begun to show age, but rather than be discarded or concealed in storage rooms, they were displayed.
“It’s worn, I know,” Yrenna admitted with a quick smile, looking a little flushed. “But it’s a good home. You’ll see.”
JingYi’s gaze slipped to a narrow window overlooking the bailey. Villagers led sheep through muddy paths, others hauled sacks of grain. Modest work. Important work. Perfectly dignified.
JingYi looked back at her. “I think it has heart,” she said softly.
Yrenna grinned. “I knew you’ll fit right in.”
The corridor opened onto the slope of the gardens below. Rows of herbs spread in neat plots under trellised beams.
“Our kitchen garden and herb patch,” Yrenna said as they stepped outside. “I’m no healer, but I can tell the difference between feverwort and coughroot.”
JingYi lingered by the plants, her guard slipping without her quite meaning to let it. She dipped her hand amongst the leaves and turned to Yrenna. “With your permission, I’d like to help. If there are any in the village who are ailing, may I offer my skills? I’m a trained healer.”
Yrenna blinked, startled. “You mean—attend to the folks in Lornhelm yourself?”
JingYi inclined her head. “I’ve spoken to your brother. He welcomed the idea.”
“By Luneth’s grace . . . that would be a true blessing. We haven’t had a proper healer in years.” A practical thought seemed to strike her. “In fact, there’s a young pregnant woman in the village, near her time, who would be so grateful if you could look in on her.”
“I would be more than happy to.” But even as she said them, the old mantra echoed beneath: I will make myself useful. I will earn my place.
Yrenna beamed and laced her fingers through JingYi’s.
Warmth spread at the contact, leaving her oddly disoriented.
The woman—different though she was—still reminded her of LinXin.
Or rather, LinXin as a child: the same bright enthusiasm, the same contagious spontaneity.
JingYi’s lips twitched into a shy smile.
“Come inside,” Yrenna said, ushering her back into the hall and up the grand staircase.
“We’ve placed you in the family’s guest chamber.
It’s traditionally offered to the highest-ranking visitor.
It’s the brightest room in the keep with a view of the gardens, and it catches the morning light wonderfully. ”
Then Yrenna leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s only for tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll move to Alexander’s chamber. It’s been recently renovated. Quite lovely, actually. He insisted it be ready for your arrival.”
JingYi’s stomach fluttered. A guest’s room tonight; a husband’s room tomorrow. Her pulse quickened as she imagined the space already marked by him—his scent of spruce and leather, the tang of iron and fire. Soon she would share not just his hall, not just his name, but also . . . his bed.
The thought followed her up each step, stealing the steadiness from her breath.