Chapter 14
JINGYI
JingYi sat at the edge of the four-poster bed in the chamber they had given her.
A fine room, heavy with dark oak paneling that swallowed the candlelight.
Tapestries of unfamiliar hunts hung on the walls, their threads faded by sun and age.
The rug beneath her was thin but soft, worn by countless footsteps before hers.
She wrapped her arms around herself. How did people guard against the cold?
She’d never known stone could be so frigid.
The season was only autumn, yet chill seeped from the walls—a dampness that seemed to inhabit the castle itself.
It was different from the cramped servant’s dormitory in the Imperial Palace.
There, the cold smelled of sweat and stale straw.
This was vast and empty, smelling of old wood, lye soap, and hearth smoke.
She stared at the copper tub left behind for her bath.
Then at the massive fireplace, so tall she could stand inside it with a little bend.
At the Imperial Palace, warmth was something she carried to others, banked in their braziers, never her own to keep.
This room and fireplace, for this night, were hers alone. That was the most foreign thing of all.
She eyed the brass lock on the heavy door. Another profound novelty. She was leagues from X?en-Sarai. But part of her, honed by years of vigilance, waited for it to be thrown open without her consent.
This was her life now. This strange, lonely privilege.
Muffled music and laughter drifted from below—reminders of a feast she could no longer bear to smile through.
She closed her eyes. Lord Fortier’s words still clung to her like smoke.
His voice had been smooth, his smile courteous, but everything he said had been a knife hidden in brocade.
She should have spoken up. Should have said she could do more than birth children.
That a land’s strength is measured by the health of its people.
Dismissing healing was dismissing the foundation of stable rule.
What kind of lord held such low regard for his subjects?
He was almost worse than her own father.
The words felt clear now. But at the table, a lifetime of training had taken hold: silence was survival. Speaking risked not just rebuke, but making Alexander’s position harder. So she had bowed her head, like always, because it was safer to endure than to challenge.
Coward. The shame curled hot in her chest.
A knock came—light and polite.
JingYi straightened, fingers curling into the fur throw draped over the bed. “Come in.”
The door eased open, spilling a sliver of lamplight into the chamber. A girl in a simple dress stepped inside, her curtsy neat, though her smile wavered with nervous warmth.
“Begging Your Highness’s pardon,” she said. “Lady Yrenna sent me to see to your needs. I am Aliz, your maid.”
Jing Yi rose slowly. Her maid. The words felt borrowed, but this was her life now. Future Lady of Blackwood-Verde. She had never been anyone’s mistress before. She wasn’t sure she knew how.
“I am pleased to meet you, Aliz,” she said gently. “Please be at ease.”
The girl straightened, eyes bright. She couldn’t have been much older than eighteen—cheeks still rounded with youth, brown hair plaited down her back. And beneath her earnest expression, JingYi caught the subtle pull of Omega in her scent, still sweet and new, like a blossom just unfurled.
“You’ve Awakened recently,” JingYi observed.
Colour rushed into the girl’s face, and she nodded. “This spring, Your Highness. I . . . I was frightened, but my mother saw me through it.”
To have a mother who could see you through it. It was like a story from another world.
“Your mother is Omega as well?”
“No, Highness. She only tried to keep me safe and calm. There are only a couple of us here. Well, before you, that is.”
“Lord Wulfbane allows you to continue serving at the castle?”
Aliz beamed. “Lady Yrenna spoke to His Lordship. He said as long as I’m comfortable with it, I may remain at Parandor.”
JingYi’s brow furrowed. “And when your Heat comes? What then?”
Aliz’s cheeks pinked again. “They have a cottage set aside, away from the barracks. I’m given leave from duties until it passes. No one disturbs me unless I call an Alpha.”
JingYi blinked. “Call an Alpha?”
“Only if I choose. Some of us prefer solitude, to let it pass on its own. But if there’s someone we trust, we can send for him. Lord Wulfbane made it clear no Alpha may enter unless I ask. Not even he.”
Privacy. Choice. Words that had never belonged to Omegas in Xuên-Sarai. In Peony Court, when one of the Omega consorts burned with need, the emperor decided how she would be used. Sometimes he sampled her himself, sometimes he gave her to a minister or envoy—weaponized as a bribe, or reward.
Her fingers traced the embroidered pouch at her waist. In an Omega’s world, this suppressant was her choice, her control. She’d spent so long masking her body’s needs, she could almost pretend she wasn’t an Omega at all.
An Omega with a room of her own felt like a distant dream. More than that—dignity.
“If you ever wish for help,” JingYi offered, “in blending a suppressant that suits your body . . . please tell me.”
Aliz beamed and dipped her head. “I’ll think about it, Highness. Thank you.”
Another knock sounded at the door. JingYi bid them enter, and Yrenna stepped inside.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, holding a folded cloak. “But you left the hall so quickly. We thought you might need something warmer. Parandor can be drafty at night.”
JingYi blinked. The cloak was dark wool, fur-lined, familiar—like something her betrothed might wear.
“Is that . . . Lord Wulfbane’s?”
Yrenna’s smile was sheepish as she set it at the foot of the bed. “It is. He asked me to give it to you, thinking you might be cold.”
JingYi reached out, her fingers meeting the dense, prickling weave. It held the chill of the corridor and, beneath that, the earthy warmth of the man who owned it. In her old life, a master’s cast-off might be a charity or a trap. This felt like a shield.
From the corner of her eye, JingYi noticed Aliz still waiting a respectful distance back.
“Thank you, Aliz. That will be all,” she said with a smile.
The girl curtsied and slipped out, the door closing softly behind her.
“What do you think of Aliz?” Yrenna asked once they were alone, moving to sit on the chair near the hearth. “Do you like her? I thought, since she’s also an Omega, you might feel less lonely with her attending you.”
“She seems earnest,” JingYi said, slipping into the chair across from her. “Thank you for being so thoughtful. I’ve never been around other Omegas much before.”
“I assume the chance is rare,” Yrenna said kindly, “when only one woman in a thousand is born an Omega.”
Rare. Scarce. In another land, it might mean reverence, protection. In X?en-Sarai, it meant conscription into His Majesty the Emperor’s harem.
JingYi cleared her throat. “I am sorry I left supper early. I—” She searched for the right words. “I was tired.”
“You must be. But you looked well at supper.” Yrenna smiled. “Poised. Though I imagine you didn’t feel it.”
“It’s easy to seem composed when one wears a veil.”
“Mmm. Sometimes I wish I could wear one,” Yrenna replied with a dry smile. “Especially when Lord Fortier graces us with his presence.”
JingYi tilted her head. “Does he make you uncomfortable too?”
A soft laugh escaped Yrenna, but an agitated flush bloomed on her cheeks. “Sometimes,” she admitted. Then, quieter, “Most of the time.”
JingYi watched as Yrenna absently twisted a bracelet around her wrist, thumbs brushing over the worn silver in a small, circular rhythm. A self-soothing gesture JingYi recognized all too well.
“That can’t be easy,” she said, her gaze still on Yrenna’s hands. “To have to weather his attention. Especially when Lord Fortier—”
“Acts as though he owns Blackwood-Veyrde?” Yrenna finished, fingers going still. She looked up, her expression easing into something rueful. “And therefore, all of us?”
Jing Yi pressed her lips together. “Has Alexander made it clear to him that any interest in you—if he harbours it—is unwelcome?”
Yrenna shook her head. “I do not wish to trouble my brother when he has so much to worry about.” She rose from the chair and moved toward the hearth, warming her hands.
“His relationship with Lord Fortier is tenuous as it is, what with him overseeing the limyerite mines. And with House Wulfbane’s current standing . . .”
JingYi stilled. She knew Alexander carried his House with dignity, but the evidence spoke of strain: Lornhelm lacked a healer, Parandor showed no polish, and the family’s ancestral mines were held by Lord Fortier. For a House of high standing, these were significant losses.
Yrenna sat, her bright gaze returning. “Let’s not dwell on grim matters. Tomorrow’s ceremony begins at sunset. It will be glorious. Romantic, too. We’ll draw another bath for you after midday, so you’ll have plenty of time to dress and prepare.”
She hesitated, her voice softening. “Would you prefer help with your bath, or would you rather have . . . privacy? I know Alexander dismissed your ladies-in-waiting, but we could always call them back—”
The thought of LánYàn, RenHuā, and MeiYün crowding her in this room, attending to her, their eyes cataloging every scar and vulnerability, sent a cold shiver through her. “I’d like to bathe alone, if that’s allowed.”
“Of course,” Yrenna said at once. She gestured toward a woven cord by the carved privacy screen. “If you change your mind, just pull. Someone will come.”
She paused, studying JingYi. “Would it help if I told you what to expect tomorrow?”
JingYi’s mind, which had been skittering like a leaf in the wind, went still. Knowledge was a form of armour. “Yes, please.”
“It’s quite simple,” Yrenna said. “Offerings at Luneth’s temple, vows at Solthar’s, then a procession back here for the feast. We don’t do much pomp in Blackwood-Veyrde, but it will be beautiful.”
JingYi could picture it already—limyerite torches, autumn air, the hush of a crowd.
And eyes.
“The people will want to look at you,” Yrenna went on, gentler now. “The king named this a union to steady Blackwood-Veyrde, and your presence tells them their lord stands in the crown’s favour again. Don’t let Lord Fortier’s silly words take that from you.”
The name pricked, but the steadiness in Yrenna’s face held.
“I wish I had said more earlier,” JingYi confessed. “When he spoke as he did.”
“Sometimes silence speaks the loudest.”
“He thinks Omegas are only good for breeding. Not a radical idea, I suppose.”
Yrenna scoffed. “He also thinks his tailor can hide his pettiness in a mountain of brocade, so I wouldn’t put too much stock in his opinion.”
JingYi couldn’t help but laugh.
Yrenna’s smile softened. “I think you carry yourself more regally than any woman I’ve ever seen.”
With a final, reassuring glance, she stood and slipped out of the room, leaving JingYi stunned in the fire-warmed hush.
The compliment lingered—pleasant, warm .
. . and oddly suffocating. Regal. It was praise she’d never thought she’d wear, yet now it was being draped over her shoulders by the one person here who felt like a sister.
She rose and crossed to the washbasin. The window above it reflected only her silhouette—the faint glimmer of her veil, the curve of her frame. She lifted the gauze and studied her face. The blemish remained, unchanged, yet she looked serene. Composed. A mask she had long ago learned to wear.
Tomorrow she would stand before strangers, reciting vows she had never been taught, playing the role of a noble lady she wasn’t born into.
Her fingers gripped the basin’s cool stone. What if her leg failed her? What if those villagers, who had smiled so warmly today, looked at her tomorrow and saw only her flaws? What if her husband, finally seeing her, turned away?
Her fingers touched the birthmark—the rose-dark, mottled stain that spread from her left cheekbone down to her jaw like a spill of brownish ink frozen on her skin.
She remembered the exile manor with its warped shutters, perpetually dusty floors, and lacquer flaking in strips. Her mother’s rings snagged in her hair, jerking her face toward the oil lamp. ‘Hold still.’
The rag had been soaked with wine-and-coarse-salt mixture.
It rasped over the mark—again, again—until her skin burned.
She could still smell the stale osmanthus perfume on her mother’s robes.
The cloth would come away with a wet red streak—blood and wine—smeared across it, beside older rust-brown swipes that never quite faded.
Her stomach lurched. Her grip hardened until her knuckles blanched. She forced a breath, then another, counting slowly as Wu Mā had taught her. The cold stone under her palms, the scent of beeswax in the air—these were real. This was now.
Whatever happened to her before wouldn’t happen here.
But . . . she didn’t know what would.
Backing away from the window, she reached for Alexander’s cloak. Warm, heavy, smelling of spruce and hearth smoke, it steadied her as his hand had earlier.
She wrapped it around her shoulders, the comfort of borrowed wool holding fast—like a secret promise, guarding her against the chill of what lay ahead.