Chapter 21 #2
What was there to say? He’d sat in that study and listed her limitations while she’d left him a cup of restorative tea. And he had nothing to offer but awkward silence and the weak intention to ask about its ingredients over dinner—as if that would bridge the chasm he’d cleaved between them.
“I was going to ask her about the tea,” he admitted at last, though it sounded foolish the moment the words left his mouth.
Conrad didn’t laugh. The boy craned his neck over the table to look at him. “I think she would’ve liked that.”
Darion only gave a snort. “You can still ask. That is, if she ever decides to join you again.”
Alexander pushed his food aside. “I’m aware I mishandled things,” he finally said.
“Mishandled,” Darion echoed dryly. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Alexander shot him a look.
“I’m just saying,” Darion went on, tone steady but not unkind, “she’s your wife now. Whether she acts like it or not might have something to do with how you’ve treated her.”
Alexander’s gaze fell to the empty seat beside him, then rose without a word. Chairs scraped, voices dipped, but he didn’t look back. The hall’s noise vanished behind him. Only torchlight and his own footsteps followed him down the corridor.
Outside her door he stood, one hand raised, fingers just shy of the wood. He hadn’t knocked on many doors in his life. He summoned; he dismissed. Even in places where they didn’t want him, he never hesitated.
But now, with a barrier between them and nothing to guide him but guilt and half-formed intention, he couldn’t move.
He exhaled.
It was just a door.
And beyond it, a woman he’d married without knowing. He didn’t even know what she liked. What made her laugh, or if she laughed at all. He didn’t know how she took her tea—or if she’d ever had someone who asked.
As he lingered, the smell of her soap brushed faintly through the crack, subtle but insistent, enough to awaken that innate pull unique to Omegas. His instincts urged him forward. His honour told him to stop.
Slowly, his hand fell back to his side. A part of him cursed the retreat as cowardice.
Another quieter part insisted it was respect.
She had left the hall; she had asked, in the only way she could, to be alone.
To ignore that now, to force a conversation she wasn’t ready for, would be another act of dominance, not peace.
And, if he were honest, he wasn’t ready either. He didn’t have the words.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, when the guests were gone and the air was clear, he would try again.
The morning broke cold and clean, mist burning off the courtyard stones as wedding guests gathered to depart. Horses stamped. Harness bells jingled as servants hefted luggage into carts.
Alexander stood beside Yrenna at the steps, offering the expected courtesies. The bows and blessings dragged, each assurance of honour more hollow than the last. He wanted it over. He wanted silence. He wanted space to face what he had avoided last night.
JingYi stood a little apart, Conrad at her side. She was cloaked in wool against the chill, her hands folded at her waist. She spoke softly when addressed, her voice carrying only enough to be polite. There was nothing in her manner that suggested slight, but nothing that invited closeness either.
Krystoff Reave embraced him the way he always had—more a father than an ally, hard and steady around his shoulders. The older man drew back and clapped him on the arm.
“Listen, boy,” Krystoff said, low enough that only Alexander heard. “Hunting wolves and leading men, that you were born for. But marriage,” he shook his head, eyes sharp with meaning, “marriage takes more than command. It takes time, gentleness, and understanding. Remember that.”
Alexander nodded. “I will.”
“You’d better,” Krystoff said, and with one last playful cuff under Alexander’s chin, he turned to mount his horse.
When the guests finally filed out and the gates groaned shut, silence settled over their small circle, left behind in the emptying courtyard. JingYi turned, her gaze already seeking Conrad’s.
“Would now be a good time to ask you to accompany me?”
Alexander stepped closer. “Where are you going?”
She hesitated, fingers worrying at the fold of her skirt, her eyes skimming past his shoulder. “To the village. I promised them I’d return this morning.”
Eager to please, Conrad offered quickly, “I’d be glad to escort Her Highness, my lo—”
“No.” The word came out a bark. They both looked at him. “You’ll ride with me.”
A pause stretched. JingYi’s eyes flicked to Conrad, then dropped. “You need not trouble yourself, my lord. I am happy with Conrad’s company.”
He ground his jaw. “I said I’ll take you,” he snapped.
The words hung in the air. It didn’t sound like an offer, but a hard-edged demand. Precisely what he’d told himself he shouldn’t do.
Her shoulders stiffened, lips pressed into a thin line before she inclined her head. “As you wish, my lord.”
Fool. Krystoff’s advice was still warm in his ears, and already he’d mucked things up. His nails bit into his palm as he resisted the urge to smack his own forehead. Why did every attempt to bridge the distance seem to build the wall higher?
“Have Duskwane saddled,” he ordered Conrad. The boy obeyed at once, but not without a glance—curious, questioning.
Alexander sighed, the fight draining out of him, leaving only a dull, familiar ache. He had meant to stand beside her. Instead, he had only given her another reason to stand apart.