Chapter 22 #2
She released it. His fingers were firm around the chest’s handle, carrying it as though the weight were nothing. They walked in silence, boots crunching softly against the damp gravel road.
“Ulrik Hearthstone is gruff,” Alexander said at last, “but he’s a good man.”
“Any man who cares for his daughter has good in him.”
He gave a single nod. “He was the Lead Foreman of the limyerite mines in my father’s days.
He’s known me since I was born. When my father—” His words broke off.
He took a sharp breath. “When it happened, Ulrik stood by him. Wouldn’t believe the treason.
He and his family stayed in Lornhelm even though his neighbours left in droves. ”
JingYi studied him from the corner of her eye. His broad shoulders were set in a way that looked less like pride and more like strain. For him, too, the wound was still tender.
“Loyalty like that,” she murmured, “isn’t easily found. You must value it greatly.”
His blue gaze flicked toward her before turning back to the path. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s more than I deserve.”
JingYi caught the way his stride lengthened, as if he’d said too much and wanted to walk ahead of the words. She kept her eyes forward, giving him the dignity of pretending he hadn’t. “Ulrik’s daughter is lucky to have both of you standing for her.”
“Annett hasn’t had it easy either. Her mother died a few years ago. Her husband, Willem, went to find work in Gravenfort. He’s only given leave once every few months.”
A small knot of villagers passed along the road. Among them was the boy with the scraped knee and the dove-shaped birthmark. He spotted her at once and waved with both hands. The adults bowed and bobbed a curtsy, their smiles cautious. JingYi returned both.
“You know them already,” Alexander commented. “Only after a day.”
“I spent some time with them yesterday, enough to remember faces.”
“They speak to you easily.”
“I’m not someone important to them. That helps bring down the barrier.”
He was silent for a beat. “They bowed and curtsied.”
JingYi’s fingers curled into loose fists. “Out of respect, not warmth.”
“I saw warmth.”
“Villagers are easier than nobles. With them, I only have to ease an ache or help them breathe. Nobles expect more. Beauty. Wit. Perfection. Things I cannot provide.”
In his eyes, she saw her words strike a chord. She didn’t mean to remind him of the things he’d wanted from her yet couldn’t get—she could only speak plainly.
With his gaze steady on her, he said, almost as though testing the thought aloud, “So you were born an emperor’s daughter, but grew up a servant.”
The gravel shifted underfoot. She kept her eyes on the path. “You make it sound as though noble blood guarantees lavish upbringing.”
“It usually does.”
She looked him in the eye. “Did yours?”
This time, he didn’t answer.
They walked a few more paces in silence. The village path curved ahead of them, flanked by a leaning fence and the skeletal husks of autumn squash plants gone pale with rot.
“Why didn’t you say any of this before?” he asked.
She slowed, then stopped entirely, wiping her clammy hands along her skirt to buy time.
Then, she met his eyes. “Would it have changed anything?”
He stilled. The question fell between them like a stone dropped into a deep well. No answer came. The pause stretched long enough to make her wish she hadn’t spoken.
Then, with quiet certainty, he said, “No. But I wouldn’t have assumed you worked with your father to deceive me.” Lips pressed into a grim line, he added, “Or, even if you did, I would’ve understood why.”
Her gaze dropped to the hem of her sleeve. “I wouldn’t deceive you intentionally.”
“I know that now.”
“But it doesn’t alter the fact you need a perfect bride to restore your House, not a broken one to drag it further into the mud.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened, a wince crossing his features before he shuttered it away.
He didn’t refute her. The silence that followed was its own brutal confirmation.
She continued hobbling along the village path, him lagging behind.
Her steps were careful now, as though walking forward might somehow make her last remark easier to bear.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him.
She hadn’t meant to sound as though he hurt her, though he did.
They’d been married for two days, and their union remained unconsummated. Her position in Blackwood-Veyrde, if there was one, would dissolve the moment he decided she wasn’t worthy and petitioned the king for an annulment.
What, then? What path would be left?
JingYi drifted toward the edge of the square, grateful for the mundane distraction of the morning bustle to keep her thoughts from spiralling.
A tug at her sleeve made her pause. She looked down to find a girl around six or seven years old, cheeks flushed, braids half-undone. Before JingYi could speak, Alexander stepped up beside her.
“Elsa,” he said, the recognition plain in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“My brother—Daan—he’s sick,” the girl blurted. “He’s burning up. Mam sent me to fetch the princess.”
JingYi bent, her hand brushing the child’s. “Take me to him.”
Elsa seized her fingers and pulled eagerly toward the back path, bare feet scattering loose earth. Alexander adjusted the medicine chest in his grip and fell into stride without hesitation.
“I know the house,” he said as they turned past the well. “It backs onto the grain store. Come—this way will be quicker.”
He offered her his arm, and she took it, letting him guide her through the narrow lanes.
Elsa darted ahead like a sparrow. Stone gave way to packed earth, fences leaning close on either side, until they stopped before a shed with a sagging roof.
The girl hurried through the door, shouting for her mother.
Inside, the air pressed damp and heavy. On the mattress by the hearth, a dark-haired boy lay curled, sweat glistening on his brow. His chest rose in shallow, frantic bursts. JingYi rushed and sank to her knees beside him. One glance, then another, and her stomach hollowed.
His nails—tinged a sickly purplish-grey.
His lips—cracked, ringed with sores at the corners.
She sucked in a sharp breath. The sight was more familiar than she’d ever wanted it to be.
“My lord—”
Alexander had already stepped closer, saw what she saw, and his jaw hardened.
“The same,” he murmured grimly, only for her ears, “as the woman you found in the lake.”