Chapter 24
JINGYI
Duskwane carried them along the trail, hooves striking soft against the damp earth. JingYi sat straight, hands steady on the saddle, but her mind kept circling back to the fire, to Alexander as he prepared a meal for her.
It wasn’t the food itself, though the rabbit had been tender, the berries sharp on her tongue. It was that he’d done it at all. In the palace, meals were scraped from what others left behind. This was different. He’d seen her need and met it without a word.
He’d handed her all the food and ate only what she couldn’t finish, as if her comfort was a natural priority. The warmth of that mind-boggling act spread through her faster than any stew.
She tried not to let it show, tried not to look like someone starved of this kind of care. But when she caught him watching her across the flames, she wondered if he had seen anyway.
It unsettled her—how this Alpha who’d spoken of her as a liability could, in the next breath, hunt and cook so she wouldn’t hunger. She didn’t know which was the truer version of him: the one behind the closed study door, or the one kneeling by a fire, tending to an Omega’s needs.
And when he admitted shame, it cut deeper than his first words had. Not because she hadn’t expected remorse, but because he sounded like a man who didn’t know how to forgive himself, let alone ask her to.
She’d answered with honesty, because she didn’t know how else to be. Yes, his words had hurt. But it had been harder to sit there in the firelight, the food warming her stomach, and realized she wanted to believe him.
The trees thinned now. She began to recognize the rhythm of Blackwood-Veyrde’s landscape. Soon, the forest would open up into a clearing, and they’d see Parandor.
As they left the forest behind, three wagons emerged from the mist, halted along the path. Horses stamped and blew plumes of breath into the autumn air. Over their cargo, tarps had been stretched taut and secured with knots, while men in the Crown’s livery rode alongside, checking the rigging.
Speaking to a soldier was Bertrand, Lord Fortier.
His posture appeared relaxed, hands clasped behind his back, as if this were no more than a morning stroll.
Even from a distance, JingYi felt the smug calm radiating off him.
He turned as they approached, expression brightening with the easy pleasure of a neighbour greeting another.
“Your Highness. My lord,” he said warmly. “A dreary day for riding, though what does it matter when one has such company? The warmth between two newlyweds must be enough to chase off any chill!”
JingYi’s spine went taut. The words were genial enough, but they pricked all the same. For all his polish, she could not bring herself to like this man.
“Lord Fortier,” Alexander spoke behind her. She couldn’t see him, but she heard the gravel in his voice. “Sending off your bounty before the first frost?”
“You remember how it’s usually done, my lord. Just in time. We’ve done well this season and increased the tribute by nearly fifteen stones compared to the last run. His Majesty will be pleased.”
JingYi kept silent, though her pulse quickened. Her eyes drifted toward the tarps—a faint purple shimmer bled through the weave, catching the grey light.
Alexander’s tone was flat. “Fifteen stones.”
“Give or take,” Bertrand replied. “The newly discovered veins are denser than anticipated. A stroke of luck.”
Her gaze lingered on the cargo. Something about it sat wrong in her gut.
Alexander drew a deep breath behind her. “Purple limyerite?”
“A modest yield, but not too bad,” Bertrand said smoothly. “All stable and safe. The foremen reported no incidents.”
The same mineral she’d seen riddle a corpse, eat its way into the marrow of a boy. JingYi fisted her gown. To hear it named as ‘stable and safe’ was like hearing poison praised for its sweetness.
“Purple limyerite is dangerous when mishandled,” Alexander said. “I trust it will not end up in the wrong hands.”
“Ah, ever the protector.” Bertrand’s smile was touched with concern. “You need not worry, my lord. There are always dishonourable men of the most unsavoury sort who’d like nothing more than to see purple limyerite spread unchecked, but I keep vigilant eyes on my charge.”
“Since your watch is so vigilant, answer a small question,” Alexander said. “Daan of Lornhelm—a lad of thirteen summers. He’s been ill, and his sickness appears to be purple limyerite poisoning. Have your men seen him near the shaft mouths?”
Bertrand’s brows rose, concern grazing his features before smoothing away.
“No such boy has crossed my foremen’s reports, my lord.
Village talk makes limyerite the villain of every cough and chill.
” He shrugged. “In any case, waste is sealed and tallied under lock. And no one younger than eighteen is in my employ.”
Bertrand chuckled cordially, as if the matter were settled. “Fortunate, is it not, that you’ve been spared such tedium? You have enough on your plate without crystal ledgers and shaft reports dragging at your heels.”
Though her insides recoiled, JingYi kept her expression still. Bertrand’s words were all polished evasion, leaving a slick, unpleasant residue. Behind her, Alexander had tensed, his dislike for the lord palpable.
Bertrand bowed, the courtesy held on the surface. “Forgive me. I’d dearly love to enjoy your company, but duty calls. I must see these wagons safely to the port.”
“Safe journey, my lord,” JingYi murmured, if only to hurry him along.
Alexander only grunted. Together they watched the convoy veer away from the road to Niewberg, wheels creaking as the carts descended toward a mist-cloaked track she hadn’t noticed before.
“Not toward the capital?” she asked.
“They’ll go to Lowfen Quay first. It’s a port on the Blackfen River. From there, the cargo travels south by barge to Niewberg. Faster than dragging the heavy carts the whole way.”
“There’s a port here?” JingYi frowned, trying to picture it.
“A small one,” he said, “but it serves the northern fiefs. Timber, grains, pelts and hides, and limyerite—it all flows downriver.” His voice carried no pride, only a kind of grim resignation.
“When Bertrand took charge, he talked the Crown into letting him build Lowfen Quay to ease the transport. Even I had to admit it was a fine idea.”
She glanced at the fading carts, the purple shimmer beneath their tarps haunting her mind. “Efficient,” she said softly.
“Efficient,” he echoed. She could hear him grinding his teeth. “And convenient.”
Her eyes remained on the bend. “He’s awfully confident.”
“Those who carry the Crown’s favour tend to be.”
“Do you suspect his involvement?”
Alexander was silent for a moment before answering, his voice lowered, “Bertrand has always known how to keep the Crown’s trust. He won’t let me forget it.”
She looked back at the road to Parandor. Crystals didn’t walk themselves to market, and poison didn’t find its way into the bodies of women and children by accident. Someone put it there.
The realization was cold steel pressed against her spine.
The fog pressed close, the road ahead blurring into shadow. Neither said more, but both knew the same conclusion waited, unspoken, between them.
The mist had begun to lift again when they rode through Parandor’s gates. The courtyard hummed with life—haulers shouting, horses snorting, the clanging of a smith’s hammer somewhere beyond the stables. Smoke curled from the kitchen flue, carrying the scent of barley bread and braised onions.
As Tedric helped her dismount, she spotted Yrenna descending the castle steps, her dark plum velvet skirt swaying around her. Those pale eyes crinkled with welcoming light as she approached.
“Back at last,” she said. “You’ve been gone so long, we almost sent a search party.”
Alexander swung down and handed Duskwane’s reins to a stable boy. “Many families needed the princess’s help.”
Conrad sauntered over, looking sly, mouth curling into a smirk. “Come now. Lornhelm isn’t that large.”
Warmth crept up her cheeks.
“Not everything requires your commentary, pup,” Alexander said warningly.
The boy shrugged, unruffled. “Perhaps. But when the villagers are already whispering about the princess more than their lord, it may be worth my notice.”
Before Alexander could reply, Darion’s voice cut through, “Gossip is wind. What matters is what people see, and they saw her on her knees doing what needed doing. That’s worth more than all the courtly harp-playing in the Nine Kingdoms.”
JingYi glanced at the commander, startled by his staunch defence. Tedric, now perched on the edge of a wagon, gave a languid stretch.
“So, it wasn’t a honeymoon stroll, after all?
” he drawled. “Here I was, picturing leisurely glances by the river, laughter over wildflowers. Instead, you’ve both been labouring like peasants.
” His grin widened, eyes flicking between them.
“A disappointment for me, though perhaps not for the villagers.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the yard, easy camaraderie softening the air. JingYi lowered her head, cheeks now flushed. They teased as though she and Alexander shared an easy bond—moonlit walk along the river, stolen glances—but she still didn’t know if he wanted her at all.
And still, she kept their secret interlude in the forest close to her chest. That memory felt too private to cast into their laughter.
Alexander’s gaze found hers across the yard.
It was just a glance—a brief, silent acknowledgment of the shared road, but it struck with the weight of a hammer.
Then, he gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod before striding toward the keep.
It wasn’t much, but it was something. A thread of connection, however fine.
Yrenna stepped closer and slipped an arm beneath hers. “A Sparo arrived not long ago,” she mentioned as they walked into the castle. “I placed the letter in your chambers.”
A Sparo. JingYi’s chest jolted. “Thank you.”