Chapter 31 #2
“She’s healthy,” JingYi told them. “A healthy baby girl.”
A ripple of relief passed through the group—murmurs, soft laughter, a breath that had been stifled.
Alexander stepped to her side. “It was a difficult birth,” he said, “but the princess held the line. She saved them both.”
Conrad let out a low exhale. “By Luneth’s grace,” he said, “that’s two lives you brought through tonight, Highness.”
“Three, if you count poor Ulrik,” Darion added with a rare grin. “He’ll be telling the tale for years, Princess. Mark my words.”
Tedric hid a smirk behind his knuckles. “Word is, Lord Fortier and his physician left Lornhelm not long after you went inside. They looked rather put out, from what the cobbler boy said.”
Conrad snorted. “Couldn’t very well stay and be proven useless, could he?”
Yrenna clasped JingYi’s hand, her grip warm and firm. “You’ve done something magnificent, Sister. Now go inside. Aliz has set supper for you both in your room. Eat and rest. Tomorrow is the Harvest Ritual, and we’ll all need our strength.”
JingYi’s heart gave a small stutter. In the midst of chaos tonight, she’d forgotten all about the ritual. She was too tired to dread it tonight. First, she would eat and sleep. Then, she’d decide what tomorrow would ask of her.
The warmth of her chambers welcomed them—a haven after the storm.
A hearty supper, still steaming, had been laid between the armchairs: clay bowls of wild mushroom and barley stew, a platter of lamb slices, and glistening roasted squash.
A wedge of soft cheese was melting near the fire, and a pot of spiced plum sauce waited to be spooned over everything.
Her stomach, so long silent, gave a sudden growl.
Behind her, Alexander gave a soft huff of amusement. “I suppose Yrenna guessed right.”
She glanced back at him with flushed cheeks. “She usually does.”
He crossed the room ahead of her, shrugged off his cloak, and draped it over the chair closest to the fire. Then, he guided her toward the second one.
“Sit. You’ve laboured enough for one night.”
Too tired to protest, she lowered herself onto the cushion with a grateful exhale. They ate in silence. The stew was thick and earthy, warming the deep, tired ache in her limbs. She spread plum sauce over a slice of squash and nearly sighed at the sweet, sticky richness of it.
Alexander finished eating first. He rose to pour two cups of wine and handed one to her. But instead of returning to his seat, he lingered by the window.
“The Harvest Ritual is tomorrow,” he began. “The climb starts just before dusk.”
JingYi looked up, a piece of flatbread paused halfway to her mouth. She set it down.
“You’ve done more than anyone expected these last few days,” he continued. “Tonight especially. You should rest. Let Yrenna stand in your place.”
He said it calmly, practically. The words still cleaved a space between them that hadn’t been there tonight.
“Yrenna led the rites,” JingYi said, keeping her tone neutral, “because the seat of Lady Wulfbane had been empty since your mother passed.”
A line appeared between his brows. “You spent the night bringing a child into the world. You’ve already earned the people’s trust. No one would think less of you for stepping back.”
Stepping back. The phrase was a spark to tinder. She looked down at her hands, and felt the old, familiar script settle over her: be small, be silent, be invisible.
Deep down, she knew he meant it as care. But all her life, she had been the girl asked to ‘stay back,’ to make room where she took up too much space. Now, even here, with a title and a ring and the weight of a new beginning, he was offering her a way out. A way to disappear again.
“I know what the ritual means to your people,” she said. “And I know what it would mean for me to be absent from it.”
He studied her, his gaze intent. “There is much to do tomorrow. That hill is steep, and you’re exhausted.”
Through him, she heard the echo of Wu Mā’s words: ‘An Omega’s body betrays her when pushed too far.’
Her body was a finely tuned instrument. Stress could trigger Heat; exhaustion could hasten it.
With her ineffective substitute suppressant, she was risking both.
Heat during the ritual would be a spectacle.
It would unravel the composed facade she’d built.
It might force a dependence on him she wasn’t ready for.
But the alternative carried a different risk.
It would cement her as an observer in her own life.
It would prove to Alexander, to herself, and to the people of Blackwood-Veyrde that she was too fragile to be Lady Wulfbane.
It would relegate her to the shadows of Parandor, a political bride forever on the periphery.
It would make her lose her place.
“I’ll climb every step to the top of the hill,” she said, her voice turning fierce at the edges. “Properly. I promise.”
Brows drawn, lips slightly parted, Alexander looked as though he might speak, offer another warning–or worse, command her to stay behind. But the words never came.
Instead, he nodded once. “As you wish.”
They didn’t speak again as he went to bank the fire, bid her a good night, and made sure her door latched properly behind him.
Alone, his warmth remained—woven into the room, into her skin, into the certainty that this time, she wouldn’t step back.
She would stand.