Chapter 36
ALEXANDER
The men had been pulled from the collapsed shaft just after noon.
Scraped, dazed, and coated in limyerite dust, but alive. They’d survived the night by crawling into a side tunnel and stacking broken timbers to brace the ceiling. Alexander had worked shoulder to shoulder with the others to dig them out, sweat slicking his back, gloves torn from grit and strain.
But now, the worst was over. They stood outside in the aftermath, surrounded by rubble and disbelief.
“What do you think?” Darion muttered at his side, low enough not to carry. “Do we believe bracings fail sometimes? Old wood, poor soil, and all that?”
Alexander shook his head, still staring at the jagged ruin where the entrance used to be. “They were reinforced in the summer. We checked them ourselves.”
“Which makes it even stranger. The bracings were solid.”
He didn’t reply; his mind raced. Reinforced timber didn’t just give way. Not like this. Not all at once.
“Seal the mine,” he said at last. “Summon an engineer from Niewberg. I want every brace inspected before the end of the year. No one goes in until we know precisely what failed, and why.”
Darion nodded. “Understood.”
Alexander exhaled, then turned to look toward the resting men. They sat huddled under a canvas tarp, faces dusted with crystal, eyes hollowed by exhaustion. One of them coughed sharply, and the other clutched a bandaged leg. They’d escaped, but not unscathed.
“Bring them to Parandor tonight,” Alexander said. “Princess JingYi will examine them.”
Darion’s brow arched. “She’s seeing people?”
“Her Heat has broken. She’ll want to look after them.”
He moved to check Duskwane’s girth, secured the saddle, then caught Conrad’s grin from the corner of his eye.
“Something to say, Pup?”
“Just thinking, my lord,” the boy drawled, “how eager you seem to return to Parandor. Must be the scent of home.”
Tedric chuckled. “Or the joy of having an Omega wife, waiting.”
Before either could say more, Darion cuffed them both on the back of the neck. “You two keep flapping your tongues, and I’ll present you to Her Highness myself, all gagged and trussed up.”
Alexander turned to face them fully. His voice was even, but he let steel thread through it. “Keep your banter clean and your mouths shut in her presence. I won’t have her made uncomfortable. Not by anyone, and certainly not by those under my command.”
Both men straightened, chastened.
“Apologies, my lord,” Tedric mumbled.
“Didn’t mean any harm,” Conrad added quickly.
Alexander gave a short nod and swung up onto Duskwane’s saddle. “I know. But she’s lived a long time surrounded by sneers, not safety. She’s learning what it means to be protected, not judged. I want her to feel that difference when she’s among us.”
Tedric looked up, eyes widening. Conrad’s grin faded into a rather awed expression.
Darion chuckled, breaking the tension. “You’ve changed.”
Alexander didn’t reply. He settled his weight in the saddle and adjusted the reins. The air still carried the tang of limyerite dust, but as he breathed in, it felt lighter now. Less oppressive.
Yes. He had changed.
The bitterness that had lived under his ribs for over twenty years—shaped by failure, duty, and a father’s ruin—had begun to loosen. He’d expected marriage to be a transaction, a remedy for a failing House. But JingYi . . . she had become something far more vital.
Even now, he felt the thrum beneath his skin, the pull of bond and scent and need.
Not desire, though there would always be that between an Alpha and his Omega, but something deeper: a yearning for her voice, her steadiness.
Her intelligence. Her laugh, which he had yet to earn.
JingYi. The thought of her was a steady beacon.
He couldn’t wait to return home to her. The wind bit his cheeks, the scent of hearth smoke thick in the air, as the horse’s hooves ate up the distance and the sun dipped lower, gilding the hills in amber.
Yrenna was crossing the courtyard with a bundle of herbs when he arrived.
“Where is JingYi?” he asked.
She looked up at him, squinting against the late afternoon sun. “She went to Lornhelm. But she promised to return before supper.”
Alexander nearly smiled. It was just like her, throwing herself back into motion the moment her Heat abated. It had only been two days since her last visit, but no doubt she’d wanted to check on her patients’ conditions.
He already turned away when Yrenna called after him.
“Alexander—wait. Aliz said a messenger from the palace came this morning. JingYi took the letter and left it for you in your study.”
He frowned. What message could it be this time?
He made his way inside. The study door creaked open under his palm, spilling warm light across the floor. There, on the centre of the desk, lay a single sheet of parchment. But atop it—
A glint of silver-blue caught his eye.
His breath snagged in his throat. JingYi’s wedding ring, inset with limyerite, rested on the parchment. His heart stuttered as he stepped closer. He lifted the letter, scanning the king’s seal, and the words struck like a fist to the chest.
Annulment. The king spoke of his annulment request as if it had already been received and weighed.
His fingers went cold. How?
He yanked open the drawer where he’d left that cursed draft on his wedding night, rummaging through papers until they spilled to the floor.
Nothing. The letter was gone.
His pulse roared in his ears. It all snapped together with brutal clarity.
Alexander stormed down the stairs and sprinted for the stables, already shouting for Duskwane.
He rode hard for Lornhelm, dread galloping just behind him.
He convinced himself she’d gone to the village, just as she told Yrenna.
He’d find her chatting with Ulrik and Annett.
Holding baby Aniva, taking her out for some sun.
Or maybe taking the long road home, dawdling to collect herbs.
When he reached the square, Ulrik was tending the forge, and Annett was sorting linens with Aniva strapped to her chest outside her door.
“Have you seen Her Highness?” he called, pulling at Duskwane’s reins.
Ulrik shook his head. “Not today.”
Annett squinted up at him. “Perhaps tomorrow, my lord?”
The weight in Alexander’s gut turned to iron. “She said she was coming here.”
They exchanged uncertain glances but could offer nothing else.
He checked with Daan and his mother, and other villagers, but no one had seen JingYi today.
Alexander wheeled Duskwane around and galloped hard for Parandor, wind stinging his face. He’d just reached the bridge when the gates burst open. Darion ran out, waving him down.
“Alexander! Hurry—you need to see this!”
Conrad followed, leading Brisa. The mare was soaked in sweat, but JingYi was nowhere in sight.
Alexander dismounted, crouched beside the horse, and ran a hand down her fetlock. Her hooves were caked in mud—fresh, wet, and red-tinged. It hadn’t rained today, and this dirt was not the dry dust of village roads.
He stood slowly, eyes narrowing toward the west where the old river path lay.
Niewberg was too far for her on horseback.
She was unfamiliar with the trails. She wouldn’t try it when getting lost in Blackwood-Veyrde’s forests was almost a certainty.
But Lowfen Quay lay just a few miles out.
She could board a barge heading downriver.
“I’m going to Lowfen.”
Just as he leapt onto Duskwane’s saddle, Tedric rushed forward. “My lord, let me ride with you.”
Alexander glared at him, but the man didn’t flinch. “Better you don’t ride alone. If you need to send a message back, or summon Darion, I swear I’ll be faster than a Sparo.”
Tedric had always been sharp in the saddle and sharper with his tongue. Lately, he’d been the one escorting JingYi to the village—laughing with her, translating the few words that still escaped her in Tremesi. Perhaps he’d grown fond of her, too, the way others did without even realizing it.
He gave a short nod. “Fine. Quickly.”
There was no more time for doubt. Not when the woman he cared about might already be slipping away.
Duskwane surged beneath him as he turned toward the path. Wind tangled his cloak, cold dread building in his chest. He urged the stallion to speed. Every beat of the hooves against packed earth thundered the same refrain.
Let her still be within reach.
Let her still be his.
The docks were nearly empty, save for the gulls wheeling overhead and the stink of old fish and wet rope clinging to the planks.
Alexander’s boots struck hard against the boards as he strode toward the port master’s shack, each step driven by the dull roar behind his ribs.
Beside him, Tedric kept pace, unusually silent.
The port master looked up from his ledgers. His face paled as recognition dawned.
“Lord Wulfbane,” he stammered, bowing. “I wasn’t expecting—”
“I’m looking for my wife,” Alexander cut in. “She’s of X?en origin. Limp in her right leg. A dark birthmark on her left cheek. She would’ve come through earlier. Alone.”
The man swallowed. “No noblewoman came through, my lord, but—” He hesitated, fingers twitching toward a stack of scrolls. “There was a barge carrying grains earlier, pulling in from X?en. They unloaded quickly and didn’t linger.”
“Where was it headed?”
The man gestured to the ledger on his desk. “It’s all there. One moment—”
Alexander didn’t wait. He brushed past and flipped the book open himself. His eyes scanned the rows until they locked onto it.
Barge Eighty-Two. Trader HengYim. Origin: Lower X?en. Destination: Niewberg.
He shut the ledger with a snap.
Tedric leaned in. “You think she’d be there?”
“No,” Alexander said tightly, fingers raking through his hair. “She wouldn’t stay in Niewberg. Too exposed. Too close.”
“Then why—?”
“She’s using it to sail farther.”
JingYi wouldn’t go back to X?en-Sarai, not after the way they’d discarded her. She wouldn’t stay in Tremore either, not when she believed he meant to cast her aside.