Chapter 40
JINGYI
Breakfast at the Aethonian Palace was a family affair, though not without its diplomatic complexities.
The palace overlooked the coast, and the morning menu often swam before they were put on the plate.
JingYi quite enjoyed the slices of smoked whitefish and soft custard, served with a sea-salt bun still warm from the hearth.
Princess Reiyana, however, couldn’t abide the smell. Since her pregnancy, seafood of any kind turned her green. JingYi had pinned a sachet of herbs near her collar that morning.
“Just don’t let it fall into your porridge, Your Highness,” she’d said.
It worked, thank goodness. With the remedy tucked discreetly, the princess could now sit through breakfast without turning green.
Even her mother, Queen Aurelia, noted with pleasure. “Your colour has improved greatly, my dear.”
Reiyana offered a soft smile as she reached for her tea. “It’s the sachet JingYi prepared for me this morning.”
The queen’s gaze shifted toward her, calm but appraising. “It was Luneth’s will that you two met at the market, then.”
JingYi bowed her head, hands folded neatly before her. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“A simple remedy, but effective. It’s good to see my daughter eating again, especially during this delicate time.”
The king, seated beside the queen, gave a small nod. “And in better spirits, too. A healer who knows how to read her patient is worth her weight in gold.”
This also meant Prince Kaelendrin could resume eating what he referred to as ‘a proper start to the day,’ which usually involved a platter heaping with steamed crabs.
But this morning’s ‘proper start’ was rather special—the royal cook, having learned the prince adored fresh crab, had turned breakfast into a lavish coastal affair. The result: golden crab cakes stacked beneath soft-poached eggs, rich with butter and brightened with lemon and tarragon.
The Aethonian king and queen, along with their three sons: the Princes Thorir, Torsten, and Leif, looked on with amusement.
“The cook has certainly outdone himself,” the king commented, eyeing the plate as everyone did.
“You must be careful, my prince,” JingYi piped up gently. “Rich meals are known to invite gout in later years and other chronic ailments. If it pleases you, I can prepare a cleansing tonic.”
“Worry not for this one, Healer,” said Prince Thorir, tone dry but not unkind. His blue eyes met her gaze. Yet another Alpha with blue eyes, she thought, but this one was the colour of the ocean, not ice.
“As a Sunborn Alpha, he heals faster than most men bleed. I doubt even gout would dare linger.”
The other brothers chuckled. JingYi managed a smile, though her attention shifted to the Tazahrin again.
She had not yet grown used to his presence, not fully.
His aura reminded her of standing in direct sunlight—impossible to ignore, even when she tried.
She remembered the first time he entered the back room of the flower shop, how his energy rushed ahead of him, the way the air seemed to part.
She had never seen a Sunborn before then.
“I may be Sunborn,” Kaelendrin replied lightly, “but I don’t intend to invite trouble simply because I can survive it. I’ll gladly take your brew, Healer, when your hands are free from tending to the princess, of course.”
JingYi bowed her head. “As you wish, my prince.”
“It’s incredible,” Prince Alarik said, cutting into a piece of cantaloupe. “How fatherhood softens even Sunborns.”
The queen tilted her head, amused. “Will it please you, Tazahrin, if your firstborn is Sunborn as well?”
JingYi saw that Prince Kaelendrin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. His fingers paused around his cup.
“I will treasure any child,” he said calmly, “whether they were born Alpha, Beta, or Omega.”
“Of course,” Queen Aurelia said, her voice warm but firm.
JingYi could see she was well-meaning, and she evidently loved her daughter.
But like most in the Nine Kingdoms, she fell into the same trappings of hanging her expectations high on Alpha and Omega pairing.
“But imagine it, Kaelen. A child born with your gift. Sunborn or Moonfire child would mark a new golden age for both our kingdoms.”
Now, for the very first time, the golden prince’s eyes darkened, though he said nothing. She supposed contradicting one’s mother-in-law was not a polite thing to do, even for a Sunborn.
But Princess Reiyana had no such reservations.
“Mother,” she interjected softly, her patient voice carrying an unmistakable edge. “As my husband has said, we welcome any child into our lives regardless of caste.” She looked to her father. “You were never anything less in my eyes, Father.”
The king’s mouth tugged into something close to a smile. “Beta rulers are rare. I’ve often wondered what would’ve happened if I had an Alpha brother. How different the realm, and my life, might have looked.”
He turned his gaze toward JingYi then. “You’re from X?en-Sarai, Healer. Your emperor is Beta as well, is he not? I’m curious—how does he rule? I find myself keen to know how our Beta counterpart fares.”
Her pulse tripped. She lowered her gaze as the images flooded in: caskets of limyerite filling treasury rooms while her people queued for mouldy rice.
Children’s bellies swollen with hunger. The kingdom’s harvests sold abroad for ‘stability’ while dysentery swept through the villages the emperor stripped bare.
When she looked up, she saw everyone was staring at her, waiting.
“He rules with discipline, Your Majesty,” she said carefully. “Order is . . . highly valued in X?en-Sarai.”
Prince Thorir tilted his head, as though weighing her words. “Discipline and order. That sounds much like our military barracks.”
“And yet,” said Queen Aurelia, dabbing at her lips, “your people are known for your art, gardens, and silks. It is always interesting how beauty and rigidity can coexist.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” JingYi replied with a curtsy. “The rule is that beauty comes from control and everyone who steps outside of it must be punished.”
The room stilled. All eyes flicked to her, sharp as nails against her throat. Her stomach clenched. She’d forgotten herself, spoken not as a servant who knew her place. The weight of their stares pressed, waiting.
She should have kept silent.
Reiyana, mercifully, drew the attention away. “Let’s not turn breakfast into a council meeting,” she said lightly. “JingYi has done a wonderful job ensuring I can eat this morning. I’m far more interested in finishing my toast than discussing policy.”
A ripple of polite laughter moved through the table, and the tension eased.
As the king sipped his tea, his gaze remained on JingYi. “Discipline and its consequences are universal concerns for rulers,” he said. “We must speak more of your homeland’s . . . governance another time, Healer. I find myself curious.”
JingYi bowed her head, the words feeling less like an invitation and more like a quiet sentence suspended over her. Another time.
Reiyana gracefully intervened, her voice warm but final, “Well, before any more governance, I have plans.” She turned to JingYi, her expression softening. “I’d like to go to Luneth’s temple. I promised I’d burn incense this week.”
JingYi’s chest pulled tight. The goddess of Omegas—a figure she’d never known how to pray to, a symbol of the very nature that had both saved and sentenced her.
Reiyana’s hand rested on her belly. “And after that,” she added, her eyes sparkling, “we are getting lemon ices from the market. I’ve been craving them since yesterday.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” JingYi kept her voice level. “As long as you promise to rest this afternoon before the ball tonight.”
The princess gave an airy laugh. “It’s still early. I’ll rest later.”
As they left the dining hall and moved into the sunlit corridor, her hand drifted absently just below her navel. So quickly did the gesture become familiar, a silent question she was afraid to answer.
If she was with child . . .
“You’ll love the lemon ices,” Reiyana chatted beside her as they walked. “The vendor presses the lemons himself. They taste like pure sunlight.”
JingYi nodded, but her mind refused to stay still. As they descended toward the courtyard where their escort waited, she caught a glimpse of the sea beyond the palace walls, glittering under the midday sun.
Without realizing it, her lips formed a breathless word into the salt-tinged air, even if she didn’t know what she wished for.
Please.