Chapter 70
JINGYI
It was not often that JingYi was summoned to the Hall of Serenity. The last time had been the day her father announced her betrothal to Alexander Wulfbane. She doubted today’s summons carried the same intent.
Still, the thought did cross her mind: Perhaps the ministers had worn ShunLi down. That another Alpha lord, from X?en or Tzadun-Khor, had been selected as her next husband. The notion sat like iron in her stomach.
Three months of peace, of not being someone’s solution. Still, the whispers had never ceased.
An Omega shouldn’t be alone for long, they said.
Her blood was too precious, they said.
She must remember her place, they said.
The transition still left her reeling. To go from an unwanted bastard to an exalted princess, praised for the very blood she hadn’t been permitted to claim, was a whiplash no soul could prepare for.
Today’s summons, in particular, stirred not only dread. It nudged a sliver of hope she had tucked into her last letter to Reiyana—a secret question she hadn’t shared with anyone in the X?en court.
When she entered, ShunLi was already seated upon the golden salamander throne—a relic from their father’s reign.
That, too, should be changed. It belonged to an era they were all trying to outgrow.
Two ministers she didn’t recognize flanked the dais, likely from the Bureau of Outer Relations. Their expressions gave nothing away.
JingYi crossed the hall and dropped into a respectful curtsy, lowering her gaze.
“May a thousand years of peace grace His Imperial Majesty. How may I be of service?”
ShunLi’s voice, though measured, carried a flicker of warmth, and a rare wonder that made JingYi’s chest clench with hope.
“Shō Meisha, an unexpected envoy arrived at the palace gates this morning. He brought a message addressed directly to me, along with a sealed letter for you.”
JingYi kept her expression still, though her heart quickened. “A letter?”
ShunLi gave a single nod. He lifted the scroll from its tray, the seal already broken. “Prince Kaelendrin of Asadia has submitted a formal offer. He seeks to retain you as a physician under contract, with primary duty to the royal family.”
The tension in her chest began to uncoil. Her letter to Reiyana had worked. And now, a favourable reply had arrived. A lifeline.
“The terms are outlined here.” ShunLi didn’t read from the parchment, as if he’d already memorized its content. “A stipend commensurate with a senior court appointment. A private suite within the Asadian royal palace, staffed and maintained by the crown.”
He let the silence hold for a breath, his gaze meeting hers.
“You will have freedom to treat patients at your discretion, noble or common. Freedom to research within their archives and conservatories. Should you wish to publish your findings for the benefit of Issoirea, the crown will fund the scribing and distribution across the Nine Kingdoms.”
A murmur of astonishment rippled through the ministers.
“And,” ShunLi continued, “upon completion of a twenty-year term, you will be granted a lifetime pension and a personal estate.” He paused to consult the scroll, laying the terms carefully before her.
“Twenty acres outside Mezerin, a manor, a medicinal greenhouse, and a household staff of your choosing.”
He held up a smaller envelope, still sealed. “This letter is addressed to you.”
Her hand trembled as she accepted it.
To Her Highness,
High Princess X?en JingYi,
Word travels quickly, even across deserts. We have heard of your return to X?en-Sarai, and of the path that brought you there.
So, I am offering you a position. Again.
Reiyana insists she has never received better care and speaks of your company with more fondness than her husbands can compete with.
If the terms are agreeable, we would be honoured to have you. If not, I have sent a solicitor with an unfortunate love of contracts. Feel free to negotiate him into the ground.
You will be welcome here. Truly.
And you will be met not with ceremony, but with gladness.
Yours, in goodwill and kinship,
Tazahrin Kaelendrin Asad
She closed her eyes and eased the breath from her chest, slow and steady. Another path lay before her, one shaped by her own will and not someone else’s decree. A hand extended not in pity but in respect, by the people who had welcomed her, trusted her, seen her worth.
Independence, safety, without her name attached to an Alpha. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. It was the life she’d dreamed of—before Tremore.
Then . . . why did her mind still show her images of tending herbs in a mountain garden, his voice in the next room?
ShunLi rose from the golden salamander throne, his expression unreadable as he glanced toward the window veiled in morning mist. “There is time before my council meeting,” he said. “Shall we walk?”
She nodded, and the two of them stepped out of the Hall of Serenity. The air outside was cool and tinged with the perfume of wet magnolia petals. Jade-coloured stones paved the garden path, slick with dew. White cranes stirred in the distance, wings flashing.
With a gesture, ShunLi dismissed his retinue. The guards bowed and fell behind, vanishing into the willows lining the perimeter of the courtyard. It was a rare moment: emperor and sister, alone.
“This offer came at an auspicious time,” ShunLi began, “when your heart and mind must be filled with thoughts of political marriages.”
JingYi gave a noncommittal sound. She had stopped trying to count how many offers had crossed her name in whispers behind palace screens.
He continued. “Asadia, like X?en-Sarai, is a gateway to the Nine Kingdoms, the guardian of our eastern border. With two Alphas in its direct royal line and one of the strongest cavalry corps in Issoirea, you will be well protected.”
JingYi said nothing.
“The terms are generous,” he added, glancing at her. “And should you accept, at the end of your full term, you will be a woman of independent means.” He let that last phrase linger. “A rare thing, for an unclaimed Omega.”
JingYi’s hands tightened briefly around the folded letter.
“If I were to accept the employment,” she asked at last, “what of your rule?”
He slowed his pace, then stopped near the carp pond. The fish rippled beneath the surface, mouths opening and closing without sound.
“What of it?”
She turned toward him. “Let us not pretend there aren’t any nobles who believe your unfilial actions will incite riots and invite calamity.”
His jaw tensed. “The calamity ended with our father’s death.”
“I’m sure you’d like to believe that, but from where I stand, it might have only just begun.”
A silence stretched between them, taut and wary. She wandered to the edge of the pond and peered down. The carps shimmered like living opals, oblivious to politics or power.
“When I visited the city market yesterday,” she said, “the people were flourishing. It’s a good sign, truly. But signs mean little if your own ministers are sowing discontent behind palace doors.”
He joined her there, gazing at the water with a guarded expression.
“If you lose the court,” she murmured, “you lose the crown, no matter how loyal the people.”
He was silent for a moment.
“JingYi,” he said. “My rule is not for you to concern yourself. My actions and decisions are not for you to bear. Some nobles may not understand my intentions now, but the truth will prevail.”
She whirled around. “Truth?” she parroted.
“What good is truth when it is ignored? The truth did not shield me. It did not lift the stain from my mother’s memory or grant me a place in this court.
” She swallowed, forcing the quiver from her words.
“Impression is what matters. Perception is the current that directs power.”
ShunLi did not reply at once. He simply looked at her, at the fierce, wounded defiance in her eyes, at the tremor she could not suppress.
For a heartbeat, the emperor was gone, and she saw only her brother, hearing the childhood pain she had never before voiced.
The raw honesty hung between them, stripping away the layers of throne and title.
Then, his stern expression softened into something sadder, more understanding. A faint, weary smile touched his lips.
“You are right,” he said quietly. “In this place, perception is power. But JingYi, you are the rare thing this court cannot comprehend: a person who became powerful without manipulating perception. You overcame its cruelty by being real, even when ‘real’ was all you were allowed to be.”
He closed the distance between them. With a tenderness that disarmed her, he cradled her cheek—the marked cheek, the testament to her lifelong struggle for a truth no one wanted.
“The court can play their games,” he murmured. “Your only duty now is to the self you fought to become. Not to me. Not to this legacy of lies. You are free.”
For a long moment, she only looked at him—the brother who had once been a silhouette in a palace of shadows. Then she turned back to the pond, watching the carp glide beneath the water’s skin.
She’d chosen once before, stepped away from Alexander—not to punish, but to free them both so they could heal. So she could learn the shape of her own soul, apart from his.
This choice felt different. It was not an ending, but a new beginning, built on her own terms.
She chose herself. For herself.