Chapter 8
JINGYI
The guard who’d killed the bandit and taken her to Wilris Morass escorted her to the tent’s entrance. He bowed. She spoke before he could slip away.
“I’d like to thank you, sir, for your protection during the skirmish.”
He dipped lower, then glanced up with a smile that bordered on roguish. “It was nothing, Your Highness. Any man worth his steel would’ve done the same. And, please, call me Tedric.”
She inclined her head. As he turned away, she watched him.
A Beta, she was certain, yet he’d fought with an Alpha’s precision and ferocity.
In X?en-Sarai, the guards ringing her father’s palace were almost all Alpha-born, with the rare Beta clawing their way to recognition, though never with such ease.
Inside the tent, a water basin waited. She plunged her hands into the cool water, and the first pink swirls of Conrad’s blood bloomed.
She scrubbed, not with a healer’s efficiency, but with a survivor’s desperation.
The blood under her nails, the spray that had dotted her neck—each mark was a map of the violence that had touched her.
She stared into the rusty brown water, breath coming short, until the image of the axe splitting the bandit’s neck flashed behind her eyes.
She gripped the basin’s edge, forcing air into her lungs. It’s done. You’re alive. He’s alive. Only then did she wash her face, the white linen coming away stained.
Carefully, she sat on the edge of the fur bed. Tension drained from her body, leaving her weakened and quivering. She pressed her palms to her cheeks. Heat seeped through her skin as memories returned.
She’d gone against Lord Wulfbane’s command. Worse, she’d spoken to him as though she had the right to direct him, or his men. That alone was a slight worthy of a public beating in the Imperial Palace.
Yet, he hadn’t hurled objects at her like Master Yu, nor struck her as others would. Lord Wulfbane had thanked her.
No one, other than Wu Mā or Fēng, had ever thanked her.
When he’d grasped her hand in parting, she almost flinched. In her world, hands had been seized, struck, used. Never honoured. She cradled that hand to her chest now. It still bore the imprint of his warmth, as though he had pressed an invisible seal upon her skin.
The tent flap lifted and MeiYün swept inside, hands on her hips.
“Lord Wulfbane is waiting outside for you,” she announced, lips twisting.
JingYi’s stomach dipped. “Why?”
“How should I know?” MeiYün sneered, clearly irritated at being made a messenger. “If you want answers, ask him yourself. Tsk. If he saw what’s under that veil, he wouldn’t be waiting like a dog.”
The insult followed a well-worn path. Jing Yi let it pass. She tried to feel . . . nothing. This numbness was her oldest armour.
She held MeiYün’s gaze. “He is not a dog.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “I meant it figuratively, you fool.”
Of course, JingYi knew. Still, the word jarred. Lord Wulfbane was nothing so domesticated. There was a primal gravity about him—untamed, commanding—that brought to mind not a hound, but a wolf.
And hadn’t he been born in the year of the Wolf?
Ignoring MeiYün’s derisive snort, JingYi put on her half-veil—the swath of fabric she’d torn from her hat—and stepped outside.
As promised, Lord Wulfbane stood waiting.
Moonlight silvered his wheat-coloured hair, catching the small braids at his temples and the pale ice of his eyes.
The rest of his shoulder-length hair swayed in the night breeze.
He was, without question, the most formidable man she’d ever seen.
Taller than ShunLi, broader than even the Imperial General.
Rugged as a mountain, cut through with the refinement of nobility, his face was both severe and beautiful, tugging at something low in her belly.
Tonight, he’d shed his cloak and armour, clad now in only a black quilted arming coat. Even unarmoured, he looked no less formidable.
JingYi curtsied. “You summoned me, my lord?”
He bowed and cleared his throat, expression unreadable but not unkind. “After what happened tonight, I thought you might welcome a chance to bathe in the lake.”
His words were spoken in careful Tremesi—measured, deliberate, as if meant to ease her understanding. It took her a moment to grasp his meaning. When she did, her stomach plummeted.
“You want me . . .” Her voice faltered. “To bathe with you?”
For a beat, there was only silence. Confusion crossed his expression first, then a scowl, before his expression shuttered completely.
In X?en-Sarai, men and women didn’t so much as share a meal unless bound by blood or marriage. The thought of undressing, of standing bare in water beside a man she’d only just met—even if said man was her husband by proxy marriage—sent heat to her cheeks.
Was this a Tremorian test of modesty?
“Not with me,” he said at last, voice clipped. “I will remain ashore. My back will be turned the entire time.”
Relief struck first. Then, mortification crept in. He hadn’t suggested impropriety at all. Of course he hadn’t.
Still, her stomach knotted, because the mere thought of him in the same water had set her pulse racing in a way she didn’t understand.
Was it simply because he was an Alpha, impossible to ignore?
And she an Omega, naturally destined to be attracted to him?
Or was it something else entirely, something she didn’t yet have words for?
When she dared lift her eyes, all traces of warmth vanished, and a chill distance took its place. She had insulted him, clearly.
Her tongue struggled to find the words in Tremesi, so she lowered her head and whispered in Isseric, “Please forgive me. I misjudged you. It is not my intention to doubt your honour.”
He didn’t speak at first, but she heard his long sigh. His reply came gentler, “You have every reason to be cautious. I am a stranger, after all.”
She swallowed hard. Yes, a stranger. One who, in such a short time, had affected her more than anyone else in her life.
He stepped closer, caution in every move.
“I understand your trepidation, Princess. This is only an offer to let you refresh yourself after the day’s journey.
If you’d rather go with your ladies, I’ll not stop you.
But they failed you earlier, and—” He worked his jaw once, twice.
“Forgive me, but they are no true companions.”
JingYi tilted her head back to meet his eyes. It was thoughtful, this offer. Sweat and blood clung to her skin, and the thought of her companions’ complaints about her ripe smell tomorrow was enough reason to go.
Besides, a cool soak sounded heavenly.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said at last. “I will go with you.”
She nearly stumbled in her haste to gather fresh clothes and bathing supplies, ignoring MeiYün sprawled on the furs meant for her.
Outside, Lord Wulfbane offered his arm. After a pause, she accepted.
The solid warmth of him steadied her, but it also quickened her pulse.
The moon shone so brightly that they didn’t need a torch to illuminate their path.
He guided her over the uneven ground toward the lake.
She clenched her teeth as her hip spasmed, pain lancing up her spine. Instinctively, her grip tightened.
“Your right leg,” he said at once. “It troubles you.”
Her breath caught. So, he noticed.
“It bothered me before, my lord, but not anymore. I’ve grown used to the pain, though I try not to let the weakness show.”
He nodded, solemn. “Very admirable of you.”
She lowered her head. Admirable, or pitiable?
“I’m no healer,” he went on, “but I’ve carried my share of battle wounds. If you like, I can show you what eases them for me.”
Her heart stuttered. The image she conjured—his hands on her leg, the intimate proximity—was eclipsed instantly by a darker one: the laughter of the court ladies, their eyes on her deformity. His touch would mean exposure, a surrender of her most guarded shame.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said. “But perhaps . . . after the wedding ceremony.”
A brief silence. Then, he cleared his throat. “Of course.”
As they walked, she studied him furtively. For all his size and strength, Lord Wulfbane carried the look of someone well acquainted with wounds, and the necessity of disguising it. No wonder. A soldier would know the cost of exposing any flaw on the battlefield.
But she couldn’t bear for him to think her a liability in his household, some limping bride foisted upon him.
“But as you saw, my lord, my condition doesn’t hinder me from being useful.”
His head turned, surprise crossing his face. “I wouldn’t dream of thinking it.”
She averted her eyes, grateful for the half-veil. Her cheeks were warm. Courtesy, she told herself. Or pity. But his voice had come without hesitation—no mockery, no pause to measure the words. That unmoored her more than anything he could’ve said.
The lake opened before them, dark and still beneath the trees.
True to his word, Lord Wulfbane stood at a respectful distance and turned away, sentinel-still against the forest’s edge.
Even with his back to her, his presence was a palpable force.
The night breeze carried the faint, clean scent of him—spruce, iron, and smoke—overlaying the damp earth.
It was an Alpha’s scent, but somehow it didn’t feel like a threat.
It felt like a perimeter, a wall between her and the dark.
JingYi undressed, movements frantic, the cool air raising goose bumps on her skin. Her heart hammered—not just from the risk of exposure, but from the sheer, terrifying intimacy of it.
A man was standing guard while she was naked. The concept was so foreign it felt surreal. Yet, the solid, unwavering line of his back communicated a promise more binding than any vow: You are safe.
She slipped into the water, its chill embracing her, easing the day’s ache from her bones. For a long moment, she simply floated, listening to the night. She couldn’t see him, but knew he was twelve paces away. It was the first time in her life she had been both unprotected and utterly safe.
When she dared a glance, he hadn’t moved, his gaze fixed away. A wave of gratitude, so sharp it brought a prickling to her eyes, washed over her. He was giving her this: dignity, privacy, safety. Things she’d never been given without a crippling price.
She cupped a handful of lake water, moonlight trembling on its surface, and wondered what he thought of this marriage. An Alpha lord with his wealth and standing wouldn’t lack choices for a beautiful, suitable Omega.
Why me?
A sharper thought pushed through: perhaps he, too, knew what it was to be alone. His eyes had held shadows—an echo of the same solitude that bound her. The idea was unfathomable . . . and strangely comforting.
She exhaled. For a fragile moment, she closed her eyes and let herself unwind, enjoying the peace, the stillness.
Until something brushed her back.
She froze.
Another touch—softer, like silk. Then, heavier.
Her heart hammered as she turned.
The moon broke free of a passing cloud, washing over the lake in a silver glow. There, a hand’s breadth away, a pale body floated on the surface, limbs slack, long dark hair streaming like river grass in the water.
JingYi held still.
And watched as the dead drifted to greet her.