Chapter 30
ALEXANDER
He visited Wulfbane cave once a year—usually in spring, when frost lifted and village stores ran low.
A small team of miners would enter with him, extracting only what was necessary to keep Blackwood-Verde afloat through the lean seasons.
The deposit was modest but belonged solely to his House—one of the few things the Crown couldn’t touch.
Limyerite crystals were not readily renewed. The earth gave them slowly, and only to those who didn’t press too hard. Alexander had sworn long ago to protect that rhythm. This cave wouldn’t be stripped in his time—not for greed, not for politics. It would be preserved for those who came after.
He paused at the entrance, pressing his hand to the stone bearing the Wulfbane crest.
‘You can’t command a territory you don’t understand,’ his father had said. ‘You walk it. You witness it. You must know the men who sweat in your name.’
As a child, his lungs were too soft for the tang of dust and smoke. He had stood right here, watching miners emerge from the dark—faces streaked with sweat, clothes glinting with crystal dust like they’d bathed in starlight.
That had been the last spring his father brought him down. A few months later, the Crown’s stewards had arrived with accusations of treason and a letter bearing a seal Alexander would never forget.
Every spring since, the boy in him stood at this threshold again, trailing behind a ghost. But the man was the one who walked in.
He turned and helped Jingyi down the steps, her fingers chilled but sure in his grasp.
The damp linen mask they both wore—a shield against the limyerite dust and poisonous rot—muffled her breath.
She moved with her usual care, but he saw the added stiffness in her right leg, the legacy of last night’s flight.
The memory rushed back: her in his chamber, his hand hovering near her cheek, the shattered silence as she abruptly turned and fled.
He had replayed it in the dark hours, each time the ache becoming more tender.
He had misread the moment, pushed too soon, and her fear had been a physical thing in the room.
He swallowed his sigh and looked ahead. Darion was already mounting limyerite torches to illuminate the deeper corridors. Tedric stood guard at the cave’s mouth.
“You keep this mine in working condition,” Jingyi said, glancing around as she watched her step.
He nodded. “It is maintained throughout the year. We need to, if we want to reap the crystals.”
They moved deeper. The ground was uneven and slick with moisture, the air cool, humming with the low resonance of ancient things. The walls narrowed, and soon the cavern began to shimmer—silver-blue limyerite veins glowing softly like frost against stone.
“Does the crown sanction the mining?”
“They do. This place belonged to the Wulfbane family before the Crown’s Mineral Edicts consolidated Tremore’s limyerite sources. It remains under our name as long as the yield stays below the threshold requiring royal oversight. We also cannot export, only sell in local markets.”
“How much is the yield compared to those under Bertrand’s purview?”
“His caves produce about fifty times as much.”
She didn’t comment, but her eyes took in the worn but well-maintained rail grooves, the walls reinforced with care.
“How often do you harvest?”
“Once a year, after the last spring frost. Only the amount we need. I won’t see it stripped bare—it should be passed down as part of our legacy.”
As they crept further in, the silver-blue gave way to vibrant purple, glimmering along the rock wall, dappled with a webbed black sheen.
She stepped closer. “What’s that black growth?”
Alexander came to her side, lowering his lantern until its glow pooled across the stone. “That is Blackcap. A natural growth—a creeping mold that anchors itself into the mineral beds.”
“A type of fungus?” She crouched down. “It looks fibrous, like roots.”
“It is. On its own, it’s toxic enough to cause fever and sickness when ingested. But when it feeds on the limyerite, interesting things happen.”
She looked up at him, a frown tugging at her lips. “It transforms the crystal?”
“The limyerite binds with the fungus’s toxins, transforming into a new, denser compound. The effect can be unpredictable, as you know.”
Her brows drew together as she traced the striation with her gaze.
“The purple variant carries the properties of both,” Alexander continued. “When the deposits are chipped or cut too hastily, the dust becomes airborne. You breathe it in. First comes euphoria. Then disorientation. Hallucinations. Collapse.”
They stood close together as she inspected the growth. She wasn’t simply tolerating his explanation. She saw the stewardship he valued, the legacy he was trying to protect. The warmth of that recognition—she was seeing him—caught him off guard.
Now, he was the one watching. The way her intelligent eyes traced the row of blackcaps with intent. The way her fingers touched the growth with caution.
“This reminds me of the first time we met,” she said softly. “After the bandits.”
He cleared his throat. “The plume moss.”
She nodded.
“You didn’t need me that night,” he said, “but I wanted to steady you anyway.”
She looked up, her eyes dark and solemn beneath the torch’s flickering silver.
Her scent shifted—not overwhelming, not the raw call of Heat—but something smoky-sweet.
He drew a breath and let it out through his nose.
He had always assumed that if he ever found someone who matched him, the feeling would be instant, undeniable, like lightning.
But this wasn’t lightning. This was a quiet bloom of heat in his chest. Warmth he hadn’t known he’d been searching for until it was already there.
He looked at her again.
The impulse to touch was there, the same one that had lifted his hand the night before. But now, he knew its cost. He saw not just the curve of her cheek, but the subtle tension in her brow, the readiness to withdraw behind the linen mask protecting her from the air.
His want was not worth her fear, no matter how easy it would have been to hook a finger beneath the edge of that mask, draw it down, and kiss her—not with lust, but with something steadier.
The kind of kiss that said, even through the dust and dread: I see you.
I know you. I want to know who you’ll be when given the chance to bloom.
He reached forward and guided her hand toward the cluster of Blackcap, just as he had with the moss.
“If you want a sample, track the seam carefully. It fractures easily near the base.”
She bent her head and collected a piece with deft hands, storing it inside a pouch she then tucked inside her cloak’s pocket. When she stood, he offered his hand. She took it. Strong and steady beneath the layers of leather, her fingers curled around his before letting go.
They moved toward the entrance, and the cave breathed them out into dusk.
Pale light clung to the ridges, the dimming sun draped across the horizon like a fading banner. Alexander paused just outside the mouth, tugging off one glove as he exhaled slowly. Beside him, Jingyi tilted her head toward the sky, eyes half-lidded, as though enjoying the last vestiges of the day.
A breeze lifted, carrying her scent to him—deeper now, sweeter at the edges.
The Alpha inside him stirred toward the Omega shifting within her.
Not yet Heat, but close. A Kindling. His body registered it before his mind did.
Muscles coiled, breath deepened. Every part of him attuned to that subtle call.
It would be natural to respond. To offer.
To step closer, steady, claim. But the memory of her fleeing—the sharp, pained sound of her limping run—was more powerful than any instinct.
She hadn’t asked for help. And Alexander had no intention of stealing that choice from her.
So he stood still. If she needed him, if she wanted him, he would be there. But until then, he would give her the one thing few Alphas ever offered an Omega on the cusp of vulnerability.
Space.
Before he could speak again, rapid hoofbeats sounded on the path below. A moment later, Ulrik came into view, riding hard up the slope on a grey gelding, cloak streaming behind him. He didn’t dismount, only pulled the reins hard, his horse skidding across the gravel-covered earth.
His gaze found Jingyi immediately. “It’s Annett. The babe’s coming. Lord Fortier’s man wanted to show off his skills, but my daughter will have no one but you, Princess.”
Jingyi was already moving toward the horse. “Take me to her.”
Alexander reached for her wrist. “I’ll take you. We leave now.”
She blinked but didn’t pull away.
They rode hard through the falling dark. JingYi’s weight pressed against his back, her arms locked around his waist, her breath a warm brush against his neck with each jolting stride. Ulrik’s horse pounded behind.
The village emerged below, lanterns like fallen stars in the valley. One cottage blazed brighter than the rest, shadows moving urgently behind the windows. A small, tense crowd had gathered outside. At its edge stood Bertrand and Hevlan, their postures stiff.
Ulrik dismounted and glared at them. “I told you. My daughter wants the princess. No one else.”
Hevlan sputtered, “This is highly irregular. A delicate female condition requires a certified—”
“She wants her,” Ulrik repeated, jerking his chin toward JingYi. Alexander caught the look as he dismounted and lifted her down.
The crowd parted, their eyes on her. Before she stepped away, she looked at Ulrik and squeezed his hand.
“I’ll do everything I can,” she said. “I promise.”
The gruff man nodded, pale and sweating. Jingyi turned and crossed to the entrance. Her limp was pronounced after the brutal ride, but her stride didn’t falter. The cluster of women parted for her. The door shut, sealing her inside with the struggle.
Alexander remained. A sea of fear and expectation swelled around him. They glanced his way, seeking reassurance, but he had none to give.
He had commanded soldiers, held borders, treated with kings. But here, that kind of strength was useless. Here, he was powerless.
So he did the only thing left, the hardest thing for a man of action:
He waited for her.