Chapter 32
ALEXANDER
From the window in his study, Alexander watched the morning break golden over Parandor, gilding the hills in copper and flame. A breath of woodsmoke in the air. The fields glowed with autumn’s plenty: fat gourds, bundled wheat, apples red as rubies.
If there was ever a day the gods might bless, it would be this one.
He’d risen early, hoping the chill would quiet his thoughts, but it hadn’t. JingYi’s voice from the night before still echoed: ‘I will climb every step to the top of the hill. Properly.’
This wasn’t defiance—only that terrifying, absolute resolve of hers that sent a twin surge of pride and sickness to his heart.
‘I promise.’
He sighed. She thought he didn’t want her at the ritual. He’d meant only to spare her the strain. After the villagers, Annett’s labour, and too many long days carrying the weight of her role, she deserved rest. But she had looked at him like she already knew what he saw in her.
Duty. Distance. Pity. The old categories he’d first put her in. The lens through which she believed he still viewed her.
But never pride. Never change. Never the dawning, humbling realization rewriting his understanding: she wasn’t a responsibility to endure, but a partner whose strength made his own feel less solitary.
Never the truth of how steady she made him feel just by standing nearby.
A voice inside him urged: Tell her.
Yet how could he convince her when he’d damned himself with careless words while he thought she wasn’t listening?
He left his study and descended the stairs.
Parandor hummed with preparations—servants carrying linens and garlands, the scent of roasting squash and honeyed bread drifting through the halls.
Children darted ahead of their mothers, laughter threading through the autumn air.
On the back terrace, Yrenna directed the hanging of flower chains and altar arrangements with the practiced ease of a woman who still remembered how to make this place shine.
Darion passed through the side corridor with a small group of guards, giving a quick nod as he headed for the outer courtyard. Alexander caught him with a low call.
“Check the path to the hilltop,” he said. “Make sure it’s as flat as possible. I want every step secured.”
Darion slowed. “For the procession?”
“Princess JingYi is leading it herself.”
Darion’s eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. “Ulrik mentioned that. Said he and a few of the lads offered to carry her in a litter. She turned them down?”
“She insists on walking.” Alexander’s tone was even, though he couldn’t quite keep out the tension.
Darion exhaled through his nose. “Stubborn woman.”
“She wouldn’t thank you for saying so.”
“No, but I might thank her. If half our nobles had that kind of spine, we wouldn’t be up to our ears in foolishness.”
Alexander didn’t smile, but his tension eased. He lowered his voice. “Her scent has also begun to change. I need your help in keeping the younger Alphas in line.”
Darion’s posture changed immediately, all amusement gone. “Her Heat is arriving?”
“Not yet. But the signs are there. And the younger Alphas—”
“Are already getting stirred,” Darion finished, grim. “I saw a young one trailing behind her like a dog this morning. I had to reassign him to the battlements before I beat the impertinence out of him.”
Alexander’s jaw flexed. “I will be close by, but I want a wider buffer.”
Darion leaned in close. “You know there’s a surer way to shield her. A stronger one, which no other Alpha can refute.”
Alexander said nothing.
Darion’s voice dropped lower. “A claim, even just a scent-mark, would be enough to make the others back off. You wouldn’t even have to make it formal yet, if you want to court her or do something lord-like.”
The suggestion sent a bolt of pure, territorial heat through Alexander’s veins. The instinct was immediate and fierce: to do it, to mark what was his, to silence every challenge before it began. He clenched his jaw against the impulse and looked away.
“She hasn’t asked for that.”
Darion sighed. “Sometimes you have to read the signs, my lord.”
Alexander looked back. “What do you mean?”
Darion studied him for a long beat, then inclined his head. “Never mind. You guard her. I’ll keep the others back. But you’re walking on a knife’s edge.”
“I know.”
Yrenna approached with a bundle of altar cloths folded neatly against her side, her steps unhurried despite the flurry of preparations behind her. She raised a brow—not in displeasure, but in that odd, teasing way she always did when Darion was involved.
“Why does every conversation between you two sound like troop deployment?” she asked.
Darion, one shoulder braced against the gatepost, glanced her way. “Because when the ground shifts beneath you, my lady, it pays to know where you stand.”
Yrenna gave a soft, unimpressed click of her tongue. “It’s a festival, Commander. You might consider smiling before you startle the children and frighten the horses.”
Darion returned a short grunt. “Children I can handle. It’s their parents that cause trouble. And the horses? They like me.”
Yrenna’s mouth curved—small, unmistakably amused. “If you say so, Commander,” she said before sauntering off, Darion’s eyes following her until she disappeared around the corner.
Alexander remained silent. He rarely interrupted when they circled each other like this—Yrenna sharper than she let on, Darion unwilling to admit how easily she unseated him without a weapon. In moments of uncertainty, Alexander found their sparring almost comforting.
A wry thought occurred to him. After all his fretting over Yrenna’s dowry and prospects, after every advantageous match he’d turned over in his mind, what if the answer had been here all along?
Not a lord or a nobleman’s son, but his own right hand.
His friend. The man who’d never backed down from her, and whom she’d never softened her edges for.
He left Darion and found Conrad near the stables, hands full of garlands. His ward was all elbows and shoulders this season, limbs outgrowing his frame faster than he could manage them. There was a gawky sincerity to the way he worked, focus narrowed on each knot and loop.
It struck Alexander how much the boy reminded him of himself—before the shame and grief, before title and duty stripped away the ease in his body, the softness behind his gaze.
Conrad looked up at his approach.
“Pup,” Alexander said. “I want you near Princess JingYi today. Discreet, but close.”
The boy’s brow furrowed. “Has there been a threat on Her Highness?”
“No.” Not a visible one, at least. “Just caution. Keep Tedric with you. Stay alert.”
The corners of Conrad’s mouth pulled tight. “With Tedric?”
Alexander paused. “Is there a problem?”
The boy scuffed his boot. “He beats me in the yard. Every time. And makes a joke of it.” His ears went a little red. “But he slips the line. Turns up and vanishes on his own errands. Not enough dirt under his nails for a man who says he’s always on the road.”
He gave the boy a wry look. “He’s older and faster. That’s training, not treachery. If he teases, answer him by besting him. As for his errands, they’re mine to assign.”
Conrad swallowed whatever else he was about to say and nodded.
“Good,” Alexander said. “Set pride aside and do the work. Stay close to Her Highness. If Tedric’s near, use it. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
He reached out and placed a hand on Conrad’s shoulder—a brief, solid grip.
“You have good instincts, pup. Trust them. And watch her back as you would mine.”
The boy’s eyes widened slightly, then steadied with a new determination. “Aye, my lord.”
Alexander followed a thread of intuition to the lower hall. There she was, standing beside the elder cook in a simple dark plum gown edged with gold, counting bundles of altar herbs. Her head was bent, dark braids coiled neatly at the nape. She looked up when he approached, her expression guarded.
“You should be resting before the ceremony,” he told her.
Her fingers stilled on a bundle of rosemary. “So should you. We sought our beds at the same time this morning.”
He couldn’t argue with that. His bones felt the exhaustion heavier than usual, but he wouldn’t worry about himself if she still insisted on working.
“I’ll go to the village once I’m finished here,” she said. “I promised Ulrik I’ll look in on Annett and Aniva. I also want to check on Daan.”
Alexander didn’t respond at first. He watched her finish tying the last bundle, fingers swift and sure despite the faint tremors.
“If you’re going to the village,” he said, “let someone else finish the work here.”
She didn’t stop. “I’ve been trained to always finish what I started.”
“You’re not a servant anymore. You’re the mistress of this keep. The villagers already look up to you. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
She glanced at him. He tried to read her emotions, but she kept them shuttered so tightly he couldn’t see through her.
“I know,” she said, “but I’d like to. If that’s allowed.”
That one word struck him—allowed—a boundary, firmly drawn.
He stepped closer, close enough to see the tension in her jaw. “I have to be here to oversee the preparations,” he told her. “When you go to the village, let Conrad ride with you. And Tedric. Just in case.”
Her obsidian eyes went sharp. “I don’t need two guards to ride a familiar path.”
He didn’t move. “You’re nearing Heat. Whether you show it or not, others might feel it.”
A flicker crossed her face—quick, unreadable. She raised her chin a touch. “I’ve managed it before.”
“This isn’t before.”
Even now, he could smell the shift in her scent. Her Heat stirring, the dawning of what she tried so hard to control.
She held his gaze a moment longer. “You’re saying this because you don’t believe I know my limits.”
His jaw tensed, frustration rousing. “That’s not it.”
“It’s not?” Her voice didn’t rise, but her expression hardened. “If I collapse, if I falter, what will that mean for you? For your House? For everything you’ve staked on this marriage?”
“That’s not what I—”