Chapter 37 #3
“To oversee her care,” the prince clarified, tone softening. “Whatever you did in that shop eased her pain. I’ve never seen her look so . . . relieved since before her pregnancy.”
“But . . . the palace must have its own healer—”
“Her Highness will feel better knowing you’re nearby. And frankly, so will my brother and I. She trusts you already. That isn’t something we take lightly.”
JingYi opened her mouth, but he lifted a hand to stop her.
“You’ll have rest. Food. A private room. Try it out for a few days. If you still wish to go to Bashkor, I’ll arrange your passage myself on a proper ship with escorts, to ensure you safely reach your destination.”
She blinked. An unusual offer. Privileged Alpha princes didn’t go around offering free room, board, and transport to strange women.
“Why is Your Highness being so generous?”
He leaned back, a faint smile on his lips. “Because it’s rare to find someone who helps first and asks questions later. Even rarer to find one who asks for nothing at all.”
A pause stretched between them. JingYi looked down at her bowl, at the single flake of parsley floating in the broth, circling the rim. She hadn’t come to Aethonia to stay. This kingdom was a stop, a place to find a ship bound for Bashkor where there might be work, however meagre.
But hunger, kindness, the unexpected ache of being seen and valued—these things reshaped choices in an instant.
The princess had trusted her. Not just with her body, but with her vulnerability. Her pain. Her life, and that of her unborn child. That kind of trust was rare, and dangerous. Yet, it settled like a weight she couldn’t turn from.
And if—
Her hand drifted, almost absently, to her lower abdomen. If she’d become pregnant herself . . .
She hadn’t thought of it during the chaos of her escape until the sleepless nights on the barge brought up the possibility. There had been no symptoms, no signs. It had only been less than a week, but Omegas in Heat were often fertile, and Alexander had been deep in Rut.
Her fingers cupped the bowl. As a healer, she’d trained herself to be attuned to her body. Even so, she wouldn’t know for a few more days, at least. The possibility alone, though, was enough to change her path, to reshape the risks. In Bashkor, she would be alone. No certainty of work. No security.
“If you are concerned about safety,” the prince said, as if reading her thoughts, “I can assure you—should you accept the post, you become part of the princess’s household. No one touches those under her protection.”
JingYi looked up, lips parting with surprise.
His flaxen brow lifted. “You are an Omega, aren’t you?”
She bit her lower lip. There was no hiding from his astute gaze. She nodded.
With deliberate gentleness, as if soothing a spooked horse, he said, “You will be safe from any Alphas at the palace. The guards are all sworn to my service, hand-picked by my brother and myself. As for us—”
He glanced toward the flower shop, lips curling into a fond smile. “We are already bonded to the princess, and she to us. Our loyalty and affection belong to her, and only her.”
JingYi stilled. The words weren’t boastful. They were binding, as good as a vow. In the world where Alphas were often the architects of an Omega’s downfall, this was no small assurance.
Her gaze met her lap. She didn’t yet know what she wanted from the future, or what awaited her. But if there was even the smallest chance that she carried life within her . . . didn’t she owe it to that life, who couldn’t yet protect themselves, to choose the safer road?
“I will go with you,” she conceded, looking up. “But only until the princess no longer needs my care. Afterwards, I’ll be on my way.”
The prince grinned and tapped the table. “Of course. One step at a time.”
That made it sound as though the prince had another plan up his sleeve.
She rose as the prince did, bringing her clasped hands to her forehead in the X?en formal bow. “Since I am to be in your care, may I ask Your Highness’s name so I may address you properly?”
The prince inclined his head, courteous and at ease. “I am Kaelendrin, the Tazahrin of Asadia.”
JingYi froze. She knew that name. Memories of that afternoon in Alexander’s study, of the letter from a distant cousin—a warning about purple limyerite in Bashkor, all rushed back.
Kaelendrin.
That cousin was now her master and employer. The crown prince of Asadia, Kaelendrin.
She lowered her hands. Chill prickled down her neck despite the sun’s warmth. If she became part of his wife’s household, would it be only a matter of time before Alexander found out? Or worse—visit?
Her mind began to spiral, drawing shapes from her fears. Stop. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and drew a breath. She’d just accepted this role. It was her choice. For her safety, and that of the life she might hold inside her.
She bowed again. “I thank you, Tazahrin Kaelendrin, for your offer of sanctuary. I will serve the princess to the best of my ability.”
Her voice was even. Her hands, however, not quite.
And behind her eyes, a single question bloomed: Had the gods brought her here . . . or led her in a circle, straight back to him?