Chapter 71 #3
“JingYi.” His voice was low, carrying through the silent hall. “For years, I believed my purpose was to restore my House. I was wrong. Duty became obsession. In serving its ghost—” His throat went dry. He swallowed.
“I hurt you.”
The vast quiet swallowed the admission. He let out a shuddered breath.
“You were never just my wife. You were the raven who saw the path when I was blind. Without you, I am just a wolf, circling an empty den.”
The world narrowed to the space between them.
His X?enguā failed him; he switched to Isseric.
“You annulled our marriage to set me free. I am that free man. And my first free choice . . . is you. I love you. I choose you—not as duty, restitution, or strategy. I choose you as the only woman I see. The only future I want. The only soul that is my home.”
Silence followed. No stir from behind the screen. Heartbeat thundering in his ears, his hand clutching the carved box—his anchor, his tether—and slid it forward across the polished floor.
He faced the screen and opened the latch.
Light spilled out—soft at first, then blinding. Three nights Su Jiang had let the crystal drink the moon, and now it released that stolen light in waves. Gasps rippled through the hall. Officials strained for a glimpse. Even the emperor leaned forward, his careful mask slipping for just a breath.
Inside lay a crown—a wreath wrought in the shape of raven feathers, each plume cut and polished from the limyerite crystal he had acquired, its pale flaw gleaming.
Between the feathers, delicate strands of gold filigree wound together, binding each piece into wholeness.
The entire creation was so beautifully translucent that, against her hair, it would appear black.
“I seek no kingdom, no crown,” he told her. “But know this: Wherever you are, in my heart and in my soul—you are queen.”
Silence reigned in the hall, so heavy he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Then, the sharp rattle of bamboo slats broke it.
Alexander’s heart stilled, but it wasn’t JingYi’s screen that moved.
It was the other one, lifting to reveal a pair of dark, blazing eyes fixed on him.
The dangling golden ornaments of her headdress swayed and jingled as she leaned forward.
In that moment, he understood: The rumours of an impossibly beautiful X?en Omega princess were not exaggerated.
“Pretty words, Lord Wulfbane.” High Princess LinXin’s voice carried across the hall. “But what gives you the audacity to think my sister should choose you? You’ve already failed her. Disappointed her. Driven her away. What makes you worthy of her now?”
Her fan tapped its lacquered edge against the arm of her chair. The hall stirred. Nobles craned their necks, some nodding in agreement, others waiting to see what he’d say in his defence.
He cleared his throat and said, “Your Highness, you mistake me. I know I am not worthy.”
The murmurs rose again—surprise, disapproval, curiosity. He let them swell and die before he went on.
“I have disappointed her, so I will learn. I have hurt her, so I will mend. I have failed her, so I will rise, again and again. I ask only for the chance to prove it.”
A silence, absolute and suffocating, swallowed the hall. Alexander remained on his knees, the weight of his own words and Princess LinXin’s searing judgment holding him down. He dared not look at JingYi’s screen. He could only wait.
Then—a rustle. A faint, deliberate shift of silk against wood from behind the left screen. Every gaze snapped toward it. The bamboo slats trembled, then began to rise. Alexander’s pulse hammered in his throat as the screen revealed the one figure he had ached to see.
JingYi.
She descended the dais in a gown of jade and gold, silk flowing like water over her form, embroidered lotus catching the light with every step.
A phoenix crown rested on her brow, golden strands swaying, framing a face he had memorized in darkness.
Her uneven steps—a rhythm he knew in his soul.
When she was close enough, she extended her hand.
His own shook as he took it, instinctively firming to anchor her.
Her other hand rose. Cool and sure, her fingers brushed his cheek, traced his jaw. Her thumb settled over his pulse, claiming the very beat of his heart. No court. No past. Only her eyes, dark and luminous, holding his entire world.
She leaned down. Her kiss was not a question, but an answer.
Soft at first, then deepening—a desperate, shared breath that held every lonely night, every unanswered thought, every mile he had traveled to find her.
A tear traced from her cheek to his; he tasted its salt.
He rose from his knees, one arm circling her waist, the other cradling her head, fingers tangling in her hair.
He kissed her back with every shattered vow reforged into a promise.
When they finally parted, her forehead rested against his. Her breath warmed his skin. For a moment, only the sound of it—uneven, shared. Then she laughed—a soft, astonished sound that held more joy than any symphony. His chest squeezed so tightly he couldn’t breathe.
In that moment, he saw no High Princess, no healer. He saw past the silks and jewels, past the blemish that once condemned her—and saw the soul tempered into brilliance.
She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.