Chapter 74
JINGYI
The first sensation upon waking was the weight of his arm across her waist—a warm, possessive anchor in the dim light of dawn.
JingYi opened her eyes to the familiar painted ceiling of Magnolia Palace.
For a moment, the peace was absolute. Then memory returned, with the steady, solid presence of the man wrapped around her.
Alexander. His breath was a soft rhythm against her hair. The small ache on her shoulder where his teeth had marked her was a visceral reminder.
She shifted, and his arm flexed. A low, sleep-rough sound rumbled in his chest. He was instantly awake—a soldier’s habit she was coming to know.
“You’re up,” he murmured into her hair.
Her lips curved as she patted his arm. “So are you.”
Silence stretched, filled only by their syncing breaths. She should rise. The palace would soon stir. But in this cocoon of early light, she couldn’t bring herself to let go.
He pressed his forehead to the crown of her head. “Stay a while,” he whispered. She heard the tremor in his plea—still afraid, still half-convinced she would vanish if he blinked.
She turned in his arms. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb grazing her birthmark with a tenderness that made her chest ache. The mark he had once failed to see, now touched as if it were holy.
“I thought . . . I might never know this,” she breathed. “Not like this.”
His brow lowered to hers. “And I thought I would never be given the chance.”
His lips brushed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth—kisses like vows, sealing promises neither crown nor court could take.
“What if I had refused you?” she asked softly. “What if I’d gone a different way?”
His breath stilled. She felt his body go taut before he propped himself on an elbow. His eyes, blue as a summer sky, met hers.
“I would have returned to Parandor,” he admitted. “My people still need me. I cannot forsake them.” His voice roughened. “But I would not have stopped. I would have written to you. Letters. Pleas. I would have crossed the sea to stand before you, hoping to change your mind, even if it took years.”
A simple, relentless plan. He would spend a lifetime holding the door open for her, simply because he loved her.
Her lips trembled as she smoothed his brow. “Such a stubborn, relentless man—even when I tried to let you go.”
He caught her hand before it fell, pressing her palm to his mouth. His eyes never left hers, steady with quiet fire.
“I am a stubborn fool,” he agreed. “But a fool who loves you.”
He pressed her down—his lips and hands memorizing her all over again.
After another bath, they sat down to breakfast. The round table in her dining room held a steaming tureen of clear broth, its surface dotted with slivers of ginger and bright scallion.
Beside it, a bamboo basket held dumplings, their wrappers so delicate the minced pheasant and wild herbs within showed through like watercolour.
Small dishes of pickled vegetables and honeyed tangerines rounded up the meal.
JingYi watched as Alexander lifted his jade tsaiwàn without hesitation and deftly picked up a dumpling. He held it to her lips.
“The Xian family must have been very patient with you,” she said teasingly.
“They were,” he concurred. His expression remained serious, but his eyes were smiling. “Now, open for me.”
The words, so practical in this context, sent heat to her cheeks. Her body remembered it as a whisper hours before dawn, a prelude to a different kind of pleasure. A sweet shiver traced her spine.
She parted her lips, and he fed her the morsel.
It was an act of startling tenderness, thrumming with the care of an Alpha providing for his mate.
The delicate skin gave way and the rich, savoury filling bloomed across her tongue.
In that moment, the act of being fed felt as intimate as a kiss—a primal symbol of his care, his claim, and his unwavering commitment to nurture and protect her.
He served himself a dumpling with the same efficiency. “I owe them much. I should send word soon, so they don’t worry.”
His eyes sharpened during a small pause. “I have a request, Wife, if you can help.”
He told her about Xian Jun’s plea to see his cousin, Xian Rui. The name struck a chord. Jing Yi’s stomach turned. Xian Rui—who had been given the name and title ‘Consort LüYin’ when she entered Peony Court at nine years old.
“My father destroyed many lives,” she said grimly. “Consider this done. I will see that Xian Jun and his family are permitted to enter the Imperial Palace to meet Consort LüYin at the earliest opportunity.”
His smile was warm, his eyes holding the quiet relief of sharing a burden. He squeezed her hand. “I want you to meet them, too. They took me in as if I were not a stranger. It’s important to me that you know them.”
“I would be honoured to meet them.” She accepted another bite he offered. As she took his bowl and ladled a serving of soup, she said, “And I want you to meet my people too: Wu Mā and Fēng. We’ll go to the Royal Dispensary after breakfast.”
He smiled—a real one, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and held a warmth that had nothing to do with politeness. He wanted to meet them. Her people. Her history. All of it.
By the time they finished their meal and emerged from Magnolia Palace, the morning sun already spilled over the garden paths.
As they strolled toward the Jade Mortar Hall, he said, “Our first marriage was in Tremore. Now that it’s annulled, would you like to marry here before we journey home? Your siblings, Wu Mā, and Fēng could attend.”
JingYi pursed her lips. “I want to. But I wonder . . . how our wedding might implicate ShunLi’s reign.”
She let the thought hang, watching his understanding dawn. His lips pursed into a tight line.
“Haorán told me the court is insisting you marry again.”
JingYi arched a brow. “Haorán told you? When?”
“He found me the day you went into the city. The ministers drafted a list of suitors.”
She paused at the top of a viewing bridge. So that was how Alexander knew about yesterday’s event. An amused smile touched her lips, followed by sobering clarity. Haorán wasn’t just steadfast; he was cunning. He’d seen a need she wouldn’t voice and had acted where she couldn’t.
She owed him a greater debt than she’d believed.
“Are there powerful allies on that list,” Alexander asked, “who will cause trouble when they learn you’ve chosen to return to your former husband?”
“The trouble isn’t the suitors. It’s the Dowager. She insists I marry a nobleman from Tzadun-Khor to compensate for breaking their betrothal pact.”
A low growl emanated from his chest. “After everything, they still think to barter with your life?”
She offered him a small smile. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t about to let them dictate my life.” She took his arm and tugged him across the arched bridge, pink and purple lotus floating below. “Before you arrived, I planned to take a position as a royal physician in Asadia. Your cousin sent an offer.”
A rare wicked gleam entered his eyes. “Then I relish the chance to tell him you politely decline.”
A chuckle escaped her, but a sobering thought cut it short. One final, unresolved thread remained—one that could snag everything they were weaving together.
“The Dowager is not a threat we can leave behind.” She lowered her voice. “She is the one who must be dealt with before we can truly leave.”
She told him what she’d learned from ShunLi—that his mother had single-handedly orchestrated her and her mother’s fall. Alexander’s jaw tensed, a visible clench of restraint.
“She destroyed your life once. She will not get a second chance.”
Shaking her head, she continued, “I do not worry for myself, but for my brother. He will need every ally he can keep. The court is a nest of scorpions. Half of them will swear allegiance to his face and plot his downfall behind his back. They will see him as a patricide, a usurper, no matter the reasons.”
She felt Alexander’s gaze on her before he spoke. “He knew the cost when he swung the sword. Sometimes, a ruler’s first lesson is that power is taken, not given. He has taken it, now he must hold it.” He paused. “Do you fear for his safety?”
“I fear the chaos those loyal to my father and the Dowager might unleash,” she corrected. “And what it might mean for Adelise.”
“You’ve met her, spent time with her in tenuous circumstances. You’ve seen she’s stronger than others give her credit for.”
Two women born to crowns, bound by the choices of fathers, brothers, and kings. By blood, they should have been protected; she had learned it wasn’t always the case.
Above them, the sky stretched clear and cloudless. Spring had arrived in full splendour, the garden paths lined with radiant blooms. But neither colour nor fragrance could reach the shadows gathered in her mind.
Nobles and consorts strolled among the paths, all bowing as she passed. Whispers followed Alexander, the foreign Alpha in their midst, but he bore them with the practiced calm of a man long accustomed to gossip and scandal.
As another cluster of nobles passed, he asked, “Will you show me the Alphas who wronged you? The ones your brother stopped, years ago.”
Her steps slowed. “You would see them punished?”
“I would see my axe lodged in their groins,” he said bluntly. “I left it behind, but any dull knife will do.”
A small smile curved her lips. “You barbarous man,” she chuckled.
His jaw worked, voice low. “Some of my kind hide behind ‘instinct’ and take what was never offered. That isn’t nature—it’s a violation. They sour the word Alpha for everyone.”
Her smile faded. She thought of Tedric, again, with his fierce talk of burning the system down, of erasing the very castes that allowed Alphas their dominance. Yet, here stood Alexander, proof that not all Alphas were beasts. Proof that strength and gentleness could share the same body.
“Yes,” she concurred. “They must be stopped. Not only for what they tried to do to me, but for what they might yet do to others.”
From the turn in the path, a small entourage appeared. At its centre walked the Dowager Consort. JingYi curtsied, and their eyes met. The woman’s gaze slid past them as if they were air—the cut delivered with surgical precision. She swept by without a word, attendants scurrying in her wake.
Alexander stared after her. “That’s ShunLi’s mother? I’ve climbed snow-capped mountains warmer than her.”
“She now seethes because her plans have unravelled.” Her gaze flicked up to his. “Which means she will come at us from another angle. And before she does, I must move first.”
He took her hand, and they continued walking. “What do you plan to do?”
She glanced back once at the Dowager’s retreating entourage, then met his eyes. “I have a plan. But I’ll need your help.”