Annett’s eyes widened, blinking against the dim light. “So soon?”
“Your body is already making space. You’ll feel it more in the coming days—tightness, maybe pressure in the hips and low back. That’s the child beginning its descent.”
A soft sound left the girl’s lips—half-nerves, half-something like awe. She rubbed her belly, the movement tender, almost unconscious. “Just as well. I can’t wait to meet the little one.”
“All signs are favourable, but rest is everything now.” JingYi covered her with a quilt. “Keep warm. No lifting, no sudden movements. Trust the work your body already knows how to do.”
Annett gave a nod, firmer this time. “Yes, Princess. I promise.”
JingYi patted Annett’s hand before she left her to rest. She saw Alexander’s silhouette just outside the door, speaking with Ulrik, rays of sunlight catching his jawline. Both men turned as she emerged.
Ulrik’s face hadn’t changed much since she arrived—creased with sleeplessness, drawn by the gravity of a man waiting on fate. But his eyes searched hers now with the cautious desperation of a father—or a grandfather—bracing for bad news.
“She’s doing well,” JingYi said immediately, not wanting to keep the man in misery even a second longer. “The bruises are healing. She’s able to eat. Her pulse is strong. The child’s energy is descending as it should. There are early signs of labour. Subtle, but enough to suggest she may deliver soon.”
Ulrik exhaled a breath. He bowed his head briefly, then rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Thank you, Highness. For everything.”
JingYi wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. “I’ll return tomorrow. But if anything changes before then—” Her hand came to rest on his arm. “Send word to the castle. Immediately.”
“I will, Highness. I’m grateful.”
Alexander stepped forward, his hand settling firmly on Ulrik’s shoulder—a show of thanks. Then he turned to her, extending the crook of his elbow.
Her gaze flicked from his face to his proffered arm. Last night’s flight lay between them, unacknowledged. This was a bridge back, presented in the clear light of day. After a measured pause, she accepted.
Together, they walked toward the waiting horses.
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?”