The prince was bonded. She could sense the golden scent clinging to him, twined with the princess’s. It softened his edges, blunted the instinct her nearness might have stirred. With a bonded Alpha, there was no risk of confusion, no threat of crossing lines.
Princess Reiyana turned to her, her tired face lighting up. “JingYi, come with me. I’ll show you my room and where you’ll be staying.”
They moved through corridors lined with arched windows opened wide to the sea. Wherever they walked, the ocean followed. Air stirred through open shutters, ruffling gauze curtains and carrying the scent of lemon blossom and jasmine. Servants bowed as they passed. The princess returned each bow with a small smile, setting an unhurried pace. Whether it was her natural cadence or a courtesy to JingYi’s uneven gait, she gave no sign.
At the corridor’s end, Reiyana pushed open a pair of white carved doors and ushered her inside.
It was a room touched by two worlds. The bones were unmistakably Aethonian—pale stone, high arches, painted tiles in shades of sea and sky—but the furnishings bore Asadia’s touch: velvet cushions in deep wine and lapis, a carved screen inlaid with mirrored glass, and a brass incense burner still warmwith sandalwood and clove. On a low table sat an intricately carved lantern and hand-painted bowls of dried figs and sugared almonds. Beyond a painted partition, a bed sprawled—wide enough for three, JingYi noted with amusement—draped in brocade and sheer linens the colour of desert dusk.
“You’ll be staying close by,” the princess said. “I sent a message ahead of time and had the staff prepare the antechamber beside my dressing room.”
She motioned for JingYi to follow. They passed through a doorway, and yet another door into a smaller room—modest, but bright with filtered sunlight and smelling of flowering thyme.
“I thought it best that you remain nearby, in case anything happens during the night,” Reiyana said. Then, she smiled, almost shyly. “And . . . even here, the princes are often occupied with matters of the state, or with my three brothers. Truthfully, I yearn for another Omega’s company.”
JingYi bowed her head. The space wasn’t grand, but it was well-appointed, peaceful, and close enough to offer care without delay.
She smiled at Reiyana. “Your Highness, why don’t we return to your room? You’ve had a long day. I’d like you to put your feet up, and I will check your pulse to ensure all is well.”
Back in the princess’s bedroom, JingYi settled Reiyana on the cushioned settee by the sea-facing window, tucking a pillow behind her lower back. She set her medicine chest on the side table, unrolled the needles, and pressed two fingers to the princess’s pulse. Closing her eyes, she focused. A faint tension—likely lingering dehydration and fatigue—but nothing alarming.
“You’re very efficient,” Reiyana said, “but you don’t say much.”
JingYi’s mouth pressed together. The old instinct surfaced:Don’t speak unless spoken to. And even then, say less.
But something snagged. It hadn’t been that way in Parandor.
Yrenna had sought her opinions. The villagers had listened. For a fleeting time, her voice had carried weight.
Even Alexander —
She stopped herself, offering Reiyana a small, conciliatory shrug. “Old habits are stubborn things, Your Highness.”
The princess’s gaze softened, losing its sharp, royal edge. “I understand the hesitation,” she said. “In our world, an Omega’s voice is often a commodity. It takes a rare audience to hear simply a voice.”
JingYi’s hands stilled. She didn’t hear pity in Reiyana’s voice, only recognition. Her smile softened. She draped a blanket over the princess’s lap and lifted the hem of her gown.
“Your legs are a little swollen, though it’s not uncommon at this stage. I’d like to soak them in a hot bath and massage the meridians to encourage circulation.”
From Reiyana’s maid, JingYi requested a basin of hot water. Once delivered, she dropped a small sachet of herbs—dried ginger root, angelica, red dates, and orange peel—into the bowl and stirred. Soon, the water turned the colour of steeped tea. She carefully submerged Reiyana’s feet and began to knead along the arches, her fingers deft and sure.
“These herbs help move the blood and prevent fluids from settling in the lower limbs. You will sleep more easily tonight.”
Reiyana smiled. “I would like that.” She leaned back, sighing as tension eased from her shoulders. “You have a very calm way about you, as if you’ve done this a hundred times.”
“Only once or twice.”
“I haven’t even asked where you were going.” Reiyana’s voice was softer now, less a polished princess and more curious woman. “And you’re an Omega like me. I’ve been a part of this caste just long enough to know a travelling Omega always has a story.”
Almost immediately, the princess waved her hand. “But you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t wish to.”
JingYi didn’t speak. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but she’d spent a long time at the mercy of others—always calculating what truths could be spoken, and which would unravel too much.
“It’s not a very interesting story,” she said, resuming the massage. “My whole life, I served as a healer in the grand courts of Changzihua. Most of my time was spent in dispensaries or herb gardens. That’s the only life I’ve ever known. One day, a chance to experience new things was given to me, and now, here I am.”
The princess didn’t need to know about the marriage or the Alpha she’d fled from, the one who still haunted her thoughts. Reiyana gave a calm nod. If she sensed the gaps in JingYi’s tale, she made no mention of them.
“Prince Kaelendrin pulled you into my service so quickly. I hope you didn’t feel pressured. He has a way of sweeping people up.”