Queen Aurelia’s eyes glanced toward her husband. “We believe it is time to lay the past to rest,” she said, each word careful, “and remember what still binds us as one people.”
For a moment, the duchess said nothing. Her hands twisted at her midsection. “All I ask, Your Majesty, is for my son to be remembered not only for his final acts, but also for the man he once was.”
The king’s expression didn’t soften, but he gave a short nod. “History records what it must. But tonight is not a night for judgment. We welcome you back among us, as kin of Aethonia. Whatever grief remains, let it be borne together.”
JingYi heard a soft scoff coming from Prince Kaelendrin’s direction. She saw him squeezing his wife’s hand. Prince Alarik, standing behind Reiyana, looked fit to strangle, if not kill, someone.
Discreetly, JingYi rose and moved herself behind the sofa. Her gaze shifted between the royals and the grieving pair before them. Around her, the nobility began to murmur behind feathered fans and fluted glasses.
The Duchess dipped again. Lord Ambrose lifted his head, murmured at her ear, and together they angled across the floor—straight for Reiyana. JingYi’s spine went taut. Before they closed the distance, Alexander stepped in beside her—solid, silent, and steady as a mountain.
“Duchess,” Reiyana began, her voice calm, though JingYi had spent enough time with her to hear the effort behind it. “I am glad to see you looking well, despite the circumstances.”
The veiled woman gave a slight nod, but her hands trembled against her midsection. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she rasped. “We didn’t come to be a dark shroud over your celebration, but I want to beg that you remember the boy Castiel once was.”
Prince Kaelendrin seemed to bristle with barely leashed fury, but the sound of Prince Alarik clearing his throat kept it contained. Reiyana’s shoulders stiffened, but she did not look away.
“I wanted to believe there was good in him,” she said. “There were days I almost did.”
“He must’ve been misled,” the Duchess trembled. “Or coerced into it. He would never have done such things of his own will.” Her voice cracked. “Not my Castiel . . .”
She reached for her handkerchief, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “He was a gentle boy. Always tried so hard to please. But now he’s gone, and he can’t explain himself.”
JingYi felt a small tug of sympathy. The Duchess’s grief appeared . . . genuine. It might’ve been practised—court people learned early on how to hold an audience. She couldn’t tell. She averted her gaze, uncertain how long she could bear to watch.
A prickle crept up her spine. She turned her head.
While all eyes were on the grieving woman, Lord Ambrose was watching . . .her.
She looked away, finding solace in the scenery outside the window. She wasn’t the type of woman a man paid attention to—her birthmark assured that. But Lord Ambrose studied her with the stillness of someone cataloguing something rare. Not desire—that seemed too pedestrian—but a quiet, calculating weight that settled into her bones.
It made her spine prickle, made her want to curl her shoulders to her ears.What does he see?
She was an unbonded Omega, a background figure in a glittering, dangerous world. His brother had attempted an Omega abduction. Now Ambrose looked at her like a collector assessing a piece.
JingYi turned her attention to Prince Kaelendrin who squeezed Reiyana’s hand.
“We understand the depth of your loss, Duchess,” he said. “But Castiel’s actions nearly cost Reiyana her life. We cannot excuse them.”
“Actions he never had the chance to defend himself against,” Lord Ambrose replied, his voice the practiced cadence of a diplomat. “Because his story ended before it could be explained.”
Kaelendrin’s expression didn’t waver. “We have seen enough to know it was no mere fantasy.”
“Then who could have predicted,” Lord Ambrose said softly, “that after you captured him and entrusted him in your guards’ safekeeping, my brother’s convoy would vanish in a foreign desert, butchered by bandits before he returned to us for a fair trial? One wonders what luck governedthatturn of events.”
Alarik took a small step forward, and the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. “Careful, my lord. You sound as though you are accusing Asadia of orchestrating his death.”
The Beta lord bowed deeply. “I wouldn’t dare, Your Highness. But if you already failed in returning his body, then I ask this: Show mercy to the dead, and to those left mourning.”
He didn’t glance at her again, only inclined his head and ushered his mother away. JingYi watched them retreat. His grief seemed real, but something else moved beneath it. He crossed the floor—not away from the crowd, but into its heart. Straight to Crown Prince Thorir, and the two men clasped forearms. The crown prince was smiling at the man whose brother’s name had once been tangled with his sister’s—and badly.
JingYi didn’t know what to make of it.
She turned away. The music had resumed, but she hardly heard it. Around her, the ball regained momentum as if nothing had happened. She touched her fingertips to her wrist, measuring her own pulse.Unusually fast.
“I need air,” she murmured to no one, already stepping away from the knot of royals.
The moment JingYi stepped past the velvet-draped archway and into a lonely corridor, the music and laughter softened to a hush. She walked until she found a smaller balcony overlooking the gardens. The stone rail was cool beneath her palms.