His dark eyes sought Yrenna again, his fingers rubbing the neatly trimmed beard along his chin, the black now dusted with silver. “Will you be overseeing the wedding preparations, my lady? I must say, your mettle is most admirable. It’s not every day one sees a noblewoman take such an active role in the affairs of her House.”
Yrenna held his gaze. “House Wulfbane does not have the luxury of idle hands, but I stand with my brother and take my role as Parandor’s chatelaine gladly and proudly, my lord.”
“A commendable work ethic.” Bertrand lifted his goblet. “No doubt inherited from your father, gods rest his soul.”
Alexander’s jaw ticked, the fine hairs on his nape standing to attention.Here it comes.
Bertrand swirled his wine. “He was my brother in all but blood, you know? I miss him dearly. To this day, I still don’t understand why he did what he did. Things were good.So good.Until he—” He paused, shaking his head, as though the words pained him too much to say aloud. “Your mother begged meto plead with the king. And of course, I would’ve done it even without her asking. I pleaded with all my heart, tried everything in my power, but alas . . .” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Some offences are too grave to be pardoned.”
The words stung like they always did, unrelenting reminders of a wound that never healed. He had no patience for this ritual of regret, this retelling that framed Bertrand as a hero while tarnishing Teodor Wulfbane’s name all over again.
Bertrand set his goblet aside. “Well. I shan’t overstay my welcome. I merely wished to offer my good wishes.” His gaze met Alexander’s. “It is no small thing, after all, securing a brighter future for one’s House. I applaud you, my lord, to be so dedicated to the cause.”
He rose with the same practiced ease he did everything, adjusting the fall of his cloak as if they were in a royal court rather than a hall of weathered stone. Just then, a scullery maid approached, setting down a plate of food before him.
Bertrand glanced at the meal—one flick of the eyes, a wrinkle on his nose—and inclined his head. “Enjoy your evening, Lord Wulfbane, my lady.”
He strode out, and the hall seemed to breathe in his absence, the air stretching taut before snapping back into place.
Yrenna sighed and stared at the untouched platter. “That man is insufferable.”
Darion, still watching the doors as if considering whether to go after Bertrand himself, growled, “I’d have thrown him out the window, given the choice.”
Conrad’s fist hit the table. “Or misplace his horse and let him walk home instead. Imagine, forced to sully his fashionable boots on Parandor’s common dirt!”
Everyone around their table chuckled.
Tedric, leaning back in his chair, gave a half-smile. “Sometimes the sharpest weapon is silence. Let him believe hiswords matter. It costs us nothing, and it eats at him more than any missing horse ever could.”
Alexander didn’t speak. For all those smooth words, Bertrand had delivered his true message without too much effort.
Parandor had nothing, just as House Wulfbane had nothing.
But with Princess JingYi’s arrival, he would have more than an Omega bride. He would have legitimacy, an alliance, and the first foothold back to power.
And when the time came, no one—not Bertrand, the court, or even the king—could deny House Wulfbane again.
CHAPTER 5
JINGYI
The city of Changzihua hit her in layers—mud and damp wood from the docks, acrid smoke off the braziers, and beneath it all, the same cloying reek of sickness she knew from the palace wards. Then the noise: bargemen crying, piers groaning beneath her slippers, the endless slap of water against filthy hulls.
It was Xûen-Sarai’s capital, the ‘Flower of the South.’ A city she’d lived in all her life, yet never seen. Where were the fabled shining docks, the markets overflowing with goods, the boats so laden with silks and spices they seemed to drift on waves of perfume instead of water?
She stared across the Jiandeng River. At the pier’s margins, her healer’s eyes witnessed the proofs: beggars with empty bowls, children in rags picking broken rice between planks, a mother bargaining with a ferocity that only earned her a dismissive wave. The people looked thin and fevered, bent double. Dysentery and hunger had gutted the city, written across every face she’d encountered.
The river’s name meant Lantern’s Edge—a poetic tribute to how it was said to glow at night, reflections of golden lanterns like fallen stars upon its surface. There were no lights now.Only the silt-heavy current, curling thick as brownish ink. His Majesty’s ships bobbed on the water, carrying food bound for foreign markets, already sold to pay for limyerite while the people starved.
Still, her father demanded a procession fit for legends. Around her, workers loaded lavish gifts: rice and barley, silks, gilded lacquerwares, rare spices. A display of abundance meant to impress her new husband’s court but looked obscene amid the city’s poverty.
Yet, for all the splendour of her departure, her father hadn’t bid her farewell.
JingYi had last seen him the night before in the Hall of Eternal Harmony, where the marriage by proxy had been performed. He hadn’t spoken to her, not even during the banquet afterward. She’d spent the entire time staring at her lap as one elaborate dish after another was placed before her, with no stomach to even taste a bite.
He’d left halfway through the feast, sparing her only a single glance—fleeting, impassive—before turning away. She’d given her final bow to his back as he retreated.
JingYi swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew better than to expect more from a man who’d never truly believed she was his blood. Yet hope was a strange thing. Fragile, but impossible to kill.