JingYi drew a final breath—a last taste of river mud, of charcoal, of the ghost of palace incense. She let it fill her, then released it slowly, exhaling the silent, unseen girl who’d breathed this air for a lifetime.
Without looking back, she stepped onto the gangway.
She hadn’t let herself expect anything from life aboard the ship. It turned out to be a test of endurance.
It wasn’t so unbearable. Not when she could hide in her cabin, away from her ‘ladies-in-waiting.’ She filled the solitary hours with study: the language of her husband’s kingdom (Tremesi), medical texts, and a volume on the nature of limyerite. She learned that in Tremore, the crystals were mined and forged into weapons. In Xûen-Sarai, they were refined into healing art.
Same substance. Two vastly different philosophies.
The sea swayed. She rose and looked out the window. The sky was impossibly blue—nothing like the bruised purple of the gale that had once forced them to take shelter in the kingdom ofAethonia. Once the storm passed, she’d marvelled over its busy port, the bustling crowds, the happy, unguarded faces. For a fleeting moment, she had imagined stepping ashore.
Alas, the ship sailed on.
At the beginning of the fifth week, as she stood by the gunwale, she saw Tremore for the first time.
They dropped anchor at Terresard, Niewberg’s main port, a busy gateway of trade and wealth. Unlike the poverty and oppression of Xûen-Sarai’s river harbour, this placethrived.
The very air was crisp and cool, scoured clean by a wind tasting of pine and distant snow, not of humid silt and decay. It brimmed with life: salt and spice, the smoke of roasting fish skewers, the warm scent of fresh bread. The buildings were stout and solid, built of stone and heavy timber, with steep roofs to shed snow—so different from the upward-curving wooden eaves of the Imperial Palace. The colours were bolder too, less about harmonious restraint and more about vibrant declaration.
As the ship neared its mooring, she spotted a small envoy waiting at the pier, dressed in crisp uniforms, their posture disciplined.
Her welcome party.
When they finally docked, JingYi stepped onto solid ground for the first time in over four weeks. Her right leg, stiff from weeks of confinement, threatened to buckle. She caught herself, shifting her weight smoothly to her left, then settled into the careful, balanced rhythm she used in public: short step, place heel, roll foot. No drag, no stumble. Performance began the moment the plank met the pier.
Her travelling silks, chosen more for show than comfort, marked her at once as foreign. The jade and gold silk clung heavily in the damp sea air, but it was the wide travelling hat—its brim draped with a veil of loosely woven white silk—that set her apart most of all. To the outside world, it softened her visageinto a hazy impression. Yet from within, the open weave granted her a textured view—a pair of watchful eyes behind a shield of elegance.
Nonetheless, she looked every inch a princess from another world.
Untouchable. Unknowable.
Undeniably strange.
She’d barely adjusted to the sensation when she was met by two men. One was tall and brown, broad-shouldered with shoulder-length black hair. He held a soldier’s bearing and an unmistakable air of command. Even before he spoke, she knew what he was.
An Alpha.
Unease rippled through her. Instinctively, her hand went to the suppressant pouch at her waist. Though no one could see her face beneath her veil, she kept her expression carefully neutral.
The other was younger, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, with hair the colour of palm sugar and skin the colour of ripe wheat. His unlined face was open, his energy brighter, easier. More importantly, she didn’t sense Alpha’s presence from him.
A Beta.
For now, at least. He was young enough that he might still Awaken.
The Alpha bowed. “Your Highness,” he greeted gruffly in Isseric, the common tongue of the Nine Kingdoms. “I am Darion Merrow, Commander of the Wulfbane household guard. I’ve been entrusted with overseeing your protection during your journey to Blackwood-Veyrde.”
JingYi dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Darion.”
Her Isseric felt stiff and, within that greeting alone, her tongue almost tripped over the simple words.Still, disappointment bloomed, having hoped to test her understanding of the local language.
Then, the younger one stepped forward, looking up at her with an easy, boyish charm. His bow carried the flourish the stern commander didn’t have.
“Your Highness,” he echoed, his voice amicable. “Conrad of Reave, at your service. Sir Darion will be your primary guard, but I plan to be your entertainment. Your betrothed sends his regrets. An urgent matter kept him back this morning, but he will meet us at the halfway mark.”
His candour startled her. No one ever spoke so plainly to her before, but his eyes were kind, his grin disarming.
He bowed again. “Should the journey bore you, call on me. I’ll gladly play the jester if it earns me a smile.”