His voice was tender, but there was no give in it. “Please. Ineedto hold you.”
She yielded with a soft sigh, letting herself sink fully into him. The warmth of his chest, the steady breathing—these were the only things that didn’t feel borrowed. For a moment, neither spoke. There was only the rattle of wheels, the muted thud of hooves, the occasional groan of wood as the carriage rolled on through the deepening dusk.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Limyere Castle, where there are enough healers to look after all of you. A proper hospital. Security.”
She was silent for a while.
“Tedric escaped, didn’t he? With the archer.”
Alexander didn’t answer for a moment. “I had him. And then I didn’t.”
His voice cracked. The tension in his arm changed with a tremble, briefly, like the shock had caught up with him only now that she was awake.
“I saw you falling,” he said hoarsely. “Everything else vanished.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. Her chest clenched—a sharp, aching tightness that made it hard to draw air. He was so close she could count the flecks of gold in his irises, could feel the warmth radiating from his skin despite the chill around them.
“But you caught me.”
His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I always will.”
His forehead came to rest against hers. Just for a moment. Just long enough for her to feel the shudder run through him—a tremor that started deep in his chest and traveled through his shoulders, his arms, the hand that still held hers. Then, his hand rose to cradle her head, fingers threading into her hair. With aquiet murmur, he guided her down, coaxing her to rest against his shoulder. She let herself follow the motion, her body sinking into him like she’d been waiting for permission to fall.
“Rest now, Wife,” he murmured.
“I’m afraid to close my eyes,” JingYi croaked. “I’m afraid . . . I might wake up back there.”
“You won’t. You’re safe now.”
“How long until we reach Niewberg?”
“Three or four hours.”
The silence that followed was full of things neither of them seemed ready to voice. But her head fit too neatly beneath his jaw, and the steady thrum of his pulse beneath her ear was almost too comforting to leave. She could feel each beat, a rhythm that told her he was here, alive, real.
“Back then, I thought I would die,” JingYi whispered.
His breath fanned her temple. “Don’t say that.”
“I did.” She said it again, softer, the words scraping against her throat. “And all I could think about was whether you’d ever know what Tedric had done. Whether Adelise would live to see ShunLi again. Whether Haorán would die nameless and unrecognized. Whether anyone would find us, or the Omegas, in time.”
Her voice broke on the last word. She had held it together through the dungeon, through the escape, through the first waves of shock. But here, in the dark, in his arms, the cracks were beginning to show.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb began tracing tender circles over the back of her hand—slow, deliberate, an anchor against the tide of memory.
“You’re not allowed to think like that anymore,” he said finally, his voice rough and raw. “You’re safe. No one will ever take you away again.”
She closed her eyes to keep the sting behind them from spilling over. Words like safe and never again always sounded easier from someone else’s mouth. Her fingers curled around his, gripping him like he might slip away if she let go.
She didn’t believe in promises. She had learned too young that they were just words, fragile as spun glass.
But for now—this moment, his warmth, his voice, his arm around her—was everything she’d ever wanted.
And for now, that had to be enough.
The gentle rhythm of the carriage slowed, then stopped. The intimate dark gave way to the open space of the palace courtyard. JingYi felt Alexander’s arm tighten around her for a final, fleeting moment—a private clasp before the world rushed back in. Then he was moving, the careful mask of the lord settling over his features, though his hand lingered on hers as he helped her sit up.