Servants rushed forward, but it was the captain of the royal guard who opened the door.
Alexander disembarked first and assisted Adelise. His injuries forced him to move with a pronounced stiffness, the fluid grace of a soldier replaced by deliberate, careful motion. When the princess stepped out, a collective exhale of relief seemed to leave the small receiving party.
“Your Highness, you’resafe,” someone said as they all dropped into bows and curtsies.
He then turned to lift JingYi carefully down, bracing as he took her weight. Still, his arms were steady as stone. A few gasps rippled from the onlookers when the entourage saw her face,though she couldn’t tell if they were gasping at her birthmark, bruises, or both.
She was too tired to parse it, and even if she could, she didn’t care.
The palace loomed above them—austere spires and fortified symmetry, banners of deep red and black snapping in the wind. Arched windows inlaid with crystal caught the last of the dusk. At the gates, the sigil of Tremore: twin mountain peaks cleaved by a silver sword.
They were barely through the palace doors before a steward hurried over and bowed.
“Your Highnesses, Lord Wulfbane. His Majesty was informed of your approach an hour past. He requests your presence in the Great Hall at once.”
Alexander’s brow furrowed. “So soon? My wife has been injured and requires rest.”
“There’s urgency, my lord.” The steward dipped his head. “The accused—Lord Fortier—is already in holding. The king wishes to proceed with formal charges before the court this evening. Your testimony, and that of the princesses, are required.”
Tension coiled within the arm linked with hers, and she knew he was about to refuse the summon to afford her rest. She laid a hand on his. “Bertrand has shadowed your family long enough, Alexander. Let us put an end to it.”
Loudly, Adelise spoke up, “Princess Jing Yi needs time to change her gown at the very least. A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss either. You tell my brother she’ll be there, but not before she’s ready.”
The steward hesitated, torn between the king’s order and Adelise’s furious scowling. “Of course, Princess. I will inform His Majesty.”
He went. Adelise took JingYi’s hand, guiding her toward an area she assumed was reserved for the royal family, leaving Alexander to answer the king’s summons first.
“Take your time to prepare,” he told her. “I have much to tell His Majesty.”
The sun had sunk low enough to gild the windows in fuchsia, but inside the borrowed room, gauzy curtains softened the light. JingYi sat on the edge of the bed, head still throbbing in pulses behind her eyes. Adelise knelt in front of her, wringing out a damp cloth and dabbing at the corner of JingYi’s brow.
“I should be the one doing this,” JingYi mumbled, reaching for the cloth. “Or, perhaps, your maid . . .”
Adelise moved the cloth out of reach and gave a faint huff of breath—too light to be a laugh, too tired to be a reproach. “Oh, hush. You’ve trained me enough to clean wounds, haven’t you?”
She dipped the cloth again. JingYi flinched only slightly this time.
“The blood’s almost gone,” Adelise added, brushing a curl of hair away from her cheek. “Just one more rinse.”
JingYi glanced down at her fingers, at the blood and dirt caked beneath her nails. “I must look horrid.”
The looking glass before them was an adorned antique piece, its edges dulled by time, but it reflected the truth without gentleness. JingYi stared at the woman it revealed—hair tangled and blood-matted, jaw and cheekbones black and blue with bruises, eyes sunken from pain and exhaustion.
A stranger, almost. But breathing. Alive.
Behind her, Adelise dabbed at a cut on her own temple. Their eyes met in the mirror.
“At least no one will pay attention to your birthmark now,” Adelise said dryly, mouth twitching.
JingYi blinked, then snorted—abrupt, startled, unladylike. The sound scraped her raw throat. She winced, clamped a handover her mouth, but another laugh escaped anyway, thin and wheezing.
Adelise grinned, and suddenly they were both laughing. It hurt. Every chuckle pulled at the bruises around JingYi’s neck, jarred her ribs. But they couldn’t stop. The laughter shook them both, more precious because of the ache beneath it.
“You look like someone who’s been through a horrifying ordeal and survived,” Adelise said, reaching for a dress. “That matters much more than a birthmark.”
JingYi met her own eyes in the mirror. Still laughing. Still alive. The bruises were dark and mottled.
But she was breathing through them.