He said nothing at first, simply stood beside her as the breeze stirred through the shrubs.
“Although we are within the palace walls, we can never be too careful. Allow me to stay with you, and escort you to Magnolia Palace when you are ready to retire for the night.”
She looked up. “Sit down, then.”
“I thank Your Highness for the kind offer, but I will stand.”
“There’s no one to impress here.”
His voice remained gentle. “It’s not for show, Your Highness. It’s habit.”
A humourless chuckle escaped her. “Then I’ll pretend you’re seated beside me. It feels less lonely that way.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Another carp leapt, another satisfying splash. Haorán was the one to break the silence.
“Has your return to the Imperial Palace not been as you expected?”
JingYi sighed. “I don’t know what I expected. I don’t think I expected anything at all. But sleepless nights seem to be a common occurrence.”
“It can’t help that the court is eager to send you to another Alpha as a bride.”
Her lips quirked. “You’ve heard?”
“Being a shadow has its advantages.”
For a moment, only the night insects’ songs filled the space between them.
“Is your inability to sleep because you miss Tremore?” He hesitated. “Or . . . Lord Wulfbane?”
JingYi couldn’t answer.
With LinXin, the lie had come easily, smoothed over with practiced words and a placid smile. But here, beside a man who had risked his life to pull her from the dark, her tongue refused to shape the falsehood.
“Do I miss him?” JingYi’s voice was a whisper, torn from the raw, honest place she usually kept guarded. “Every day. With a clarity that frightens me.”
She looked down at her hands—the hands that had pushed him away. “I left because I had to. To find a foundation of my own making. I do not regret that choice. But understanding why I had to go doesn’t stop the heart from remembering what it left behind.”
She finally met Haorán’s patient gaze. “I chose my path, but sometimes . . . I wish he would come and choose me freely. That he would meet the woman I became because I walked away.”
Her confession hung in the fragrant dark. “It’s foolish. I have no right to such hopes, but it persists.”
Haorán was silent for a long moment. “Longing for the person who helped you find your strength is not foolish, Your Highness,” he said gently. “It is a testament to what you shared. You chose this path. That does not mean you mustunchoosehim in your heart.”
JingYi looked down at her open hands. She hadn’t expected understanding—least of all from Haorán, who so rarely offered more than duty and vigilance. Yet here he was, speaking the ache she hadn’t dared admit, not even to herself.
It was the permission she’d been denying herself: Her freedom wasn’t the absence of longing, but the strength to carry it without letting it weigh her down.
“You are kind,” she said at last. “Thank you.”
Haorán inclined his head. “If I may offer a suggestion: There will be a merchant fair in Changzihua tomorrow. Traders from all corners of Xûen-Sarai will set up stalls. If Your Highness would like to attend, I can arrange a palanquin and a proper escort.”
She stilled, the idea catching her by surprise. It was a simple thing, a common thing, yet the thought of walking among the stalls, enjoying Changzihua the way she’d never been permitted to, seemed lovely.
Haorán added, “You have not left the palace since your return. A change of air, and a diversion, might do you good.”
She glanced over. “Very well. But only if you come along.”
He bowed. “Of course, Your Highness.”