“The emperor insisted.” She paused, then added softly, “Though it’s too large for just one person.”
His blue eyes held hers, understanding shining in their depths. He took a step closer, then another, until he stood before her. “Then it is good I am here to help you fill it.”
Laughter escaped her, but she already tilted her head upward. “And how do you propose we do that?”
A smile touched his lips. “We could start with this.” He bent, and their lips met again in a gentle kiss—not desperate or not hungry, but tender and wondering, as if rediscovering the shape of each other.
Ying appeared at the edge of the room, eyes respectfully lowered. “Your Highness, the bath is ready.”
JingYi nodded. The woman bowed and withdrew, pulling the screen doors closed. JingYi took Alexander’s hand and led him into the bath chamber where paper lanterns cast a golden glow over the wooden tub. A low table held brushes, oils, and soft cloths. Steam rose in gentle curls. Ying had scattered flower petals on the water—tuberoses, jasmine, and ylang-ylang, a blend for a newlywed’s bath.
Alexander stood at the threshold, taking it in before his eyes found hers. She opened her hand, inviting him. He came to her.
Her fingers found the ties of her robes. She loosened each one slowly, watching his eyes follow her movements. Silk slipped from one shoulder, then the other. Each garment pooled at her feet until she stood bare before him. For the first time, she felt no urge to hide.
Alexander’s breath stopped. His pupils blew wide, hands curling at his sides as if he needed to grip something but dared not reach without permission. She had seen him vulnerable before, but this—this was breathtaking.
“JingYi.” Her name was a reverent whisper, his voice cracking on the second syllable. “You are—” He shook his head, words failing him.
She stepped into his space and pressed her palm to his chest.
Undressing him was its own worship. Layer by layer, she revealed the broad shoulders she’d clung to in darkness, the powerful chest she’d traced in memory. Each new inch of skin made her breath come faster. When he stood bare before her, steam winding around them, she let her gaze travel the length of him. Appreciatively. Possessively.
He was beautiful. Her healer’s eye saw what courtiers would miss: a body used, pushed, broken, rebuilt. Strong in the way powerful things meant to endure. As her palms traced theevidence of his survival, she understood: this body had crossed oceans for her. Had bled for her. Had refused to stop until it found her.
It was not just strong; it was alsohers.
Her fingers found the healing gash along his ribs and traced the puckered wound on his thigh. Evidence of what he’d endured to reach her.
“Alexander . . .”
He caught her wrist and pressed his lips to her palm. “Worth it,” he said simply. “Each one.”
She pulled him into the water. The heat enveloped them, drawing sighs from their lips. He settled against the curved wood, and she nestled between his legs, back to his chest, water lapping at their shoulders. His arms came around her—one hand over her heart, the other tangled with her fingers on her stomach.
His lips found her shoulder. A gentle press. Then another, along the curve of her neck. She tilted her head, giving him more access, and felt his smile against her skin.
“I had the healer’s cottage repaired in the village,” he said suddenly, voice rumbling through his chest. The words came rushed, as if he’d been holding them in. “The villagers collected the thatch. Darion and I did the work the week before I left.”
She looked up. The boyish uncertainty in his gaze was utterly endearing.
“It is ready. For when you . . . if you still wish to . . .”
Her heart squeezed. He’d been building for her. While she’d left him, while she’d been navigating her own healing, he’d been mending a roof for a future she’d dreamed of.
She turned in his arms to face him, water sloshing gently. “Alexander. You didn’t even know I’d return.”
He shrugged, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “The villagers asked after you. Every day. Conrad wouldn’t stoprushing me to board the ship.” He finally met her eyes, and the vulnerability there stole her breath. “Parandor isn’t the same without you.”
They paused to share a smile that was both shy and intimately knowing.
“Yrenna has adopted a stray hound,” he offered, another piece of his life laid gently at her feet. “A massive, shaggy beast with one ear. She named him?—”
She took his hand and squeezed. “Havoc,” she said. At his look of surprise, she smiled. “I know.”
“I see you two have been corresponding.” His fingers gently traced the line of her wrist, a constant, grounding point of contact.
JingYi laughed. “I cannot wait to meet him.”