A simple, relentless plan. He would spend a lifetime holding the door open for her, simply because he loved her.
Her lips trembled as she smoothed his brow. “Such a stubborn, relentless man—even when I tried to let you go.”
He caught her hand before it fell, pressing her palm to his mouth. His eyes never left hers, steady with quiet fire.
“I am a stubborn fool,” he agreed. “But a fool who loves you.”
He pressed her down—his lips and hands memorizing her all over again.
After another bath, they sat down to breakfast. The round table in her dining room held a steaming tureen of clear broth, its surface dotted with slivers of ginger and bright scallion. Beside it, a bamboo basket held dumplings, their wrappers so delicate the minced pheasant and wild herbs within showed through like watercolour. Small dishes of pickled vegetables and honeyed tangerines rounded up the meal.
JingYi watched as Alexander lifted his jade tsaiwàn without hesitation and deftly picked up a dumpling. He held it to her lips.
“The Xian family must have been very patient with you,” she said teasingly.
“They were,” he concurred. His expression remained serious, but his eyes were smiling. “Now, open for me.”
The words, so practical in this context, sent heat to her cheeks. Her body remembered it as a whisper hours before dawn, a prelude to a different kind of pleasure. A sweet shiver traced her spine.
She parted her lips, and he fed her the morsel. It was an act of startling tenderness, thrumming with the care of an Alpha providing for his mate. The delicate skin gave way and the rich, savoury filling bloomed across her tongue. In that moment, the act of being fed felt as intimate as a kiss—a primal symbol of his care, his claim, and his unwavering commitment to nurture and protect her.
He served himself a dumpling with the same efficiency. “I owe them much. I should send word soon, so they don’t worry.”
His eyes sharpened during a small pause. “I have a request, Wife, if you can help.”
He told her about Xian Jun’s plea to see his cousin, Xian Rui. The name struck a chord. Jing Yi’s stomach turned. Xian Rui—who had been given the name and title ‘Consort LüYin’ when she entered Peony Court at nine years old.
“My father destroyed many lives,” she said grimly. “Consider this done. I will see that Xian Jun and his family are permitted to enter the Imperial Palace to meet Consort LüYin at the earliest opportunity.”
His smile was warm, his eyes holding the quiet relief of sharing a burden. He squeezed her hand. “I want you to meet them, too. They took me in as if I were not a stranger. It’s important to me that you know them.”
“I would be honoured to meet them.” She accepted another bite he offered. As she took his bowl and ladled a serving of soup, she said, “And I want you to meet my people too: Wu Ma and Feng. We’ll go to the Royal Dispensary after breakfast.”
He smiled—a real one, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and held a warmth that had nothing to do with politeness. He wanted to meet them. Her people. Her history. All of it.
By the time they finished their meal and emerged from Magnolia Palace, the morning sun already spilled over the garden paths.
As they strolled toward the Jade Mortar Hall, he said, “Our first marriage was in Tremore. Now that it’s annulled, would you like to marry here before we journey home? Your siblings, Wu Ma, and Feng could attend.”
JingYi pursed her lips. “I want to. But I wonder . . . how our wedding might implicate ShunLi’s reign.”
She let the thought hang, watching his understanding dawn. His lips pursed into a tight line.
“Haorán told me the court is insisting you marry again.”
JingYi arched a brow. “Haorán told you? When?”
“He found me the day you went into the city. The ministers drafted a list of suitors.”
She paused at the top of a viewing bridge. So that was how Alexander knew about yesterday’s event. An amused smile touched her lips, followed by sobering clarity. Haorán wasn’t just steadfast; he was cunning. He’d seen a need she wouldn’t voice and had acted where she couldn’t.
She owed him a greater debt than she’d believed.
“Are there powerful allies on that list,” Alexander asked, “who will cause trouble when they learn you’ve chosen to return to your former husband?”
“The trouble isn’t the suitors. It’s the Dowager. She insists I marry a nobleman from Tzadun-Khör to compensate for breaking their betrothal pact.”
A low growl emanated from his chest. “After everything, they still think to barter with your life?”