“I did,” JingYi lied, offering a small smile.
Aliz’s own smile bloomed in answer. “That’s good. Lord Wulfbane left before dawn to hunt with some of the guests. Lady Yrenna wondered if you’d join her in the kitchens when you’re ready.”
“I will,” JingYi said with a nod.
Her eyes dropped to the tray after the maid left. Hunger struck suddenly. She’d barely eaten the night before, too knotted with nerves to swallow more than a few bites.
The fare was simple but delicious: a bowl of barley porridge, rich with melted butter, salt, and a drizzle of honey. Beside it sat a small dish of stewed apples, smelling of cinnamon, and a spoonful of fresh, creamy cheese curds. She savoured her breakfast, grateful for the privacy and the comfort of a full belly.
Finished with the meal, she rose and looked out the window. The courtyard was already stirring—servants darting between tasks, the clang of the forge ringing out, estate workers humming as they went about their tasks. Parandor breathed around her like a great beast, shaking off slumber. She watched them a moment longer, these people who moved with purpose, each contributing something vital to the keep’s survival. They had their place here. What was hers?
She was a healer—trained, capable, tireless. She had studied the botany of Tremore before her journey here, and she would continue to study it. She’d learn the shape and scent of every herb that grew on these mountainsides and wield them with sure hands.
If she couldn’t be the bride Alexander Wulfbane had expected, she’d become someone different. Someone he couldn’t dismiss. Someone he’d learn to rely on.
She pulled her hair up into a neat bun and fastened the small pouch of suppressants at her waist. She needed it now, more than ever. Already, a faint warmth, the early signs of Heat, stirred low in her belly. Her body sensed what her reason already knew: There was an Alpha near, one she was drawn to, no matter what words or silence lay between them.
Stepping out into the corridor, JingYi followed the scent of baking bread. The kitchen met her with a rush of heat and savoury smells—bread rising, meat roasting, copper kettles hissing.For a moment, she was carried back to the Royal Dispensary, where the air was always alive with the perfume of herbs crushed beneath pestles and decoctions simmering over banked fires. The rhythm was different here, but the hum of labour felt strikingly familiar.
She paused at the threshold, acutely aware of the glances cast her way. The foreign bride. The limp. The mark.
The unconsummated marriage.
JingYi tried a smile. An older kitchen hand gave her a curt nod—nothing warm, but not unkind. The scullion near the ovens, flustered by her presence, dropped a ladle into a pot with a clatter. At the side table, two girls whispered over their onions, stealing glances until one of them flushed and looked away.
Not all were wary. A boy polishing copper pots straightened when their eyes met, unsure but respectful.
Then, Yrenna’s cheerful voice cut through. “Sister. I’d hoped you’d come.”
Relief loosened something tight in her chest. She crossed the floor littered with potato peels and carrot shavings to her sister-in-law, who steered her lightly by the elbow toward a quieter corner near the hearth.
“Thank you for breakfast,” JingYi said, the words almost lost in the kitchen’s clamour.
“I thought you might need a gentler start.” Yrenna smiled, then gestured around them. “It may look overwhelming at first, but this is your domain now. The cooks can handle the meals. The staff knows their duties. You don’t need to mind every little thing. And you’ll have me.”
JingYi looked around, her gaze lingering on the bundles of thyme and marjoram drying from the rafters. Good, wholesome herbs—a solid foundation. Her mind drifted to the hardy mountain plants she had studied—the roots and bitter leaves that could strengthen blood and guard against winter’s grip.
Yrenna followed her glance. “Something caught your eye?”
“Your stores are well-kept. I see barley for strength, thyme and angelica to ward off damp, honey to soothe the lungs.” She met Yrenna’s gaze, her tone an open offer. “In my homeland, we blend food and remedies to fortify people against the cold. With your permission, I could . . . I could work with your cook. Show how to draw more strength from what Blackwood-Veyrde already grows.”
Yrenna stared at her, smile deepening. “You see a purpose in every jar.”
“It is part of my training,” JingYi admitted, “to see a whole pantry as a healer’s chest.”
“You have access to everything. The stillroom is past the pantry—I’ll show you. The herb stores, the cook’s ledger. If we lack something you need, we can send someone to Niewberg to fetch it.”
A small bench had been cleared near the drying racks, and JingYi accepted the seat gratefully. The ache in her lower back made her wince as she sat, though she masked the pain the way she’d always done.
“I was also hoping I could go down to the village today,” she said. The request hung in the air, more revealing than she’dintended. It wasn’t just a visit she was asking for; it was a role. A place.
Yrenna studied her, the kitchen’s warmth momentarily forgotten. “You are serious about being the village healer, aren’t you?”
It was all she had, the truth bare and plain. Her beauty was a marked currency, her royal blood a worthless thing.
“I know I have much to prove,” JingYi said. “Healing is the one thing I know how to do.”
A silence stretched between them, thin and taut. In it, JingYi heard every possible rejection: ‘It’s too soon. They won’t trust you. You are the lord’s new wife, not a physician.’