Her fingers curled inside her sleeves, nails grazing her palms. “I needed to see the villagers. Some of them required care.”
“That is not the point.”
“Then what is?”
He stepped closer, close enough that she had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. “I would’ve preferred you stayed at the castle with the wedding guests instead of traipsing down to the village in the mud.”
JingYi shrivelled inside.Wrong again.She hadn’t even thought of the wedding guests, of entertaining the noble women, sipping tea while musicians played. Her whole body rebelled at the thought. She knew herbs and pulses, not courtly chatter.
She straightened and did not avert her eyes. “I assure you, I’m no stranger to strain.”
“Stubbornness isn’t strength,” he said, quieter now, but no gentler. “I’ve seen men break themselves trying to prove otherwise.”
“How fortunate it is I’m not one of them.”
The air between them thickened. Conrad fidgeted beside her, discomfort radiating in waves. She had endured far worse words before—yet these struck. They confirmed what she feared: he already saw her as a fragile, useless thing.
“I didn’t come here to be a burden,” she tried again, her voice barely above the rustle of wind against leaves. “Despite my shortcomings . . . you’ll find I’m sturdier than I look.”
His jaw worked, but she couldn’t read his expression. Not quite belief, not quite doubt—something unsettled. No reply came.
Instead, he turned to Conrad. “Ride ahead. Have Aliz light the fire in the princess’s chamber.” His eyes cut back to her. “You will ride with me.”
Not even Conrad dared to quip back. “Yes, my lord.”
JingYi watched the boy rush toward the wagon. One by one, the villagers bowed to their lord and slipped into their cottages, doors closing softly, leaving her alone with him.
Without a word, Alexander unclasped his cloak and set it across her shoulders, the hood protecting her from the wind. The wool was warm from his body, carrying smoke and steel, and beneath it, his Alpha scent. It brushed against her instincts like a spark across tinder. When he lifted her to mount Duskwane, she pressed her lips together and let him. Her pulse quickened when their bodies pressed for a moment. He didn’t mount behind her. Instead, he took the reins and walked. Purposefully. One step beside the horse, never ahead.
It should’ve felt like respect.
But it was distance.
And yet, every so often, the wind shifted and his scent reached her again. Inescapable. She pressed her hands harder into her lap, the fabric of her gown twisting in her grip. Her mind was a battleground: the fresh humiliation of the destroyedpouch, the cold sting of his disappointment, and beneath it all, the insistent, unwelcome heat his proximity stirred in her blood. She willed her body to be still, to be silent, to not scream its recognition of the Alpha walking beside her.
After a long stretch of the quiet road, she pushed the words out. “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to make you angry.”
“I am not angry.” His eyes stayed on the path.
“Then why does it feel like anger?”
A pause. Then, more grudgingly, “Maybe frustration.”
“With me.”
“No. With the circumstances.”
JingYi lowered her head. Of course. A diplomatic union. A political burden. A stain on a cheek. A limping gait.
Shewas the circumstances.
The trees murmured overhead, swaying in the breeze. She turned her face toward them so he wouldn’t see the burn behind her eyes or the way her body hummed, unbidden, in the shadow of his nearness.
They didn’t speak again until the gates of Parandor rose before them, the stones damp with mist, torches guttering dimly against the early twilight. When they reached the castle steps, Alexander helped her down—his grip firm, but brief.
He gave her a stiff, dutiful bow before striding toward the inner halls. Toward his study, she assumed.
Cloaked in his scent, she stood alone at the base of the stairs. The heavy wool was warm, but it was a borrowed comfort.