He was silent for a beat. “They bowed and curtsied.”
JingYi’s fingers curled into loose fists. “Out of respect, not warmth.”
“I saw warmth.”
“Villagers are easier than nobles. With them, I only have to ease an ache or help them breathe. Nobles expect more. Beauty. Wit. Perfection. Things I cannot provide.”
In his eyes, she saw her words strike a chord. She didn’t mean to remind him of the things he’d wanted from her yet couldn’t get—she could only speak plainly.
With his gaze steady on her, he said, almost as though testing the thought aloud, “So you were born an emperor’s daughter, but grew up a servant.”
The gravel shifted underfoot. She kept her eyes on the path. “You make it sound as though noble blood guarantees lavish upbringing.”
“It usually does.”
She looked him in the eye. “Did yours?”
This time, he didn’t answer.
They walked a few more paces in silence. The village path curved ahead of them, flanked by a leaning fence and the skeletal husks of autumn squash plants gone pale with rot.
“Why didn’t you say any of this before?” he asked.
She slowed, then stopped entirely, wiping her clammy hands along her skirt to buy time.
Then, she met his eyes. “Would it have changed anything?”
He stilled. The question fell between them like a stone dropped into a deep well. No answer came. The pause stretched long enough to make her wish she hadn’t spoken.
Then, with quiet certainty, he said, “No. But I wouldn’t have assumed you worked with your father to deceive me.” Lips pressed into a grim line, he added, “Or, even if you did, I would’ve understood why.”
Her gaze dropped to the hem of her sleeve. “I wouldn’t deceive you intentionally.”
“I know that now.”
“But it doesn’t alter the fact you need a perfect bride to restore your House, not a broken one to drag it further into the mud.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened, a wince crossing his features before he shuttered it away. He didn’t refute her. The silence that followed was its own brutal confirmation. She continued hobbling along the village path, him lagging behind. Her steps were careful now, as though walking forward might somehow make her last remark easier to bear.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him.
She hadn’t meant to sound as though he hurt her, though he did.
They’d been married for two days, and their union remained unconsummated. Her position in Blackwood-Veyrde, if there was one, would dissolve the moment he decided she wasn’t worthy and petitioned the king for an annulment.
What, then? What path would be left?
JingYi drifted toward the edge of the square, grateful for the mundane distraction of the morning bustle to keep her thoughts from spiralling.
A tug at her sleeve made her pause. She looked down to find a girl around six or seven years old, cheeks flushed, braids half-undone. Before JingYi could speak, Alexander stepped up beside her.
“Elsa,” he said, the recognition plain in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“My brother—Daan—he’s sick,” the girl blurted. “He’s burning up. Mam sent me to fetch the princess.”
JingYi bent, her hand brushing the child’s. “Take me to him.”
Elsa seized her fingers and pulled eagerly toward the back path, bare feet scattering loose earth. Alexander adjusted the medicine chest in his grip and fell into stride without hesitation.