He brushed her hair with his lips, still astonished. “You said yes,” he whispered again, wonder in every syllable.
She kissed his jaw softly. “I would say yes every time.”
Chapter 90
Word traveledthrough Huoyáo Jìng the way foxfire traveled—fast and with absolutely no respect for subtlety. By morning, the entire realm knew. Shen Mingxi, eldest son of the Shen Clan, had proposed, and the Moonborn girl said yes.
Lanterns appeared along the walkways before Mingxi even woke up. Fox cubs practiced “wedding bowing” (incorrectly). Three aunties tried to adopt Poppy. One tried to adopt Mingxi.
And Lysandra kept yelling, “This is because of me,” while Caelan tried to drown himself in a water bucket.
Poppy barely made it five steps outside her room before Minghua grabbed her.
“We have so much to do,” the younger girl screeched. “Come on. Robes, hairpins, offerings, flowers, and… Oh, my gods, your hair—”
Poppy blinked. “I… brushed it?”
“Not enough.”
Meanwhile, Mingxi tried escaping out a side door, only for Mingjun to block him with the flat of a practice blade.
“You are being fitted,” Mingjun said. “Stand still.”
“I don’t want to be fitted,” Mingxi muttered.
“You will be fitted,” Mingjun insisted. “For the good of the realm.”
Mingxi groaned and shot Poppy a glance, rolling his eyes. She laughed.
Huoyáo Jìng was alive with joy.
For the first time in her life, Poppy felt like she belonged to something bright.
On the night before the wedding, Poppy was escorted to Xu Yunlian’s quiet preparation hall. It smelled faintly of cedar and moonwater, illuminated by floating foxfire blossoms.
“Sit,” Yunlian said gently.
“Is this… a lot?” Poppy asked, feeling suddenly small. “For someone like me?”
Yunlian paused mid-brushstroke in Poppy’s hair. “Someone like you?” she echoed softly. “Poppy, you stood in front of evil and defied it. You saved my son’s life twice. You shielded Lysandra. You walked through cursed magic without breaking.”
She angled Poppy’s chin toward the mirror. “You are everything this realm honors.”
Poppy’s throat tightened. “I’m afraid.”
“Of the ceremony?”
“Of deserving him,” she whispered.
Yunlian’s hands softened. “You do. Because you choose him—not for power, not for safety, but for the man he is.”
She pinned silver fox-tail ornaments into Poppy’s hair: small crescent moons, tiny tails curling together.
“Tonight,” Yunlian murmured, “you sleep in the bridal hall. No seeing Mingxi until the ceremony.”
Poppy smiled faintly. “He’s probably panicking.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Yunlian said. “Your future husband is currently arguing with your sister over robe color.”
