“No,” Poppy said.
The guard blinked. “My lady?”
“We’ll follow when we choose,” Poppy said calmly. “Not when you bark.”
Mingxi looked like he might kiss her on the spot.
Lysandra whispered, “Queen energy.”
They were led—grudgingly—into the central hall, a vast circular chamber tiered with stone crescents where the High Council sat. Their robes were immaculate, their expressions pinched, their energy cold.
Poppy ignored all of them. Because standing near the central floor—not seated, not posturing, just waiting—was a tall figure in dark armor etched with silver markings. Broad shoulders. Steady eyes. Presence coiled like a blade sheathed only out of courtesy.
Not the head of the Court. Dangerous. Respected. Unmistakably above the rest in competence.
Mingxi’s entire posture shifted—tension easing, shoulders lowering an inch.
“There you are,” the man said, striding forward. His voice held the grounded warmth of someone who’d survived a dozen battles with Mingxi at his side. “I heard the shard almost ate you.”
“Nearly,” Mingxi said. “We melted it.”
The man turned to Poppy. He didn’t bow as a courtier. He bowed as a warrior.
“Lady Penelope,” he said. “My honor to meet the one who purified a moonwell.”
The High Council erupted in whispers.
Poppy blinked—she’d braced for arrogance or hostility, not courtesy.
He straightened, giving her a respectful nod before glaring at the closest Councilors. “Why are they not seated?” he asked.
A Councilor stammered, “F-First Sentinel, protocol—”
“Protocol,” he repeated dryly, “is what we use when we want to waste time tripping over ourselves.”
Lysandra snorted, and the First Sentinel’s gaze flicked to her, taking in her posture, her energy, her spark.
“You must be Lysandra Sinclair,” he said.
She grinned. “I like you already.”
“Pity,” he said, expression unreadable. “You’re going to hate the rest of them.”
The High Council sputtered collectively.
Poppy crossed her arms. “Why did you summon us?”
“We didn’t.” He said it loudly enough to silence the entire chamber. “The political wing did. They panicked.”
A ripple of scandalized gasps.
He ignored them and addressed Poppy directly. “We need your account,” he said. “For the record. And because it affects the safety of the realm.”
“That’s honest,” Poppy said.
“It’s faster,” he replied.
A Councilor slammed his staff. “First Sentinel! They must speak from the lower tier—”
