A soft chime echoed through the hall, an administrative cue, not an alarm.
Seraphine glanced at the crystal panel. “Lady Penelope has concluded her private briefing with the steward.”
Mingxi nodded once. “Her midday meal?”
“Prepared and awaiting her,” Seraphine confirmed. “She has not eaten since dawn.”
Of course she hadn’t. He had noticed the tension in her frame, the precision in her movements. A mind running too hot to bother with hunger.
“I will escort her,” Mingxi said.
No one objected.
The walk from the preparation hall to the guest wing was quiet. The corridors, normally humming with ward activity, felt muted, as though the palace itself sensed the strategy taking shape.
He arrived just as Penelope stepped out from a smaller consultation chamber. She paused when she saw him. Her posture was still immaculate,but the sharp, battle-ready edge from earlier had softened into something steadier. Not relaxed, merely…centered.
“Lady Penelope,” Mingxi said with a formal nod. “Your meal is ready.”
She hesitated only a fraction. “Thank you.”
He led her through the eastern corridor, where sunlight filtered in through tall arched windows. Penelope walked beside him without speaking, gaze drifting occasionally to the wards that shimmered faintly along the marble. She didn’t flinch at them anymore.
Progress.
The dining salon was quiet, set for one. Mingxi waited until she sat before taking the standing position beside the door, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect her space.
Penelope lifted the fork, paused, and then finally began to eat. Moments passed in a measured rhythm of silence. Only when the edge of tension eased from her shoulders did Mingxi speak.
“The Council will reconvene shortly. They request your presence, if you are willing.”
She set the fork down with deliberate care. “I am.”
Her voice wasn’t cold. It had purpose, forged, tempered, but no longer brittle.
Mingxi inclined his head. “I will escort you when you are ready.”
She rose a moment later, wiping her fingers neatly. “Let us go, then.”
The Council chamber was quieter this time, no shouting, no panic, only the controlled hum of leaders who had finally accepted the stakes.
Penelope entered without theatrics, but the room still straightened around her.
Rowan gestured toward a seat. “Lady Penelope. We appreciate you joining us again.”
She didn’t sit. Not yet.
“I will attend the Winter’s End Ball,” she said, calm as still water. “We have eight days. You know what must be done.”
Thane opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, perhaps to scold, but Penelope lifted a hand, silencing him with quiet authority.
“I cannot hide forever,” she continued. “And I will not spend the rest of my life waiting for something to strike me in the dark. If this creature wants me, then it will find me where I am watched, guarded, and surrounded by witnesses.”
Seraphine exchanged a look with Rowan, uneasy but resigned. “Your certainty is…unexpected.”
Penelope’s chin lifted. “It is necessary.”
Thane murmured, “You understand the risk.”
