So began their journey to the Winter’s End Ball.
Chapter 24
The carriage jolted once as it rolled to a stop before the Ashburton estate. Music drifted faintly through the winter air, bright and expectant. Lanterns flared across the manor’s entrance, illuminating the line of guests ascending the steps in velvet and jewels.
Mingxi adjusted his gloves, unnecessary, but they covered the flex in his fingers. He had been calm for centuries. Tonight, calm felt like a lie.
On the opposite seat, Penelope Sinclair studied the ballroom’s illuminated windows with the detached wariness of someone returning to the scene of an old wound. Her posture was flawless, back straight, chin set, hands relaxed, but he could feel the tension radiating from her like a low hum.
She had no idea that hum resonated with the foxfire buried under his skin. A mate’s aura always did. Not that she knew. Not that she ever would, not from him.
He forced his focus outward, away from the treacherous pull of her presence, and examined the environment.
Lantern placement: too bright near the entrance, too dim along the side hedges.
Foot traffic pattern: dense but predictable.
Windows: five vantage points overlooking the ballroom; two masked by drapery.
Hidden blind spots: three.
Magical wards: sufficient for mortals, irrelevant to anything ancient.
His jaw tightened.
“Do I pass inspection?” she asked, and he could tell she was mistaking his silence for scrutiny of her dress.
“You are… appropriate,” he replied, choosing diplomacy over the truth.
The truth was that she was devastating. Not in a way she performed, not in a way she intended, but simply by existing in his proximity.
Music drifted faintly through the winter air, bright and expectant. Mingxi scanned the lantern-lit crowd and gave a single, subtle nod. The glamoured Guardians slipped into motion immediately, peeling away from the carriage in synchronized silence, dissolving into brocade and candlelight like shadows with invitations.
Only when each presence faded into its assigned position did Mingxi open the carriage door. Cold winter air swept in, and he extended his gloved hand.
Penelope accepted it and stepped down carefully, composed as any noble-born daughter returning to the stage she once fled. Lantern light grazed the emerald sheen of her gown as she straightened, chin lifted, breath steady.
Mingxi descended after her, keeping his expression a perfect mask. The moment his foot touched the ground, something beneath his ribs tightened, a primal, unbidden reaction to her stepping into danger. He hated it.
She paused at the foot of the steps, unaware of the way her aura brushed his like a fingertip trailing across a blade.
“Ready?” she asked.
No. Never.“Yes,” he lied.
He offered his arm. She accepted it, unaware of what that single point of contact did to him, how his magic surged instinctively toward hers before he crushed it back under discipline. He scanned the crowd again. He always scanned, not for beauty, for threats, and there were many.
Whispers surged as he and Penelope approached the entryway, gasps, recognition, curiosity sharpened by the thrill of gossip.
He felt each gaze like a potential arrow. He angled his body half a step ahead of her, intercepting sight-lines, measuring distance, calculating escape routes. He forced his breath to remain steady.
She had no idea he was guarding his mate from a ballroom full of knives, and she had no idea why.
He knew she thought he was simply escorting her.
Inside, music swelled as the doors opened, flooding them with gold light. Penelope lifted her chin.
She was stepping into a den of predators.
