Around them, whispers surged again.
“Did he smile?”
“He never smiles.”
“They’re too familiar—there’s something between them.”
“This will be the talk of the season.”
Penelope kept her gaze forward, spine straight, but heat flushed up her neck.
His hand guided her through the final rotation, calm and precise, but beneath it was a warmth she felt all the way to her pulse.
“Yes,” he answered.
The turn carried them toward the Winter Garden doors. On the final pivot, he guided her—not with possession, but with absolute precision—through a gap between dancers, toward the gleaming glass entrance.
One elegant step. Then another. Together, unnoticed by the glittering crowd, they slipped through the doors into the frost-kissed quiet of the Winter Garden.
Chapter 26
Mingxi closed the door softly behind them, the lock sealing with a disguised sigil-click. The Winter Garden glowed with lantern light and drifting fine snow, the air cool enough to sting if one breathed too sharply.
Penelope didn’t.
She stood still, her gown pooling around her like dark water. Inside, violins spiraled into a lively set; out here, the night was held entirely in suspension.
A shadow at the far end of the garden did not belong. Not moving. Not breathing. Waiting. Penelope’s fingers brushed the hilt hidden in her sleeve.
Mingxi adjusted his stance—half a step forward, not shielding, merely repositioning the map of their defense.
The lantern nearest them flickered once.
Then the voice came. Smooth. Aristocratic. Amused. “A second waltz.”
The moonlight bent around the shadow, as though refusing to touch what lingered inside.
“How scandalous.”
Penelope’s breath remained steady.
Mingxi’s jaw tightened by a degree.
The voice crooned through the frosted air, dripping with mock delight. “The forgotten Sinclair spinster, taking liberties on a ballroom floor…” A soft, lilting laugh. “And with the fox-spirit foreign dignitary, no less.”
The lantern guttered, as though blushing on her behalf.
“Did you hear them gasp?” the voice purred. “All those silly humans fanning themselves, desperate for a scrap of gossip?”
The frost on the nearest hedge cracked delicately.
“Imagine their shock,” the entity whispered, “if they knew you weren’t sneaking away for romance.”
Penelope didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Penelope could feel Mingxi’s magic flare briefly, vibrating the wards before dissipating.
“Identify yourself,” he commanded, voice sharp as ice.
The shadow pulsed with cultured amusement.
