“In my family’s home, our guest pavilion.” His thumb brushed the back of her hand, slow and gentle. “You are safe. And you are not hurt.”
She dropped her gaze to their joined hands. “You stayed with me.”
“Of course,” he murmured. “As long as you slept, I remained.” A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You would not let go.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I… did I?”
He glanced down at their hands. “Yes.” A beat and then he said more softly, “And I would not let go, either.”
She exhaled, a shiver of emotion moving through her, and her fingers curled around his.
“Mingxi… I thought I lost control. I thought—”
“You fought,” he said. “You survived.” His voice deepened with quiet pride. “And you found your light.”
Her breath trembled.
His thumb traced slow, soothing circles across her knuckles—intimate, unguarded, almost reverent.
“You frightened me,” he admitted quietly. “When you collapsed.”
She blinked. “That’s… surprising.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “It is.”
He didn’t hide it. Didn’t retreat. He just stayed there—her hand in his, golden foxfire painting his features with warmth, his presence steady and unwavering.
A strange, aching truth settled over Poppy—this was the first moment since Lysandra died that Poppy had felt safe.
Truly, deeply safe.
Chapter 33
The doors slid open with a soft rustle of paper charms.
The elder healer stepped inside, hands folded neatly, her foxfire lantern hovering at her shoulder. She paused when she saw them.
Mingxi sat beside Poppy on the cushion, his arm behind her back, their hands woven together without a breath of space between them. Poppy flicked her eyes down to those joined hands. Just once. She felt Mingxi still—not pulling away, just… aware.
“Lady Penelope,” the healer said gently, “may I check your pulse?”
“Yes,” Poppy said quickly.
Mingxi said it at the same time. They glanced at each other, startled.
The healer approached the bedside with a serene expression that absolutely hid a smile. She extended her hand—and paused.
“Mingxi-gongzi,” she said delicately, “I will need access to her wrist.”
Poppy went rigid. Mingxi blinked, looking down as if suddenly realizing his fingers were still entwined with Poppy’s, their hands resting peacefully in her lap.
“Oh.” His voice was low, composed—but a shade too quick. “Yes. Of course.”
He tried to withdraw his hand, but Poppy’s fingers tightened instinctively.
Both of them froze.
She focused on their intertwined hands for a moment and then looked up to find him staring at her face.
