Fang entered the room quietly, holding a tray of food. She pretended she hadn't overheard a word, her expression composed.
As soon as she stepped in, Syaoran and the Queen shifted the conversation, their faces calm and unreadable.
Fang offered a gentle smile and walked over to the bed. "You should eat," she said, setting the tray down beside him.
The Queen stood up. "Syaoran, get some rest," she said softly, then turned to Fang. She touched Fang's shoulder and whispered, "Take care of him. You should rest too."
Fang lowered her eyes, her voice trembling. "Yes, Your Majesty."
With one last glance at her son, the Queen left the room.
Syaoran leaned back on the headboard and looked at Fang. "Sit here," he said, patting the space beside him.
She hesitated before sitting down. "You should eat while it's still warm."
But Syaoran's gaze was locked on her hand. "Fang… are you hurt?"
She quickly looked down. "No… I'm fine."
His eyes narrowed, then fell on the bandaged cut across her palm. Gently, he reached out.
"Don't—" Fang tried to pull back, but he held her hand and closed his eyes, casting a healing spell. A soft glow surrounded her palm as the wound faded.
"Thank you," she whispered, watching him with a mix of gratitude and emotion.
He picked up the bowl and spoon and placed it in her hand. "Feed me."
Fang blinked. "What?"
Syaoran leaned in, a playful glint in his tired eyes. "You used to feed me when we were little. I'm still the same, you know."
"You're not a child anymore," she said, flustered. "You're a grown man, Syaoran. Why are you acting so clingy?"
"Because I'm the closest person you have," he said softly. "And you're the closest person I have. That hasn't changed, has it?"
Fang couldn't answer. Her cheeks burned as she lifted the spoon and fed him, trying to ignore the way her hands trembled.
He smiled like a child, eating happily.
Once he'd finished, she applied medicine to his wounds. Not long after, he drifted into sleep, breathing gently. Fang stayed by his side, watching him as moonlight spilled across the room.
Eventually, she dozed off too, her head resting against the edge of the bed.
That night, a strange dream came to her.
The world was covered in thick smoke. A girl stood with her back turned, her long hair swaying in the mist. Fang walked toward her, drawn by an invisible pull.
Just as she was about to reach her, the girl spoke without turning.
"Reveal your true form… or the world will fall into danger."
Before Fang could respond, the girl vanished. Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoed all around her.
"Give me the stone… or I'll destroy you."
Darkness surged in with the evil laughter, and the dream dissolved.
Fang woke up in a cold sweat, her breath ragged. She looked at Syaoran—he was still asleep, his face calm.
Quietly, she stood, pulled the blanket over him, and left for her room.
She closed the door behind her, her mind racing with the dream. What did it mean? Why did it feel so real?
But no answer came. Deciding not to overthink it, she lay down again.
Yet the same dream returned. The warning. The laughter.
She jolted awake, this time to morning sunlight pouring through her window. Breathing heavily, she reached for a glass of water and took a few sips.
When she opened the window, the golden rays hit her eyes. She raised her hand to shield them.
As her vision cleared, she froze.
Syaoran was standing outside.
Their eyes met.
He gave a small smile and signaled for her to open the door.
Still in disbelief, Fang nodded and hurried to unlock it.
Syaoran stepped inside and walked up to her. Without hesitation, he gently took her hand. "How's your wound?"
Her heart skipped a beat. "I… I'm fine," she murmured, pulling her hand back quickly.
He handed her a small jar of ointment. "Use this. It'll help."
"Thank you…" she said quietly.
He smiled and reached out to pat her head. "Get some rest."
And with that, he left the room.
Fang stood there, stunned. Her hand lingered on her chest, feeling the wild rhythm of her heartbeat.
A soft blush crept onto her cheeks.
"Did I… fall for him?" she whispered to herself.