The formal knock at her door interrupted her brooding.
She didn't bother getting up. "What?"
A death knight in livery entered, his translucent features neutral. "Lady Brynn, Lord Reaper requests your presence in his study. There are matters requiring your attention."
Matters requiring your attention.Delivered like she was some minor functionary instead of the woman who'd seen him break apart a week ago.
"Does he, now?" Brynn stood slowly. Anger was better than hurt. Anger kept you sharp. Hurt made you vulnerable. "And what sort of matters require my particular expertise?"
The knight's expression didn't change. "I was not informed of the specifics, my lady. Only that your presence is requested immediately."
"Tell his lordship I'll be along shortly."
The moment the door closed, she moved to her wardrobe with intent.
If Dante thought he could summon her like a servant after a week of silence, he could damn well wait. She took her time, braiding her hair with care that would've made her mother proud, checking her lockpicks out of spite. The leather corset she'd been saving for no particular reason. The one that made her waist look small and everything else look... not small. The belt with the silver buckle that caught light and drew the eye. Fitted leather pants instead of practical work clothes.
Maybe he'd notice exactly what he'd been running from.
Petty? Absolutely. Satisfying? More than it should be.
The corridors felt familiar after all this time in the palace, but the servants' behavior had shifted. Still polite, still deferential, but with a wariness that hadn't been there before.
She passed a cluster of courtiers near the grand staircase. Their conversation died the moment they saw her. One of them, a beautiful death-touched woman who'd been trying to catch Dante's attention for weeks, smiled with too many teeth.
"Lady Brynn," the woman said, voice dripping with sweetness. "How lovely to see you. We were just discussing how alone Lord Reaper has been lately."
Brynn smiled back. "Were you? How fascinating that you have so much time to discuss your lord's private affairs instead of attending to your own duties."
She kept walking before any of them could respond, but felt their stares like knives between her shoulder blades.
The court had noticed. And they were pleased about it.
She found his study door ajar and didn't bother knocking. She pushed it open, letting it hit the wall with a satisfying thud.
Dante stood behind his massive desk, maps spread across its surface.
Her traitorous heart stuttered.
He wore full court formal—black silk and leather that emphasized every line of his body, the high collar framing his jaw, the fitted cut making his shoulders look impossibly broad. His dark hair was swept back from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the sensual mouth set in a hard line.
He looked like the feared Reaper. Like death incarnate wrapped in elegance and power.
He lookeddevastating, and she hated herself for noticing.
She needed to stop. He'd been hiding from her for a week. She was supposed to be angry.
She was angry. Furious. But her body hadn't gotten the message. Her pulse was doing something stupid, and her mouth had gone dry, and some pathetic part of her was watching the way his black eyes absorbed the candlelight and gave nothing back.
When he looked up, his expression was blank. The eyes that had looked at her with something almost like vulnerability seven nights ago gave away nothing.
Then his gaze swept over her, and whatever he'd been about tosay died in his throat. He went still. His fingers curled against the desk.
Good. He'd noticed.
"Thank you for coming," he said, as if she'd had a choice. His voice came out rough. He cleared his throat.
Her spine straightened at his tone. The commanding one. The one that made her want to either obey or defy him, and she wasn't sure which urge was worse.
