The servant materialized in the doorway.
Brynn jerked back instinctively, trying to pull her hand free. They'd agreed to keep this quiet. To protect her from becoming an even bigger target than she already was.
Dante's hand tightened on hers.
She shot him a warning look.What are you doing?
He didn't let go.
The spirit stood frozen, translucent form flickering. Its eyes darted from their joined hands to their proximity to the way Dante's other hand was still curved around Brynn's jaw.
"Breakfast," Dante said flatly. "For two."
The servant's form flickered again before retreating so quickly it nearly left a vapor trail.
Brynn let out a breath. "We agreed?—"
"I know."
"You're the one who said it was dangerous for people to know?—"
"I know."
"Then why?—"
"Because I couldn't." The admission came out rough, almost angry. His shoulders went rigid, shadows coiling with agitation. "You tried to pull away and I couldn't make myself let go."
She stared at him. The Reaper, Lord of the Forsaken, who had built his entire existence around restraint, couldn't let go of her hand.
"The entire palace will know by midday," he said, releasing her fingers at last. "I'm sorry. That was selfish."
"Dante." She caught his hand before he could pull away completely. "I don't care."
"You should. This paints a target?—"
"I already have a target on my back. Someone's already tried to kill me." She squeezed his fingers. "At least now I get something good along with the danger."
He looked at her for a long moment. The walls he'd spent decades building were crumbling, and he couldn't find it in himself to care.
"You're reckless," he said quietly.
"So are you, apparently." She smiled.
His thumb brushed across her knuckles once before he stepped back. "Sit. Eat. We need to talk about what happens next."
"So commanding." But she was smiling as she took her usual chair, and when he sat beside her instead of across from her, she immediately hooked her ankle around his under the table.
They ate like that. Shoulders brushing, legs tangled, her stealing food from his plate just to see if he'd let her.
He let her.
Halfway through the meal, she set down her fork and asked, "Any word on who sent the assassin?"
"My shadow-guards are hunting." He reached for his glass.
"But you have suspicions." She waved her fork. "Beyond the obvious—same person behind the ward failures, same person behind the knife in my direction."
"The timing was too precise to be a coincidence. They knew exactly when the wards would destabilize." He took a sip of water. "Which means access to information most don't have."
