Then her feet hit solid ground, and she stumbled forward onto flagstones that crunched softly beneath her. Smooth bone tiles, she realized with a lurch of her stomach. Fitted together like cobblestones.
She was no longer in the mortal realm.
Behind her, the portal snapped closed with a sound like breaking bones, cutting off the last connection to the world she'd known.
Ahead stretched corridors where massive ribs arched overhead, meeting at spines that ran along the ceilings. Bone sconces lined the walls, skeletal hands cupping cold blue flames that cast flickering shadows.
Welcome to the Court of the Forsaken.
VI.
DANTE
He didn't look back. Looking back would acknowledge the problem.
But he could feel her behind him. Scanning corridors, studying the bone sconces, mapping exits.
Her chains clinked with a steady rhythm.
Hundreds of tributes had passed through his domain, and not one had ever walked in like they were already planning their escape.
The ritual had proceeded exactly as expected until she'd stepped into that circle. When the thief had walked to the center platform without being pushed and met his gaze directly, the ward symbols had changed from cold blue to bright white flame.
The wards had never blazed white before. His shadows had reached for her before he could stop them, instinct overriding his control.
Even now, the shadows around his feet stretched toward her. He wanted to snap them back, force them under his control. But doing so would reveal how much her presence unsettled him. He hadn't spent centuries perfecting that mask just to let it slip now.
Her defiance should have irritated him. Instead, satisfaction flickered through his chest before he buried it.
He'd grown weary of sobbing tributes. At least this one was different.
Ahead, the doors to his throne room stood open. Massive doors framed by crossed femurs, their handles shaped like curled skeletal hands.
His court was in their assigned positions. Close enough to attend, far enough to survive.
Everything just as it had been for ages.
Except his shadows kept reaching for the woman he'd claimed barely an hour ago.
"My lord." One of his servants materialized ahead. "The court awaits you."
Dante's chin dipped once. His court always awaited him, bound by magic older than their memories, compelled to serve whether they wished it or not. But tonight felt different.
Tonight, they were curious.
The tribute stepped through the doorway behind him.
And stopped.
Dante waited for the collapse. The begging. The desperate tears.
Instead, her head lifted. She swept her gaze across his court, tracked the walls, the chandeliers overhead, the floor beneath her feet.
Her attention settled on his throne, studying it like she was calculating its weight, its value, its weaknesses.
"Interesting decor."
Servants made sounds of shock. One spirit flickered so violently it nearly lost its form. Even his bound warriors shifted uneasily.
