"Dante?"
He raised an eyebrow in question, not trusting his voice.
"We're going to win this."
She said it like she believed it. Like she needed him to believe it too.
His shadows reached for her before he could stop them. Unable to resist. Drawn to her like she was magnetic north and they were compasses finding true.
She smiled at them. At him.
Then slipped through the door.
LXXI.
BRYNN
Brynn braced one hand against Dante's dresser and straightened.
Her thighs protested. Screamed, actually. Her hips ached in places she hadn't known could ache. Even her core throbbed, a deep reminder of how thoroughly he'd worked her body before dawn. How he'd filled her completely, pushed deeper than she'd thought possible, made her take all of him until she couldn't remember where she ended and he began.
Worth it.
Completely worth it.
But getting to his study ten minutes ago had required more dignity than she'd known she possessed. Every step was a conscious negotiation with muscles that wanted to remind her what she'd done. What he'd done to her. His hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. His shadows pinning her while he'd moved inside her. His mouth on her throat, teeth scraping skin, growling her name like a prayer and a curse.
And now she had to gear up for war.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
She moved toward the wardrobe, covering the stiffness as best she could. Silver light filtered through the window, different from the usual purple twilight. Softer somehow, like even the realm recognizedthat something had shifted overnight. That the Reaper had taken his companion, and the Forsaken Court would never be quite the same.
The formal attire hung on a chair where Naia had probably left it. Black silk and silver threading, designed to complement Dante's court aesthetic while marking her as his equal. Beautiful work. Expensive fabric, tailoring that would have cost more than she'd made in a year.
Quality. The real thing. She'd handled enough to know the difference between craftsmanship and pretty trash—also completely impractical for rallying an army in a settlement of freed souls who'd probably take one look at court finery and decide she was just another noble playing at power.
She ran her fingers over the silk, feeling the weight and drape. Fabric that whispered against skin, that made you feel powerful just wearing it.
Now it was hers. Tailored for her. Waiting for her to step into the role she'd somehow stumbled into.
Warmth rushed through her at the memory of how he'd looked at her in the darkness. Dark eyes blazing with possession. His voice dropping to that rough command that made her pulse race.
She let her hand drop from the silk.
Three sharp knocks at the door.
"Come in."
Naia drifted through, carrying a breakfast tray that smelled like fresh bread and coffee. The servant's form solidified slightly as she set the tray on the table, and Brynn caught the knowing smile before Naia even spoke.
Oh no.
"Good morning, Lady of the Forsaken." Mischief glinted in Naia's expression. "I trust you're finding Lord Reaper's chambers to your liking? Since that's where you live now."
Heat crept up Brynn's face. "Don't."
"The entire palace knows." Naia arranged the breakfast with care, shoulders shaking. "His shadows were practically singing. The death-knights are placing bets on wedding timelines. And the ward-keepers swear the stones glowed at midnight when you?—"
