Brynn smoothed her hands down the fabric, feeling ward-magic woven through every thread. "And what's that?"
"Untouchable. Permanent.His."
The possessiveness in that last word sent warmth pooling low in her stomach. One month of being claimed by the Reaper, and her body had learned to respond to that edge.
She emerged from behind the screen.
Naia whistled low. "Forget what I said earlier. You won't even make it to the throne room looking like that."
"We have to make it to the throne room."
"Here." Naia retrieved the familiar crown from its velvet-lined box. Black metal worked into patterns that looked like frozen shadows, set with stones that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. "He insisted you wear this one tonight. The one he gave you right after he claimed you.”
Before the battle. Before her transformation. When being his equal had felt like a dream she didn't dare believe in.
The circlet settled onto her braided hair. The weight of it familiar and right.
"The whole court's taking bets on how long before he drags you back here," Naia added, amusement dancing in her voice.
"Naia!"
"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking." Her smile turned knowing. “The palace has learned to avoid the west wing between midnight and dawn."
Brynn's cheeks flushed. "We're not that?—"
"You are. And good for you. A Death Lord who looks at his companion like she's the only thing in existence? That's rarer than you'd think."
Brynn turned back to the mirror before Naia could see how much those words affected her.
His presence moved through the palace corridors like a storm approaching. Her pulse jumped before she even felt his attention focus on her.
Here, she felt through the bond.
The door opened.
Dante stood in the doorway, dressed in his Death Lord attire. All black and silver with bone details. His dark eyes traveled slowly down her body.
His shoulders tensed. His shadows surged. His fingers curled at his sides.
Want flooded through the bond.
"Naia." He didn't look away from Brynn. "Out."
The servant curtsied quickly, shooting Brynn a knowing look. “I hope you at least make the presentation."
The door clicked shut.
The air changed. Charged.
Dante crossed the room in three strides, backing Brynn against the vanity. His hands braced on either side of her, caging her in without touching. Close enough that she could feel his body heat, that his scent surrounded her.
Close enough that her body arched toward him without permission.
"We have to go," she managed, but her voice came out breathier than intended.
"We do." His eyes hadn't left hers, pupils dilated. "In a moment."
"The other Death Lords?—"
