Not bad for a girl who used to pick pockets for breakfast money.
Her mother would have been proud. Or horrified. Possibly both.
"Ready, miss?" Naia asked, stepping back with satisfaction.
Brynn straightened her shoulders, feeling the weight of the dark stones at her throat. She wasn't just attending as the human tribute. She was walking into a room full of people who would be judging her, trying to determine what her capabilities meant for their schemes.
Let them try. She'd size them up right back, marking every tell, every alliance, every weakness they revealed.
And if Lady Morwyn wanted to play territorial games over a man who wasn't hers to claim?
Well. Brynn had never been good at backing down from a challenge.
Even if she had no right to feel territorial herself.
Even if the thought of watching another woman close to him made possessive heat coil in her chest.
Even if she was walking into this dinner knowing she was in far deeper than she'd ever intended to be.
"Let's go," she said, lifting her chin. "Time to show them what disruption looks like."
And time to see how he looks at you in that dress,whispered a traitorous voice in her head.
She told that voice to shut up.
It didn't listen.
XXVII.
BRYNN
The grand hall had been transformed for the evening's formal dinner.
Long tables filled the vast space, their surfaces polished obsidian set into frames of pale bone. Each was draped with runners of deep purple silk, the same death-woven fabric from the tapestries, showing faint scenes that shifted when she wasn't looking directly at them. Feasts that ended in poison. Celebrations interrupted by massacre.
Additional chandeliers had been hung for the occasion, descending on chains of linked bones to hover over each table. Their cold blue flames reflected off silver place settings and crystal glasses, casting flickering light across the assembled courtiers. Candelabras of twisted bone rose from the center of each table, their flames steady and cold.
The chairs were uniform in their macabre elegance. High backs formed from spread shoulder blades, armrests ending in skeletal hands, seats upholstered in deep purple velvet that matched the silk runners.
Every surface in this court was a reminder of what ruled here.
Brynn paused at the hall's entrance, automatically noting exits and sight lines. Approximately sixty courtiers filled the space, theirconversations a low hum of controlled ambition. Everyone was positioned according to some hierarchy she was still learning to read, but the dynamics were clear enough. Those closest to the high table mattered most. Everyone else was audience.
The moment she stepped into the hall, conversations died.
Every face turned toward her, trying to gauge whether she was a threat or an opportunity, worth the effort of crushing or not yet. She kept her expression neutral and walked deeper into the room, letting the midnight blue silk announce that she belonged here, whether they liked it or not.
She'd survived worse scrutiny from people with knives.
Nathaniel materialized through the crowd. Dante's advisor, his translucent form in formal court attire, short dark hair streaked with gray framing light eyes that held quiet authority. "Miss Brynn. Lord Reaper has arranged seating for you at the high table."
Of course he had. Making a statement.
She followed him through the maze of seating, ignoring the stares. Some faces showed curiosity, others blatant scheming. A few looked like they'd already decided she was a problem that needed solving.
The high table sat on a raised platform, extended for the event. Additional place settings of silver and bone, more elaborate candelabras, silk runners embroidered with ward-symbols in silver thread. Her assigned seat was three places to the right of Dante's chair. Close enough to indicate favor, distant enough to avoid scandal. But even at the high table, his chair sat apart. A gap separated his position from the nearest courtier on either side, that invisible boundary no one dared cross.
His chair was unmistakable even from afar: bigger, darker, with a more detailed bone frame than the rest. Clever placement. Calculated. Everything he did was calculated.
