"The evening's entertainment should prove enlightening," Nathaniel said quietly as he held her chair. "Lord Reaper thought you should be prepared for the usual dynamics."
Which meant political games disguised as dinner conversation. She settled in and began identifying the players.
To her left sat Master Magnus, the examiner Naia had warned her about. Old even by death realm standards, with silver hair and ice-blue eyes that seemed to notice every detail. The kind of eyes that saw through lies professionally. Beyond him, Lady Vivienne, the magical theorist, already formulating questions about Brynn's abilities based on the sharpness of her gaze alone. Both nodded politely when introduced. Both would discuss her later.
The other courtiers were easier to read. Spirits who'd chosen service over whatever came next, the recently dead given new purpose, and a few who looked solid enough to have been here since the realm's founding. All of them radiated the same careful control that came from existing under Dante's rule.
Conversations flowed around her, and Brynn listened for anything useful about the ward failures. She caught fragments from Lord Lucian's group. "...resources stretched thin..." "...questioning priorities..." His tone carried the authority of someone accustomed to being heard, and others nodded along with his observations about "recent policy changes."
Changes meaning her. Meaning Dante working with a mortal instead of following protocols.
References to "proper leadership" and "traditional approaches" surfaced with suspicious frequency. Some speakers carried the fervor of true believers rather than typical opportunists. People who believed in causes were more dangerous. Causes made people reckless.
Like deliberately sabotaging ward-locks.
A ripple of movement caught her attention. Three women, strikingly ethereal in the way of death realm nobility, directing hungry looks toward Dante's empty chair.
"The Reaper's admirers," Lady Vivienne murmured, following her gaze.
The one in the center had to be Lady Morwyn. Silver-white hair that shimmered in the blue firelight like moonlight, violet eyes with piercing intensity, a gown cut to display her considerable advantages while maintaining propriety. She commanded her group with ease. Every smile, every gesture perfected over decades.
Everything Brynn wasn't.
"Lady Morwyn has been particularly persistent in her attentions," Master Magnus observed dryly. "She believes proximity to The Reaper grants certain privileges."
Brynn filed that away while studying Morwyn more closely. The woman moved like someone accustomed to getting her way, gesturing in ways meant to draw the eye. Professional-level manipulation. Made her street cons look like amateur hour.
Before Brynn could analyze further, the room's atmosphere shifted. Conversations dropped to a more respectful volume. The air grew noticeably cooler. Every spine straightened. The blue flames in the chandeliers flickered in unison.
The Reaper had arrived.
He entered through the main doors, shadows flowing around him. Tonight's formal attire, a fitted black jacket cut close at the shoulders and tapered at the waist, made him look every inch the dangerous lord he was. Her gaze traced the line of it before she could stop herself. The way the fabric moved with him, accommodating rather than constraining.
She forced her attention elsewhere.
His black eyes scanned the room, missing nothing. When his gaze reached the high table, it paused on her.
Just a moment. A brief sweep of darkness over midnight blue silk, lingering at her collar. Her throat.
Heat flooded her face. She held his gaze anyway, because looking away felt like losing something.
His shadows shifted. A tendril curled along the edge of the high table toward her seat, barely visible in the blue firelight. He didn't seem to notice.
Lady Morwyn did.
She intercepted his path like she owned the ground beneath it. "Lord Reaper," she purred, dropping to a tone that suggested private conversations and shared secrets. "You look magnificent this evening."
Her hand hovered near his arm. Close but not quite touching, though the gesture staked a claim in public. Dante's jaw set in the controlled mask he wore for court.
Then she leaned closer and whispered something in his ear. Body language that suggested intimacy, history, expectations. Confidence that she had every right to step within the boundary most others wouldn't dare cross.
Something hot and ugly twisted behind her ribs. Jealousy. She named it for what it was.
Her hands clenched into fists against the skeletal armrests. She forced them open. Forced herself to watch the room instead of that silver-haired head tilted toward his ear. The courtier across from her glanced in Brynn's direction, then quickly away, and Brynn realized her expression must be showing more than she wanted.
She rearranged her face into something neutral. Bored, even. Just a tribute watching court politics she didn't understand or care about.
Even she didn't believe it.
