Lady Morwyn's words carried across the hall, rising to ensure everyone could hear. The attack was public, meant to put the mortal in her place. To remind everyone, especially him, of the vast distance between a temporary tribute and someone who belonged.
Unacceptable.
The temperature had dropped before he decided to act. His shadows responded to the fury behind his control, spreading across the floor.
Tool. Replaceable. Doesn't belong among your betters.
He'd seen the thief's hands clench beneath the table, seen the flash of humiliation quickly masked. Seen her hold her ground against someone far older. The intelligence that had immediately grasped the stakes, the control that had kept her responses even.
He saw far too clearly how those words had cut deeper than a simple insult warranted.
He rose from his chair, the movement creating a ripple of awareness throughout the hall. Conversations stopped entirely as every person present became hyperaware of his displeasure.
They should be afraid.
"Lady Morwyn." He didn't raise his tone. Didn't need to. The shadows carried his words with clarity. "How fascinating to hear your theories on competence."
She turned toward him, confidence melting into a respectful bow of her head. But he caught the flash of satisfaction in her eyes. She'd succeeded in drawing his public attention, forcing his hand. Even if not in the way she'd intended, she'd made him react.
Clever. Foolish, but clever.
"Lord Reaper," she said, violet eyes downcast in a performance of submission. "I was merely expressing concern for the realm's stability."
The lie was elegantly delivered. She cared nothing for realm stability. This was about influence, the ages-old game she'd been playing since long before the thief arrived.
He moved from the head table. His shadows flowed ahead of him, parting the space between the seating, making courtiers lean back instinctively. He walked directly to where Lady Morwyn stood beside the thief's chair—standing over her, claiming that space.
Claiming what she'd tried to dismiss.
"Your concern," he said, "is noted. As is your complete lack of contribution to resolving the crisis you claim to care about so deeply."
Lady Morwyn's composure cracked slightly at the edges. The faintest tightening around her eyes, the minute stiffening of her spine. She hadn't expected him to turn her assault back on her so directly.
She should have.
"In fact, your primary qualification appears to be an impressive catalog of failures disguised as experience." He let that verdict settle over them like frost. Other courtiers shifted uncomfortably, recognizing the implicit threat. If he could dismiss decades of service thiseasily, none of them were safe. "Tell me, in your centuries of theoretical expertise, how many ward-locks have you personally prevented from collapsing?"
The trap was set and sprung simultaneously. Every person in the hall understood what he'd done. Forced her to admit her uselessness in front of everyone.
Her face went blank as she processed the reversal. "My experience has been more advisory in nature," she managed, strained.
"Advisory." He let the word hang in the air like a death sentence. Let them all hear the contempt in it. "How fortunate, then, that we have someone present who deals in results rather than advice."
The thief had remained still throughout the exchange, unreadable, but her posture suggested readiness. Poised to move if necessary. She grasped the game being played—when to hold, and when to let him handle the threat.
Smart girl. Knows when to let the Reaper defend his territory.
"You look tired." The dismissal was calculated, giving her an excuse to leave with dignity intact. Removing her from the line of fire while showing he'd chosen to do so.
She rose immediately, reading both the dismissal and the protection it offered—her quick intelligence reading between his words.
"Thank you for the enlightening conversation, Lady Morwyn," the thief said with a politeness that somehow sounded condescending.
He caught the flash of rage in Morwyn's eyes before she masked it. Let her be angry. Let her understand what happened when someone targeted what was under his protection.
The territorial claim in that thought surprised him less than it should have.
As the thief moved to stand beside him, close enough that he could feel her warmth, Dante let his gaze sweep the hall once more. The message was clear to everyone present: those who targeted her would be treated as if they had targeted him.
