Chapter 42
XLII.
brYNN
One week of this bullshit.
Seven days since Dante had fled his own garden like a startled cat, leaving her standing among black roses with her hand still reaching toward empty air.
Seven days of meals sent to her room, polite excuses about "Lord Reaper's schedule," and pretending she wasn't checking every shadow for signs of him.
Brynn threw herself into the chair by her window, glaring out at the eternal twilight. Somewhere in this sprawling palace of bone and shadow, the most feared Death Lord in existence was hiding from her.
Hiding. From a mortal thief who barely came up to his shoulder.
The coward.
She'd marked every slight. Servants maintaining distance when delivering messages.
Formal notes replacing conversation—Lord Reaper requests, Lord Reaper requires—as if they hadn't progressed past that months ago.
The complete absence of shadows curling around doorframes when she passed through corridors.
He was everywhere and nowhere. His power hummed through every stone, wrapped around every ward-lock she touched, but the man himself had vanished like smoke.
And wasn't that just perfect. She'd finally started to think maybe there was something real between them. Then the moment things got complicated, the moment she'd seen past his control to the lonely man underneath, he'd run.
Should've known better. People with power always did this: they used you when it suited them, discarded you when things got messy. Her parents had trusted a partner who smiled and promised loyalty right up until he'd framed them for treason.
The formal knock at her door interrupted her brooding.
She didn't bother getting up. "What?"
A death knight in livery entered, his translucent features neutral. "Lady Brynn, Lord Reaper requests your presence in his study. There are matters requiring your attention."
Matters requiring your attention. Delivered like she was some minor functionary instead of the woman who'd seen him break apart a week ago.
"Does he, now?" Brynn stood slowly. Anger was better than hurt. Anger kept you sharp. Hurt made you vulnerable. "And what sort of matters require my particular expertise?"
The knight's expression didn't change. "I was not informed of the specifics, my lady. Only that your presence is requested immediately."
"Tell his lordship I'll be along shortly."
The moment the door closed, she moved to her wardrobe with intent.
If Dante thought he could summon her like a servant after a week of silence, he could damn well wait.
She took her time, braiding her hair with care that would've made her mother proud, checking her lockpicks out of spite.
The leather corset she'd been saving for no particular reason.
The one that made her waist look small and everything else look.
.. not small. The belt with the silver buckle that caught light and drew the eye.
Fitted leather pants instead of practical work clothes.
Maybe he'd notice exactly what he'd been running from.
Petty? Absolutely. Satisfying? More than it should be.
The corridors felt familiar after all this time in the palace, but the servants' behavior had shifted. Still polite, still deferential, but with a wariness that hadn't been there before.
She passed a cluster of courtiers near the grand staircase. Their conversation died the moment they saw her. One of them, a beautiful death-touched woman who'd been trying to catch Dante's attention for weeks, smiled with too many teeth.
"Lady Brynn," the woman said, voice dripping with sweetness. "How lovely to see you. We were just discussing how alone Lord Reaper has been lately."
Brynn smiled back. "Were you? How fascinating that you have so much time to discuss your lord's private affairs instead of attending to your own duties."
She kept walking before any of them could respond, but felt their stares like knives between her shoulder blades.
The court had noticed. And they were pleased about it.
She found his study door ajar and didn't bother knocking. She pushed it open, letting it hit the wall with a satisfying thud.
Dante stood behind his massive desk, maps spread across its surface.
Her traitorous heart stuttered.
He wore full court formal—black silk and leather that emphasized every line of his body, the high collar framing his jaw, the fitted cut making his shoulders look impossibly broad.
His dark hair was swept back from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the sensual mouth set in a hard line.
He looked like the feared Reaper. Like death incarnate wrapped in elegance and power.
He looked devastating, and she hated herself for noticing.
She needed to stop. He'd been hiding from her for a week. She was supposed to be angry.
She was angry. Furious. But her body hadn't gotten the message. Her pulse was doing something stupid, and her mouth had gone dry, and some pathetic part of her was watching the way his black eyes absorbed the candlelight and gave nothing back.
When he looked up, his expression was blank. The eyes that had looked at her with something almost like vulnerability seven nights ago gave away nothing.
Then his gaze swept over her, and whatever he'd been about to say died in his throat. He went still. His fingers curled against the desk.
Good. He'd noticed.
"Thank you for coming," he said, as if she'd had a choice. His voice came out rough. He cleared his throat.
Her spine straightened at his tone. The commanding one. The one that made her want to either obey or defy him, and she wasn't sure which urge was worse.
"Did I have a choice?" She settled into the chair across from his desk without invitation, crossing her legs slowly. His gaze flicked down, just for a heartbeat, before jerking back to her face. "Because that message sounded remarkably like a summons."
"We have appointments with two more courts." He gestured to the maps like this was a normal strategic meeting. Like they hadn't stood in his garden with almost no space between them. "The investigation requires—"
"Right to business, then." Brynn leaned back, studying him. Looking for tells. Weak spots. Places where his control cracked. "No acknowledgment of the fact that you've been treating me like I've got some contagious disease."
His jaw clenched. There, a tell.
"I haven't been—" The words came out clipped. "I've been managing court affairs."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
His hands flexed on the desk's edge, fingers digging into the wood hard enough that she heard it creak. The shadows at his feet darkened before he yanked them back under control.
"The investigation—"
"Has been sitting idle while you hide." She leaned forward, forcing him to either meet her eyes or obviously look away. "So either tell me where we're going and why, or admit you've been sulking."
The shadows spread across the floor despite his efforts. His dark eyes blazed with an intensity that made heat curl low in her stomach.
"Careful, thief." The word came out low, edged with warning.
"Or what?" She held his gaze, refusing to back down even though her pulse was racing for all the wrong reasons. "You'll ignore me for another week?"
Silence.
The shadows writhed at his feet. His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths.
When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously soft. "We're visiting The Lingering Court today. Tomorrow, The Mourned."
"That's it? That's all you're going to say?"
"What would you have me say?"
The truth. That something happened in that garden. That he felt it too. That he'd been hiding because he was terrified of what was between them.
But she couldn't force those words out. Couldn't make herself that vulnerable when he was standing there behind his desk like it was a fortress wall.
"Nothing," she said finally. "Clearly."
Pain flickered across his expression before the mask slammed back down.
"You're needed because you're the only one who can read the ward damage patterns." He turned back to the maps, shuffling papers with unnecessary force. "Your abilities are essential to—"
"Don't." The word came out sharper than intended. "Don't reduce this to my abilities. Don't pretend the last few weeks have been purely professional."
His shoulders went rigid. He didn't turn around. Didn't look at her.
The silence stretched, heavy with everything neither of them was saying.
"Right." She stood, moving slowly around the desk, closing the gap between them. Crossing into the space no one else dared enter, the twelve feet of distance that everyone in this court knew to maintain.
His shoulders went tight as a bowstring.
"Anything else I should know?" She stopped close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the rapid pulse beating in his throat. Close enough that she could smell him. The same scent that had haunted her for a week. "Special protocols for dealing with ghosts and peaceful deaths?"
He didn't step away. Didn't move at all. But she could see the effort it cost him, the way every muscle in his body had locked down.
"Thessa's domain can be disorienting." His voice came out strained. Rough. He lifted his hand to point at the map, keeping several inches between their fingers like even that proximity was dangerous. "Stay close. Don't wander off. Don't touch anything without permission."
"You mean stay close like I have been?" She let the bitterness bleed through. "Oh wait. That was you running."
His head turned toward her.
The air between them ignited.
She could see silver flecks in his dark eyes, the way his pupils had dilated until there was barely any color left. Could see the muscle jumping in his jaw, the tendons standing out in his neck, the tight grip he had on the desk's edge.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Her breath caught. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Every rational thought in her head went silent, drowned out by the sudden, desperate want that flooded through her.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.
The moment stretched. His shadows crept toward her feet, reaching for her despite his rigid control. His lips parted. His body swayed forward, barely, like he was fighting gravity.
Then he stepped back.
He put the desk between them again like a barricade, and the loss of his proximity hit her like a slap.
"The investigation." His voice came out hoarse. "We have work to do."
Her hands were trembling. She curled them into fists at her sides.
"Of course." She stepped back as well, pride the only thing keeping her upright. "And tomorrow's visit?"
He grabbed onto the subject change like a drowning man clutching a rope. "Caelum should be cooperative. Reasonable." His finger jabbed at another section of the map, gaze fixed firmly on the parchment. "He deals with natural deaths, peaceful crossings."
Brynn nodded, filing away the information while studying his profile. The rigid set of his shoulders. The way he wouldn't meet her eyes. The rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed how affected he actually was.
"When do we leave?" she asked, proud that her voice didn’t waver.
"Within the hour."
"Fine. I'll meet you at the transport chamber."
She was halfway to the door when his voice stopped her.
"Wait."
The word came out rough. Almost unwilling. Like it had escaped against his will.
She turned back slowly, hope flickering to life in her chest.
He stood behind his desk as if it were a shield. The shadows had gone still. Too still. His hands were braced against the wood, and for just a moment, he looked like a man at war with himself.
"The investigation is important." He wasn't looking at her. "The realm's stability depends on finding the saboteur."
Of course. Back to safety. Back to what he could control.
A bitter laugh escaped her. "Of course it is. Wouldn't want anything personal to interfere."
His mouth opened. His gaze met hers, and she saw something raw flash across his expression.
For one heartbeat, she thought he might actually say it. Whatever was choking him. Whatever had made him flee the garden. Whatever kept making him look at her like she was simultaneously salvation and damnation.
But he didn't.
"One hour," he said finally. "The transport chamber."
Not what she wanted to hear. But apparently, all he was capable of giving.
"I'll be there."
She turned back toward the door, refusing to let him see how much his distance actually hurt.