Chapter 34 Consequences
The party ends the way all wars pause
not with peace, but with exhaustion.
By the time I leave the ballroom, the music still echoes inside my skull, a distant thrum that refuses to fade. Laughter follows me down the corridor in thin, nervous strands. Wine has soaked into the stone floors. Blood has, too. No one mentions it. No one dares.
Dante disappears behind me, swallowed by steel, orders, and men who obey without question. His presence lingers even after he's gone, like smoke after fire. I do not ask where he is going.
I already know.
My chambers are warm, glowing softly with candlelight. Steam curls through the air from the bath, carrying the clean scent of crushed rosemary and lavender. The maids move quickly, efficiently, as if speed might erase what they witnessed tonight. Their eyes never quite meet mine.
They peel the gown from my body in careful layers, silk heavy with wine, with sweat, with a stranger's blood that is not mine yet feels like it should be—the fabric slides to the floor with a sound too soft for what it carries.
The bath is hot enough to sting.
I welcome it.
The water clouds immediately as red loosens from my skin. One maid kneels to wash my hair, fingers gentle where pins were torn free. Another scrubs my arms, my shoulders, my hands, lingering just a second longer on my palms, as if wondering how much blood a queen can truly carry.
I close my eyes.
For a moment, I am no one. Not a ruler. Not a symbol. Not a prize claimed by the empire. I am simply a woman submerged in heat, breathing steam, letting the weight fall away.
They dry me carefully. Linen replaces water. Soft fabric replaces steel and silk. My hair is brushed and loosely braided down my back. They dress me in a robe pale as dawn.
I barely recognize the woman in the mirror.
She looks calm.
She is lying.
There is a knock.
Soft. Controlled. Unhurried.
The door opens only a fraction before Dante steps into view.
He stops immediately.
His eyes flick to the maids, to my half-done braid, to the robe still open at the collar. For a man who walked through blood without hesitation, his pause now is almost... human.
"I can come back later," he says, already shifting his weight as if to retreat.
"It's fine," I reply. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "They're almost done."
He hesitates, then nods once and enters fully, crossing the room with the easy confidence of someone who has never asked permission to exist in a space. He settles onto the couch, long limbs relaxed, armor gone, dark shirt clinging to him like a second skin.
He watches.
The maids finish tying the sash at my waist, fingers trembling now that the night has caught up with them.
"Thank you," I say.
They bow and leave as if they were being chased.
The door shuts behind them with a soft, final click.
Silence stretches between us.
Dante leans back, draping one arm along the couch as if he owns it, and perhaps he does. His gaze tracks me slowly, head tilting just enough to suggest curiosity rather than judgment.
Then, without preamble, i ask:
"What the hell was that?"
I blink. Once. Twice.
"You'll have to be more specific," he says dryly. "The part where i arrived with an army? The bird? Or the murder in the middle of my court?"
He huffs a laugh—low, brief, dangerous. "I warned you."
I stare at him, incredulous. "You stabbed a man through the heart."
"Yes," he agrees readily.
"In front of my nobles."
"Correct."
"During my birthday celebration."
He shrugs. "Timing could've been worse."
"You're unbelievable."
"And yet," he says, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, "you still chose me."
I cross my arms. "You killed a man on day one."
"He disrespected you," Dante replies, tone flattening. "Which means he disrespected me. I don't tolerate disrespect."
The words settle into the room like a verdict already passed.
I exhale sharply. "You didn't even give him a chance to finish his sentence."
"He finished it the moment he opened his mouth."
I shake my head, pacing once before stopping in front of him. "You could have handled it differently."
"Maybe," he concedes. "But i didn't want to ."
My jaw tightens. "And the bird?"
His mouth curves, just slightly. "The warbird?"
"That thing," I say. "That nearly took my head off."
"It wouldn't," he says calmly. "Not without my say."
"That's not comforting."
"It should be."
I sigh. "Explain it."
He considers the request seriously. "It listens. It remembers. It kills when I ask."
I rub my temples. "Of course it does. What's its name?"
He hesitates.
That alone tells me everything.
"It's... a bit odd."
"Why would a bird's name be odd?"
"Because," he says dryly, "it's named Lucian."
I stare at him.
"You named your cat Lucian."
"And now your bird."
"That's not creative."
"It's efficient," he counters. "I like consistency."
I laugh despite myself, the sound surprising us both.
He watches me closely, as if committing the moment to memory.
Then his expression shifts, not harsh or angry, but intent.
"Why are you standing so far away?" he asks.
I glance down at the space between us, then back up. "I wasn't aware distance offended you."
"As your king," he says, his voice suddenly formal, then promptly betrays it with humor, "I demand you move closer."
I arch a brow. "Demand?
I take a step.
Back.
Dante's brow lifts—not in anger, but in intrigue. Amusement flickers through his eyes like a spark near dry tinder.
"Isabella," Dante says softly.
"Come closer."
I smile.
And take another step back.
His eyes darken, not with fury, but with something that curls low in my stomach. He straightens slowly, rolling his shoulders like a predator deciding whether the chase is worth the effort.
"Isabella," he says again, voice still calm, still measured, but heavier now. "This is your last warning. Come here."
I grin wide, unapologetic.
And take one long step back.
The space between us vanishes in the blink of an eye.
One second, he's across the room.
Next, he's there.
I gasp not in fear, but surprise as I move instinctively backward and hit the wall. Cold stone presses against my spine. His body cages me in before I can even think about escape, one arm braced beside my head, the other settling low on my waist.
He looks down at me, eyes burning, breath steady, infuriatingly controlled.
"That was a simple command," he says quietly. "And you couldn't follow it."
My pulse races, but I refuse to let it show. I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze.
"What's going to happen," he continues, voice dropping just enough to make the words feel like a promise, "when I give you a harder task?"
I grin.
"You'll find out," I say lightly, "when we get there."
For half a second, something like surprise flickers across his face.
Then he smirks.
"Well," he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against my cheek, "let's find out."
His hand lifts, fingers brushing my jaw.
"Give me a kiss," he says, tone almost lazy, "for all my hard work tonight."
I laugh softly. "No."
One dark eyebrow arches.
"Give me a kiss," he repeats, voice still calm, still dangerous, "or I'll take it."
I open my mouth to refuse again—
And he doesn't wait.
His lips crash against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs.
One hand fists in the back of my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp, and the sound gives him exactly what he wants.
He deepens the kiss instantly, slow and unyielding, all heat and command, as if he has all the time in the world and intends to use it.
I melt before I can stop myself.
When he pulls back, just slightly, his lips brush my cheek, then the corner of my mouth, then trail lower—unhurried, deliberate. A kiss pressed beneath my ear. Along my jaw. Down my throat.
"Following my orders," he murmurs against my skin, voice low and satisfied, "always leads to rewards."
A quiet sound escapes me before I can swallow it.
His hand slides lower, lifting the hem of my gown just enough for cool air to kiss my skin, and the contrast makes me shiver. He doesn't rush. His mouth follows the same path, kisses slow and devastating along my neck, my shoulder.
A knock sounds at the door.
He doesn't stop.
"Go away," Dante says flatly, lips never leaving my skin.
Another knock.
"Sir, you're needed."
"Get lost," he replies, annoyed now, teeth grazing my shoulder just enough to make my breath hitch.
The knock comes again, louder this time.
"Sir," a voice calls, "it's Lucian."
Dante freezes.
Then groans low, frustrated, thoroughly displeased.
"He better be dying," he mutters against my skin, "or I'm going to kill him."
He presses one last kiss to my lips, slower this time, lingering, promising, and steps back, leaving me breathless against the wall.
"We can finish your training later," he says quietly.
Then he turns and leaves, the door closing behind him
And my knees finally threaten to give out.