Chapter 41 - Creatures That Do Not Lie
Steam curls around us like a living thing.
The hot spring is tucked deep into the rock, hidden from the world by stone and mist and the quiet understanding that no one enters unless invited.
The water is warm enough to loosen muscle and thought alike, heat sinking deep into bone.
I lean back against Dante's chest, his arms loose around me, unguarded in a way he never allows anywhere else.
His fingers trail through my hair, slow and absentminded, separating strands just to feel them slip through his grip again. He kisses the side of my neck.
It's strange how gentle he can be when no one is watching.
I close my eyes for a moment, listening to the water shift around us, to the steady rhythm of his breathing. For once, my mind isn't racing through treaties or blood or consequences.
Instead, I ask the thing that's been nagging at me all day.
"Why do you have so many animals?"
He hums softly, lips brushing my skin again. "Because I like animals."
I tilt my head just enough to glance back at him. "That's not an answer."
A corner of his mouth lifts. "It is."
I snort quietly. "You don't collect living creatures just because you like them."
His hand pauses in my hair.
"Animals are more loyal than people," he says simply.
There's no bitterness in his voice. No anger. Just fact.
I swallow, then try to lighten it. "So how many do you actually have?"
He exhales thoughtfully. "Somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred."
I choke a laugh. "You realize that sounds insane."
He shrugs, the movement shifting the water around us. "That's a conservative estimate."
I twist slightly in his arms, grinning up at him. "Let me guess. Seventy-five of them are named Lucian."
He scoffs. "Absolutely not."
"Oh?" I tease. "So there are only fifty Lucians?"
"No," he says flatly. "There are seventy-five pets. Anything named Lucian isn't really a pet."
I blink.
He smiles like that's the point. "They're more like my right hand. An extension of me."
"They don't travel with me," he continues, unbothered. "They come and go as they please. They guide me. Help me. See things I can't."
My stomach tightens not with fear, but with recognition. "Spies," I murmur.
"Yes," he agrees easily. "People don't question animals. They ignore them. Talk freely around them. That makes them useful."
I glance around the misty spring, suddenly half-expecting something to be listening. "That's... terrifyingly clever."
He chuckles, low and pleased. "There's more to them than that."
I tilt my head again. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Not yet." His lips brush the shell of my ear. "We're not married."
I sigh dramatically. "You're cruel."
"Patient," he corrects. "You'll learn. In about three weeks."
I groan, sinking back against him. "Fine. Then tell me about the actual pets."
He brightens immediately.
"Oh. That list."
I laugh as he starts counting on his fingers like this is the most normal thing in the world.
"Six war hounds two bred for tracking, four for guarding. Three mountain cats. One river drake don't ask, he adopted me. Four parrots that roam the castle and enjoy screaming at diplomats."
"I would pay money to see that," I murmur.
"They especially like the ones who lie," he adds dryly. "There's a lynx that sleeps in my solar. Two foxes that steal silverware. A goat that thinks it's a dog. Several horses—don't look at me like that, they count. And a pair of massive ravens who bring me shiny things and insults."
I blink. "Insults?"
He smirks. "They're very rude."
"And you just... let them roam?" I ask.
"My castle is their home ," he says.
I smile softly. "You speak like their your babies."
His arms tighten around me just a fraction.
"Its because they are," he says without hesitation.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
The water laps softly against stone. His hand continues its slow, absent path through my hair, thumb tracing idle patterns against my collarbone.
"You should know," he says, voice low, almost thoughtful, "that because there are so many versions of Lucian wandering around... I know quite a lot."
I shift slightly, tilting my head just enough to look at him. "About what?"
His fingers pause.
"Your court," he answers. "It's rotten. From the inside out."
The words land heavier than any accusation spoken in the throne room.
My breath stills. "Rotten how?"
He exhales, amused. "Oh, in all the predictable ways. Whispers in hallways. Servants paid to listen. Nobles who smile at you and sharpen knives for me."
My stomach tightens. "They're planning to kill you?"
"Yes."
The ease with which he says it sends a chill through the heat of the spring.
I turn fully now, water rippling as I brace my hands against his chest. "Dante—"
"They wouldnt be the first I've had several attemptsin my like," he continues calmly. "Poison. Sabotaged routes. A delightful little plan involving collapsing stonework that would have crushed half a council chamber."
My heart pounds. "That's not— that's not funny."
He smiles at me.
"I find it exciting," he says. "You looked genuinely worried just now."
I stare at him. "You enjoy this?"
"I enjoy knowing who my enemies are," he corrects. "And I enjoy watching them think they're clever."
He shrugs, water shifting as he adjusts his grip. "Perhaps. But they're patient. I'll give them that."
"Patient how?" I ask.
"They're waiting until after the wedding," he says. "They want your claim solid. They want you crowned fully in the West before they move. That way, when they kill me, they don't just take a throne they take an empire."
The audacity of it steals my breath.
"And that excites you?" I ask faintly.
His eyes darken.
"I can't wait to see how they try to do it."
For a heartbeat, I simply stare at him.
Then against my better judgment I laugh.
It slips out of me, startled and helpless, echoing softly against the stone walls. Because of course this man would find betrayal thrilling. Of course he would see assassination plots as entertainment.
He grins, pleased. "There it is."
"You're unbelievable," I say, still laughing softly, head falling back against his shoulder. "They're plotting your death and you're treating it like a puzzle."
"It is a puzzle," he says. "And I love puzzles."
I shake my head, warmth returning where fear briefly lived. "You're going to get yourself killed one day."
He hums near my ear. "Not today."
I lift my head again. "How does Lucian even manage all of this?" I ask carefully. "How does he communicate with... you?"
Dante's mouth curves into a knowing smile.
"I have my secrets," he says easily.
I meet his gaze, holding it longer than necessary.
"And you have me yours."