The heartbeat did not stop when they left the chamber.

That was the problem.

Acheron walked ahead of Eva through the palace corridors in complete silence, black coat shifting behind him like living shadow. His expression had returned to its usual cold stillness, but Eva had spent enough time around him now to recognize the signs.

The stiffness in his shoulders.

The unnatural precision in every movement.

The way his hands remained clenched behind his back.

Control.

Or rather—

Desperate control.

And beneath the silence of the corridor, his heartbeat still echoed faintly through the contract connecting them.

Steady.

Heavy.

Alive.

Eva was beginning to suspect the situation qualified as deeply catastrophic.

Neither of them mentioned it.

Mostly because she had absolutely no idea how to begin that conversation.

Excuse me, Lord of Death, your previously nonfunctional organs appear emotionally compromised.

The palace servants noticed immediately, of course.

Servants always noticed things.

The moment Acheron passed through the upper corridors, people scattered faster than usual. Heads lowered. Eyes avoided him completely. One poor attendant carrying silver linens turned pale after standing too close and nearly walked directly into a pillar.

Interesting.

Apparently the atmosphere around him had become worse.

That felt promising for absolutely no one.

Acheron stopped abruptly outside her chambers.

Eva nearly walked into his back again.

“You really must develop less alarming ways of ending conversations,” she muttered.

He ignored her.

Naturally.

The doors to her room opened silently.

Several servants already waited inside.

Eva froze immediately.

Three women dressed in black stood beside the enormous bed holding lengths of dark silk and silver jewelry. Another servant adjusted candles near the mirror while two more unpacked velvet boxes across a long table.

Eva narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“…Why does this room suddenly look like the beginning of a political assassination?”

No one answered.

Mostly because every servant in the room was currently avoiding looking directly at Acheron.

Again.

One woman actually trembled while holding a silver hairpin.

Acheron stepped into the room.

“The evening gathering begins in two hours.”

Eva blinked.

“The what?”

“The Court banquet.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

Several servants visibly panicked.

Apparently refusing invitations from death gods violated palace etiquette.

Eva crossed her arms.

“I already attended the horrifying god meeting. I feel that should fulfill my weekly social obligations.”

“You are required to appear.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It is not.”

One servant quietly opened a velvet case.

Inside lay a dress the color of midnight bruises.

Dark violet silk shimmered beneath the firelight like liquid shadow. The fabric looked impossibly soft, the sort of expensive garment designed specifically to make ordinary people nervous about breathing incorrectly near it.

Eva stared.

“…I cannot afford to even look at that.”

“It belongs to the palace.”

“That somehow makes it worse.”

Acheron’s silver eyes shifted toward the gown briefly.

Then immediately away again.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You will wear it tonight,” he said evenly.

Eva looked from him to the dress.

Then back to him.

“Has no one in this kingdom heard of sleeves?”

Silence.

One servant made a tiny choking noise.

Eva approached the gown carefully.

The dress was beautiful.

Unfortunately.

The silk slipped through her fingers like water. Thin silver chains crossed the open back, delicate enough to resemble jewelry rather than structure. One side of the skirt split high along the thigh.

Eva stared at it in disbelief.

“This is not a dress,” she informed the room. “This is a threat.”

Acheron looked at her.

“It is appropriate attire.”

“For whom? Assassins?”

“The Court values presentation.”

“Yes, well, the Court sounds exhausting.”

The servants exchanged nervous glances.

Acheron’s shadows shifted restlessly across the floor again.

They had been doing that constantly since the testing chamber.

Like they could no longer settle properly around him.

Eva noticed his gaze flick downward briefly toward the open back of the gown.

Then instantly away again.

Too fast.

There.

That tension again.

The realization warmed something dangerous in her chest.

Interesting.

The Lord of Death disliked looking at the dress because he knew exactly how it would look on her.

And somehow that fact felt more dangerous than every monster she had encountered so far.

Acheron turned sharply toward the servants.

“Prepare her.”

The women moved instantly.

Eva pointed at him immediately.

“No. Absolutely not. You cannot just sentence me to formalwear and disappear ominously into the night.”

His silver eyes narrowed slightly.

“You object to everything.”

“I object to situations that seem likely to end in emotional damage.”

One servant approached carefully with silver bracelets.

Eva stepped backward automatically.

The servant froze.

Fear flickered across the poor woman’s face immediately.

Ah.

Right.

Nobody here touched her.

Not anymore.

Interesting.

Acheron noticed too.

His expression darkened faintly.

The silence stretched awkwardly through the room.

Finally, Eva sighed heavily and held out her arm toward the servant herself.

“I promise I’m not contagious.”

The woman looked unconvinced but slowly fastened the bracelet around Eva’s wrist.

Nothing exploded.

Progress.

Acheron watched the entire interaction with unreadable intensity.

No.

Not unreadable.

Focused.

His attention remained fixed on the servant’s fingers touching Eva’s skin.

The shadows near the walls twisted sharply.

Possessive.

The realization hit Eva suddenly enough to steal her breath.

Oh.

Oh, that was interesting.

Dangerous.

Terrible.

But interesting.

The servant stepped away quickly once finished.

Acheron’s shadows calmed immediately afterward.

Eva looked at him carefully.

“You know,” she said slowly, “for someone who keeps insisting I’m merely a contractual inconvenience, you’re behaving very strangely about people touching me.”

The room froze.

Every servant immediately stopped moving.

One woman looked moments away from fainting.

Acheron’s silver eyes locked onto Eva’s.

The heartbeat beneath the contract slammed once.

Hard.

The candles flickered violently.

“You presume much,” he said quietly.

Eva tilted her head slightly.

“And you keep not answering the question.”

Silence.

Dangerous silence.

Then Acheron turned away abruptly.

Coward.

“Well,” Eva announced to the room once he reached the doorway, “that reaction certainly answered several things emotionally.”

The shadows snapped sharply across the floor.

Acheron stopped walking.

For one dangerous second, Eva thought he might actually turn around.

Instead, he said without looking back:

“The banquet begins at moonfall.”

Eva stared at the closed doorway after he left.

Then slowly looked down at the silk gown still draped across the bed.

One of the servants approached carefully again.

“My lady,” she whispered nervously, “shall we begin preparing your hair?”

Eva sighed deeply.

“Yes,” she muttered. “Apparently I’m being sacrificed to aristocracy tonight.”