The banquet hall looked exactly like the sort of place where people politely poisoned each other.

Black marble stretched endlessly beneath towering vaulted ceilings. Hundreds of silver candles floated in the air without visible support, their flames casting cold light across rows of impossibly elegant nobles seated along a massive crescent-shaped table.

Music drifted softly through the chamber from unseen musicians.

Not cheerful music.

Nothing in the Underworld had ever once suggested cheerfulness as a concept.

Eva paused at the top of the staircase overlooking the hall and immediately regretted every decision she had made in life leading up to this moment.

“You know,” she said quietly, “if I fall down these stairs, I want it officially recorded that the dress was responsible.”

Behind her, one of the servants made a distressed noise.

Acheron, standing several steps lower in the shadows beside the staircase, did not look up immediately.

Which somehow made things worse.

Eva became painfully aware of the midnight-violet silk clinging against her skin.

The dress had no business existing.

The fabric curved tightly around her waist before falling in soft dark folds along her legs, the slit exposing far more thigh than Eva considered politically necessary. The open back left cool air brushing across bare skin every time she moved.

She felt simultaneously overdressed and catastrophically underprotected.

Acheron finally lifted his gaze toward her.

And went still.

Not visibly.

No dramatic reaction.

No widened eyes.

But Eva saw it.

The tiny pause.

The sudden tension in his shoulders.

The heartbeat beneath the contract slammed once.

Hard.

Interesting.

Very, very interesting.

The silver in his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly as his gaze moved slowly over her.

Not politely.

Not casually.

Hungrily.

And suddenly Eva understood exactly why predators unnerved people so deeply.

Because sometimes they looked perfectly calm while deciding whether to bite.

The shadows near his boots twisted sharply across the staircase.

One candle overhead shattered.

The servant behind Eva nearly fainted.

Acheron looked away first.

Which felt strangely important.

“Well,” Eva said lightly, mostly because silence around him had become unbearable, “that reaction certainly boosted my confidence enormously.”

No response.

Acheron extended one gloved hand toward the staircase.

“Walk beside me.”

“That sounds ominously ceremonial.”

“It is.”

Wonderful.

Exactly what she wanted.

Political theater with death gods.

Eva descended the staircase slowly beside him while the entire banquet hall watched.

And unfortunately—

Every single noble in the room noticed immediately.

Not just her.

Them.

The atmosphere shifted the moment Acheron moved beside her.

The Court stared openly now.

Whispers spread through the hall in sharp ripples.

“She wears his colors.”

“The contract marks are visible—”

“He brought her publicly?”

“The shadows follow her—”

Eva glanced downward.

Oh.

Right.

The shadows pooling around Acheron’s feet had spread unconsciously toward the hem of her dress again.

Possessive little monsters.

Interesting.

Lord Vael sat near the center table dressed in severe black formalwear that somehow made him look even less emotionally approachable than usual.

Which honestly felt impressive.

His eyes narrowed immediately when he saw Eva descending beside Acheron.

Not because of her dress.

Because Acheron stood too close.

The realization struck Eva all at once.

The Court was not shocked that a mortal attended the banquet.

They were shocked because Acheron was behaving differently around her.

Dangerously differently.

Acheron guided her toward the elevated table overlooking the hall.

His hand hovered near the small of her back.

Not touching.

Never touching.

But close enough that heat curled painfully beneath Eva’s skin anyway.

The heartbeat beneath the contract grew louder.

Steadier.

Alive.

Acheron noticed her reaction immediately.

Of course he did.

His jaw tightened slightly.

Interesting.

He heard it too.

They reached the elevated platform.

Acheron pulled out the chair beside his own seat.

The entire banquet hall froze.

Eva blinked.

“…Did you just pull out my chair?”

A noblewoman across the hall dropped her wine glass.

Acheron’s expression remained perfectly unreadable.

“Sit down, Evangeline.”

The way he said her name should not have affected her nervous system that dramatically.

Unfortunately, her nervous system had become unreliable lately.

Eva sat slowly.

The hall remained deathly silent.

Acheron took the seat beside her.

Too close again.

Always too close.

Servants immediately began bringing silver trays toward the table.

None of them looked directly at Eva.

Several looked terrified to even approach her side of the platform.

Interesting.

Apparently her status in the palace had evolved from dangerous anomaly to emotionally complicated dangerous anomaly.

A servant reached carefully toward Eva’s goblet.

The young man’s hand brushed lightly against the bare skin of her shoulder while adjusting the tray.

It lasted less than a second.

But beside her—

Acheron went completely still.

The heartbeat beneath the contract slammed violently once.

The silver wine goblet in his hand cracked instantly.

The entire banquet hall froze.

Again.

Wine spilled slowly across Acheron’s black glove.

No one moved.

The servant went pale enough to vanish against the marble.

Eva turned slowly toward Acheron.

Oh no.

Oh, this was bad.

Very bad.

Because the Lord of Death was staring at the servant’s hand.

Not casually.

Not angrily.

Like he wanted to remove it from the man’s body.

The shadows beneath the banquet tables twisted violently outward.

Candles flickered.

Several nobles immediately lowered their heads.

The servant stumbled backward.

“M-My Lord—”

“Leave.”

Acheron’s voice came out dangerously soft.

The servant fled instantly.

Actually ran.

The heartbeat beneath the contract continued pounding hard enough that Eva could feel it beneath her ribs now.

Acheron still had not moved.

His gloved fingers tightened slowly around the cracked goblet.

Silver fractures spread across the metal.

Eva looked at him carefully.

“You know,” she said cautiously, “that was a slightly alarming reaction to accidental shoulder contact.”

The shadows around the platform snapped sharply.

Acheron finally turned toward her.

Too quickly.

The silver in his eyes had darkened almost black.

Not cold now.

Not controlled.

Hungry.

The realization hit Eva hard enough to steal her breath.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the bare skin exposed by her dress.

Then lower.

Toward her throat.

Toward the pulse fluttering there.

The atmosphere around the platform shifted violently.

The Court noticed.

Of course they noticed.

Every noble in the room had gone perfectly silent.

Watching.

Waiting.

Acheron removed one glove slowly.

The sound of leather sliding against his fingers echoed softly through the hall.

Eva’s pulse stumbled immediately.

The silver cracks beneath his pale skin glowed faintly beneath the candlelight.

Beautiful.

Wrong.

Dangerous.

His bare hand lifted toward her throat.

Very slowly.

Like he was fighting himself the entire way.

The shadows throughout the banquet hall had stopped moving entirely now.

Every god in the room watched in horrified silence.

Eva forgot how to breathe.

Acheron’s fingertips stopped millimeters from her skin.

Heat surged violently between them.

The heartbeat beneath the contract became unbearable.

And for one terrifying second—

It genuinely looked like the Lord of Death wanted to drag her into his lap and ruin himself on her pulse.

Then his hand clenched sharply into a fist.

The silver cracks beneath his skin flared bright blue.

Acheron jerked backward like touching her would destroy him.

Which, judging by his expression—

Might actually have been true.