Our eyes meet and he smiles at me. He fucking smiles and I’m suddenly struck dumb by how handsome he is. It’s not just that I’ve spent so long not knowing what he looks like, that he’s actually fucked me good while being completely unknowable, it’s that he truly is gorgeous. A real, true God. And this is the first time I’ve seen him outside, a light that is sometimes unforgiving and yet here he shines. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, not just as the God of Death who has taken to my bed every night, but as something more.
But then guilt drives into my heart at that thought. The idea that I could be more to him. That’s what I’ve wanted, that’s part of the plan, and yet for once I don’t want to think of the plan. I just want to be here, feeling the adoration in his eyes, and the affection in his smile. I know how rare it is, rarer than the aurora stone.
“I like this look on you,” he murmurs as he comes over to me, his tall, wide body looming over mine. He gently reaches out and runs his gloved thumb over my chin. Today he’s wearing gloves made of black feathers and his touch is soft and seductive and my eyes flutter closed. I absently wonder if the gloves are made from the swan I murdered.
I swallow, my throat feeling thick. “What look?”
“This one.” He gestures to the air around me with his other hand. “The sight of you outside here in the garden, in the fresh sea air. I don’t think you’ve ever looked so lovely, little bird.”
His eyes then darken. Literally. The gray turning a tarnished pewter, matching the color of his runes. “It makes me worry that you might catch a gust of wind coming from places unknown to you, that it may make you curious enough to try and spread your wings. That you’ll fly far from here and never look back.”
He cups my face now, his thumb gently brushing over my lip now. I lean back against the wall, feeling the cool air sweeping over the sides, ruffling my hair in tendrils that dance around my breasts.
“I’ve become quite fond of you, Hanna,” he says in a low murmur, his eyes searching my face. “I’m not used to feeling anything of the sort. You’ll have to forgive me if my fear makes me do foolish things.”
“What foolish things?” I ask.
He gives me a small knowing smile, making him look positively roguish. “You will find out soon enough,” he says.
Then he straightens up, his hand dropping to my waist, and he looks over at Sarvi who is nibbling on some grass, like a straight-up normal horse.
“Sarvi,” Death says. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”
Sarvi raises its head, then nods, tail swishing. Of course, sir. Is there something you’d like me to do for you in the meantime?
Another dark look passes over Death’s eyes, his black arched brows furrowing. “Yes. Fly to the City of Death. To Inmost. Tell the dwellers that there will be a Bone Match next week, and for them to put forth their best fighters. There will be ten different rounds, running all day long. Each winner will receive sanctuary at Shadow’s End as one of my royal guards.”
Yes, sir, Sarvi says, though it sounds hesitant. May I ask why we’re having such a big competition?
“Because I want everyone to know that I’m strengthening my army,” he says gruffly, and though he may not have a skull or crown on his head at the moment, he sounds very much the king. “I want the word to spread far and wide, throughout the city factions, throughout the realm itself. I want it to reach the bogs of Star Swamp, and the shamans of the Upper World. I want them to know that any uprising will be met with a reckoning.”
That little speech shouldn’t turn me on but it does, heat flaring between my thighs. Apparently I’m a simp for power.
Yes, sir, Sarvi says, eye gleaming. Sarvi seems to like it too.
“Invite all the Gods and Lesser Gods,” Death goes on. “Tell them it will be the first formal appearance of the new Goddess of Death.”
My eyes widen. “Wait, what?”
I beg your pardon? Sarvi snorts in disbelief at the same time.
Death glances down at me, his eyes tempestuous. “You’re to be my bride, Hanna. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you.”
Well, I don’t mean any disrespect, sir, but it’s a most shocking development to me, Sarvi says.
“And me!” I tell Death. Good lord. “What do you mean, your bride? Since when…we’re not married. We are so not married.”
Unless…Oh shit, is there some weird custom here that when you have sex with the king, you automatically become the queen or something?