The staircase seemed to wind down into the earth forever.

Ash stifled a yawn then choked on a gag. “Ugh! What is that?”

“What?” Lorn rested his hand fleetingly on her shoulder as he spoke. “The sulphur? Oh, don’t worry. You get used to it after a while.”

“And how long’s a while?” She coughed again, then clamped clamped the lapel of the borrowed coat over her mouth and nose. She breathed steadily, forcing herself into a rhythm.. One…two…three…in… One….two….three…out. Drawing huge breaths of pure, undiluted Lorn into her lungs, she’d come home.

“Oh, I don’t know. Six, six-and-a-half years.” His amusement danced through his words, and her lips twitched upwards in a response she hadn’t permitted, as she tried to cast aside her ridiculous fantasies about a man she didn’t know.

“Perfect. Although I might not be here then, you know.” But the contract in her pocket rustled as if of its own accord, and she pressed her hand against it to silence it.

“A deal’s a deal.” Lorn’s mild tone belied the gravity of his words, and she shook off the shiver of apprehension beginning to prickle her scalp. What was she getting herself into?

Their arrival at an imposing wooden door flanked by stout stone posts meant she didn’t have time to reply—but there hadn’t been a witty retort ready to trip from her tongue, anyway. The door was empty but for a large brass knocker, ugly as anything she’d even seen and dripping with ostentatious jewels, sitting at about her eye level.

“Oh, my.” She cleared her throat to hide a giggle. “Your taste is…unexpected. Unique, I mean.” She lifted a hand to use the knocker, but Lorn caught her fingers in his, and she closed her eyes briefly at the jolt his touch brought.

“You don’t need to do that. I can let us in. Don’t bother anyone else.”

“Oh?” There it was again, that unfamiliar shiver.

He drew his hand in front of the knocker, and the door clicked before cracking open to swing a couple of inches inwards. “Go ahead. Nothing in there will bite…”

She took a tentative step forward.

“…hard.” At his murmur, she stopped. But he chuckled and guided her forwards.

She almost stopped again just inside the door. They stood in the grandest entry she’d ever seen.

More colours than should have existed danced in the crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. And carved cherubs and birds wound their way up marble pillars and hid among the leaves of a detailed crown moulding. The floor, some kind of tile inlaid with more diamonds, sparkled in the light and the general effect was of being inside a huge glitter ball. Or Christmas tree ornament. Maybe this was how Winter Court lived—all beautiful cold and sparkle—but she turned of the thoughts of those icy hearted creatures.

She turned to her left and stepped back. Lorn’s hands caught her as she lost her balance scrambling away from one of the many statues in the room. They’d been expertly carved, almost looking entirely too real. In fact, they all wore wings…and all of them also wore expressions of matching horror.

“Yeah…opulence. Should be the eighth deadly sin, right?” His mouth smiled, but his gaze remained inscrutable as he watched her.

She concentrated on her feet as she walked to a console table laden with ornaments and valuable looking trinkets, then steadied her voice before she spoke. She wouldn’t look at the statues again. “Talk about dust collectors. You expect me to be house-keeper here?”

“That’s your only worry?”

“‘Only’ might be understating it, but it’s probably the only one I can put into words right now.” She glanced over everything. “But there isn’t even a speck of dust here. Why do you need a housekeeper, again?”

Someone clearing his throat at the edge of the room startled her.

“Master Lorn?”

“Oh, Payne. Good evening. We’re just passing through on the way to my apartment.”

“Very good, sir.” The man in the funereal suit bowed his head and slipped soundlessly through the concealed door he must have appeared from.

“Your apartment? Where are we now?” She cursed the fresh uncertainty filling her. What were the rules about a second location? But he hadn’t attacked her. On the contrary…he’d given her the choice.

“Dad’s place.” The scathing note to his tone didn’t escape her. “We were just closer to his front door than mine. Like I said, we’re just passing through. Come on.”

To her surprise, he slipped his hand over hers, lacing their fingers together, and drew her forwards to a set of doors. He pressed a button on the wall.

“A lift? Are we going back up, or further down?” The idea of further down put a twist in her stomach, and she fluttered her wings nervously before swallowing back a gasp as sharp pain stole her breath.

“Neither up nor down this time. Sort of…through.” He rested his hand in the small of her back, his touch so barely there she had to strain to feel it, and the pain still echoing through her stopped.

The inside of the lift had buttons. Lots of buttons. She scanned through them, then smiled a little as he pressed the one labelled Lorn. “That’s the Captain Obvious way of getting home.”

He laughed. “I suppose so. But stops me from getting lost.”

“What’s Grim?”

“My brother. Well, one of them.”

“Oh… sounds like a place.” She peered more closely at some of the labels. “Tort…fire…Limbo…Wrath…cells…. What are these?”

Lorn studied the floor. “Uh, departments, I suppose. Like areas of Dad’s business.”

“Okay. You’ll have to show me around sometime, then.”

Lorn glanced at her, a smile curving wickedly up his cheeks. “Only if you’re very bad, little bird.”

She looked away, suddenly shy. His voice held a promise she didn’t want to believe.

“But, in the meantime, we have a couple of things to discuss.” He switched back to business.

The lift suddenly whooshed, and Ash’s stomach lurched. “Which direction are we travelling?”

“I told you. Through.”

“Through what?” She smoothed her hair. Direction almost didn’t matter at the speed they were moving.

He shrugged. “To the other side.”

She laughed. “Okay, Mr. Mystery. I think I preferred Captain Obvious and his label maker. Should I be worried? You might be kidnapping me?” Maybe it was only half a joke after those statues. But, regardless of her head, her heart didn’t believe it.

“A bit late for that, don’t you think?” He arched an eyebrow and reached out to steady her as the lift slowed before bumping to a gentle halt. “We’ve arrived.”

“To be honest, I’m starting to feel a bit anxious. Late, or not.” And she didn’t even know if her words were true because something deep inside her trusted him. Possibly craved him, but her voice rose higher than usual, and she patted her hair again, the movement fidgety. She almost fluttered her wings, but memory of pain stopped her.

Lorn’s gaze remained steady. “You have your contract, remember? That’s your guarantee for everything. My behaviour, my word.” He shrugged. “Your behaviour if you want to flip things over and consider how I might feel.”

Some guarantee. But she nodded. If he believed that contract worth any more than the paper it was printed on, she’d take that assurance and run with it.

The doors parted without sound, and they emerged into a dim hallway. Dust motes danced in the glow cast by a single lamp stood on a nearby console table.

“Ah.” Ash stepped forwards. “I see why you employed me.”

“Do you?” His soft question seemed to hold genuine curiosity, and she glanced at him, suddenly all too aware of the man in the small space with her.

She squashed the unwelcome flicker of attraction and marched to the nearest set of curtains before flinging them open. “Bit of light on the subject always helps. Even if it is only moonlight.” She forced brightness and cheer into her words. Faking confidence had always worked for her in the past. And sheer grit would pull her through this time, too—especially if she didn’t think of seven years of servitude. Seven years.

One of those oh-so-helpful proverbs her mother spouted as valuable life lessons during the times she hadn’t taken to her bed with one drama or another could probably sum up this situation. In fact, her mother would have shrieked it at her in that usual instructive tone. Something about acting in haste and repenting at leisure. Heat rushed to Ash’s cheeks. No. Not acting. Marrying.

Which she hadn’t.

Wouldn’t, of course.

She stole a glance at Lorn, taking in his dark hair and darker eyes. Seven years really was a long time. And she’d contracted to be at this man’s side for every day of every month of that.

A blaze of light flooded through the uncovered window, and she flung her arm across her eyes, all thoughts of Lorn dazzled away. “What the…? I thought it was night. Where am I?”

“In my home on the banks of the great firepit. I don’t usually open those.”

She drew the fabric back together. “I can see why. But where?”

“I told you. We’re on the other side. But I’ll send you back…when you’re healed.” He turned abruptly, and his shoes clicked against the flagstone floor as he strode down the hallway. “Follow me. I’ll tend to your wings.”