Cordelia sat at her room with a cup of warming tea. Leah’s plan had helped—work, chapel, a turn in the cold. The ache was still there, but it no longer swallowed her completely.
Her dreams were interrupted by a knock, quick and careful.
“Come in,” she said.
Daniel slipped inside and shut the door. The new role weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in a long time.
“Do you have a minute?” he said, bowing a little.
“For you, yes. Sit.”
He stayed standing. “I won’t take long.”
She nodded, putting down her teacup.
“I need help,” he said, stripped of pride. “Dante cut me to Gamma. I went down the wrong path, and I’m paying for it. I’m working, but he looks through me and ignores the efforts I make.”
“Daniel…” She set the cup down. “It’s not within my power to question his decision.”
He nodded once, throat tightening. “I know,” he was measuring words. “But it wasn't fair. I was set up. Of course, I should have been smarter and not fallen for such a clear provocation. But they were all in it together — those who spoke to Dante about me.”
“Can you prove it?” she asked quietly.
“No.” This word came hard to him. ‘All I have is my honour and my guesses. Accidentally noticed glances, whispers, but nothing specific.’
He drew a breath and tried again, gentler. I know that coming to you may cost me even more, but I have no one else to go. I cannot uncover the truth, but maybe if you point out my guesses to him, he will see it too?”
She met his eyes. The pain there was raw—betrayal, shame, and a hope so thin it made her chest ache.
“You’re asking me to doubt him," she said. “It’іs risky for everyone.”
Daniel paused for a moment, wrestling with himself. Lowering his head, he said, ‘You owe me a favour.” His voice dropped. “I released you when your father locked you up and sent you to the garden.”
Memories instantly flooded her mind. If it hadn't been for his efforts that night, her life would have become a prison not only because of her loss, but because she was made a captive in her own home.
“I'll find a moment to ask him to listen to you,” she said at last.
Some tightness left his face. “Thank you,” he said. “And I'm sorry I had to use this debt against you.”
She just nodded, “Go now, before someone reads this visit the wrong way.”
He bowed and left as quietly as he’d come. Cordelia sat in silence again. Her tea had cooled, and she no longer wished to drink it. Instead, her thoughts were busy, wondering when the right moment would be for such a conversation. Something inside her told, that there was no such moment, but she didn't give up.
With darkness outside the window came a bitter cold. Cordelia lit a candlestick by the bed, closed the shutters to prevent wind from blowing inside, and threw some wood into the fireplace, which warmed the room in this cold season. She sat down to brush her hair before going to bed when she heard the door quietly open, and Dante entered the room.
He took off his heavy cloak and threw it on the chair in front of the fireplace, walked over to Cordelia and touched her hand, which was holding a comb. “May I?”
The woman nodded briefly, rewarding him with a slight smile, and handed him the brush. His hands felt cold against her skin as he picked up new strands. When he was done, Dante carefully lifted the front strands with his fingers, tossing the hair to one side and inadvertently exposing her delicate shoulder. His gaze lingered on her for a moment.
He hesitated for only a moment, but his body decided before he did. He leaned down and gently kissed the curve of her neck. Cordelia shuddered at the unexpectedness, and Dante instantly straightened up. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate of me. I didn't mean to scare you," he said quietly. His voice was tired and hoarse.
Cordelia stood up from her chair and cautiously approached him. ‘It's okay, you're just cold,’ she said.
‘Yes, I came here straight from the street.’ His arms wrapped around her waist. ‘Will you warm me up?’ His gaze darkened, and his voice was almost a whisper.
His mouth met hers—warm, certain. The kiss deepened; her hands slid up his chest. He moved away just enough to see her eyes, untied her robe with steady fingers, giving her time to refuse, but she didn't do it. The robe fell. His strong arms grabbed her hips and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him to keep from falling. He kissed the hollow beneath her ear, then her neck. One palm settled at the small of her back, drawing her closer. With the other, he traced the hem at her knee and lifted the thin fabric of the nightshirt, baring the line of her leg.
His slid upward—sure, respectful—cupping her hip. He carried her to the bed, laid her on a soft blanket, and stood over her. His hands unbuttoned her nightgown from her chest to the very bottom. He opened the fabric, revealing her body to himself.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, and the simple truth loosened something tight inside her.
For a heartbeat, he only looked, only wondered, then lowered himself to her. He learned her like a map: the curve of her shoulder, ribs, her flat belly. His mouth followed, leaving a trail of heat. He paused below, patient, and the moan that left her caught his breath. She curled her fingers in his shirt and drew him closer; He seized the moment and let her hands pull the useless piece of fabric off his shoulders. While Cordelia was tossing his shirt, he quickly untied the laces on his unbearably tight trousers.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured.
“I don’t,” she whispered.
Dante leaned over again, pressing her down onto the bed with his weight. His mouth found hers in a tender kiss. He traced the edge of her ribs, the hollow of her waist, on the silky skin of her thigh.
When he entered her, he did it gently—a brief sting, then stillness—his forehead touching hers, his fingers tight around her.
“Breathe with me.”
They breathed in unison until the pain went down. He felt her relax and began to move—slow at first, then sure—finding the right rhythm. Her hips rose to meet him. He followed her answers, listening. Heat gathered and climbed. She arched into him, a gasp turning into something helpless and bright. He moaned her name more and more often, and held her through the last tremor.
They lay quiet, the room still hot from them. He smoothed a hand through her hair while she rested on his shoulder.
“After this, you must grant me one small request,” she said, playful under the hush.
He laughed softly. “Dangerous terms. What kind of request?”
“Say yes now. I’ll tell you later,” she said, brushing his jaw with her thumb.
He tipped her chin so he could see her eyes; the fight lines of the day eased. “Yes,” he said. “To the request I can keep.”
“Good.” She gave him a short, tender kiss. “Then sleep. We will return to this later.”