The first time Eris invites you to dine with him, it’s under the pretense of diplomacy. The second time, he doesn’t bother pretending.

He pours your wine himself, leans back in his carved chair like a man who owns everything he sees—and maybe he does. The Autumn Court’s flickering firelight catches in his hair, but it’s the eyes that hold you. Clever. Sharp. A little too knowing.

“You ask questions like someone who’s not afraid of the answers,” he says, sipping from his glass, voice smooth as the silk you’re wearing—courtesy of the court you’re spying on.

You match his gaze, hiding the way your pulse trips. “Maybe I’m just used to being lied to.”

Eris smiles—slow, almost sad. “Then you’re in the right place.”

Because you were sent to dismantle this man.

And he’s letting you in, piece by piece—like he wants you to see him fall apart.