Page 21 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

Lucien/Beau

I slept like garbage the night before my big city tour, which was entirely predictable.

My brain kept serving up nightmares featuring starving demon children with accusing eyes, heroes with glowing swords pointed at my chest, and that one recurring dream where I’m giving a presentation but my PowerPoint is just pictures of tacos and I’m wearing nothing but a cape.

The last one had been a staple of my anxiety repertoire since college, but the demonic children were a fresh new hell courtesy of my recent career change from ‘underpaid customer service rep’ to ‘supernatural dictator.’

Every time I jolted awake, Mr. Snuggles would make a disgruntled sound before scooting closer, his warm scaly body pressing against my side like the world’s most determined living hot water bottle.

When I finally gave up on sleep around dawn, I lay there contemplating my existence and the strange turns it had taken.

I’d created this realm as a game, building it pixel by pixel, naming characters while half-asleep or on a sugar high.

And now it was real—a living, breathing kingdom falling apart at the seams. My digital playground had become my responsibility, and I wasn’t sure whether to feel guilty for its state or terrified about fixing it.

Probably both. With a side order of ‘what the actual hell am I doing here’ for dessert.

I must have dozed off eventually, because the next thing I knew, Azrael was standing at the foot of my bed, a silent sentinel in perfect butler attire despite the ungodly hour.

Mr. Snuggles immediately raised his head from where he’d been drooling slightly on my pillow, fixing Azrael with his single purple eye in what I’d come to recognize as his ‘it’s too early for this butler nonsense’ glare.

“Good morning, my lord,” he intoned, his voice cutting through my sleep-fog like a chainsaw through butter. “I trust you slept well?”

I made an incoherent noise that fell somewhere between a groan and a death rattle. Mr. Snuggles snorted in apparent agreement, stretching his wings before climbing onto my chest and bumping his head affectionately against my chin.

“Do you have some kind of supernatural ability that lets you know exactly when I’m having a good dream so you can interrupt it?

Or is ruining my sleep just a hobby you’ve cultivated over the centuries?

” I asked, absently scratching behind Mr. Snuggles’ ear ridges.

The dragon made a pleased purring sound, pressing harder against my hand.

“I assure you, my lord, I possess no such power,” Azrael replied, though the slight curve of his lips suggested otherwise. “Though I am curious what constitutes a ‘good dream’ for the Dark Lord of Iferona.”

“Unlimited breadsticks and functional plumbing,” I muttered, dragging myself to a sitting position as Mr. Snuggles scrambled to maintain his balance, eventually settling around my shoulders like a living scarf.

“The true hallmarks of civilization. Maybe throw in a barista who doesn’t judge me for ordering the equivalent of a liquid candy bar with coffee undertones. ”

Azrael glided to the windows and drew back the heavy curtains, allowing the perpetual twilight of Iferona to seep into the room.

The guy moved like he was on wheels, all silent grace and deadly efficiency.

If butler Olympics existed, he’d sweep gold in every category, especially “looking judgmental while performing mundane tasks.”

“You appear… fatigued, my lord,” he said, scanning me with those unsettling crimson eyes as Mr. Snuggles nuzzled against my cheek, his scales warm against my skin. “Perhaps we should postpone today’s city inspection?”

I squinted at him suspiciously, one hand automatically rising to stroke Mr. Snuggles’ head.

“Nice try, but no. The tour happens today. I’ve put it off long enough.

Besides, if I postpone one more time, I’m pretty sure Lord Taxman will bury me in so much paperwork they’ll need an archaeological expedition to find my body. ”

“As you wish.” He bowed slightly. “Though I must insist on additional preparations if you are to venture into the city while… compromised.”

“Compromised? I’m tired, not drunk. Though a mimosa wouldn’t be the worst idea right now.

” I stretched, feeling joints pop in a way that suggested my new demonic body might be fancy, but it still wasn’t immune to sleeping weird.

Mr. Snuggles took the opportunity to slide down into my lap, curling into a ball and looking up at me expectantly.

“Or maybe just mainline some caffeine directly into my veins.”

“Your magical reserves appear depleted,” Azrael said, studying me with unsettling intensity. “A restorative bath with shadow essence would be advisable.”

Great. Not only was I getting the usual bath-time awkwardness, but now with bonus magical ingredients. Like taking a shower with your boss watching wasn’t already weird enough—now we had to add magical bath bombs to the mix.

“Is that really necessary? Can’t I just…

I don’t know, drink a potion or something?

Maybe a stronger version of that shadow bean brew you’ve been improving?

” I was only half joking. At this point, I’d consider pretty much any alternative to another session of “Azrael watches me bathe while pretending not to.”

“Shadow essence must be absorbed through the skin for maximum efficacy, my lord,” Azrael explained with the patience of someone talking to a particularly dense child.

“Today’s formulation is considerably stronger than our previous sessions.

It will restore your magical reserves and…

enhance your appearance for the public viewing. ”

“Enhance my appearance?” I repeated. Mr. Snuggles perked up, seemingly intrigued by this concept. “What’s wrong with how I look? Did I grow a third eye in my sleep? Demon acne? Please tell me it’s not demon acne.”

“Nothing is wrong, my lord,” Azrael assured me, though his tone suggested otherwise. “But the Dark Lord must project power and vitality at all times. The citizens must see you at your most… luminous.”

Luminous. Right. Because nothing says “fear my dark power” like glowing like a demonic firefly. I was going for “terrifying overlord,” not “human night-light.”

“Fine.” I sighed, throwing back the covers. Mr. Snuggles scrambled to avoid being dislodged, claws catching briefly in the sheets before he leaped to the floor with an indignant huff. “Let’s get this over with. But if you try to make me ‘luminous’ enough to read by, we’re going to have words.”

Breakfast was a mercifully brief affair—I pushed around something that resembled oatmeal but tasted faintly of licorice and regret, too anxious about the upcoming tour to indulge my usual appetite.

Mr. Snuggles, however, had no such reservations.

He perched on the edge of the table, occasionally dipping his snout into my bowl when he thought I wasn’t looking, then licking his lips with his tongue.

When I caught him, he’d make an innocent purring sound before nudging the spoon closer to me with his nose, as if encouraging me to eat.

The shadow bean brew that had gradually improved sat untouched, my stomach too knotted with anxiety to handle even that small comfort.

As a high-ranking demon—or at least inhabiting the body of one—I technically didn’t need much food at all.

According to Azrael, beings of our stature could subsist largely on magical energies, which explained why he never seemed to eat.

But old human habits died hard, and normally I attacked meals with the enthusiasm of someone who’d spent years surviving on call center vending machines and discount ramen.

Azrael hovered nearby, his disapproving gaze tracking each morsel I failed to consume like a disappointed parent counting vegetables left on a child’s plate. Mr. Snuggles, sensing my lack of appetite, made a concerned warble and pushed the bowl closer to me with his snout.

“You appear to have lost your appetite, my lord,” Azrael said with thinly veiled concern. “Most unusual, given your customary… enthusiasm for meals.”

“Hard to enjoy breakfast when my stomach is doing aerial acrobatics,” I replied, pushing away the bowl.

Mr. Snuggles immediately pounced on it, lapping at the contents with gusto.

“Besides, isn’t the whole ‘higher demons don’t need food’ thing supposed to be one of my perks?

Consider this me finally embracing my demonic heritage. ”

“While it is true that beings of your stature can subsist on minimal physical sustenance,” Azrael conceded, watching as Mr. Snuggles cleaned the bowl with impressive thoroughness, “you have always maintained that regular meals are essential to your… particular magical constitution.”

Translation: Lucien had apparently been a foodie even before my arrival. At least that was one trait we shared.

“Food later. Bath now. City tour after,” I said firmly, standing up. Mr. Snuggles looked up from the now-spotless bowl, his snout covered in dark oatmeal. “That’s the schedule. My stomach can resume its regular programming once we’re done inspecting whatever horror show awaits us out there.”

Azrael nodded and led the way toward the bathroom. As we walked, Mr. Snuggles trotted alongside us, occasionally weaving between my feet in a way specifically designed to maximize my chances of face-planting onto the stone floor.

“Someone’s clingy this morning,” I muttered, trying not to trip over several pounds of affectionate dragon. Mr. Snuggles responded by rumbling innocently and rubbing against my ankles.

“Mr. Snuggles appears particularly… attached today,” Azrael observed with the careful neutrality of someone commenting on an ugly baby. “Perhaps he senses your apprehension about the city tour.”