Page 40 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

The goblin nodded vigorously, then scampered back to its clan, who received it with a mixture of terror and pride. The drawing, Azrael noted, depicted a simplistic version of Lord Lucien surrounded by what appeared to be food items with rays emanating from them like a sun.

“The Void Provider,” someone whispered in the crowd, and the title was repeated, spreading through the gathered citizens. “The Void Provider has saved us.”

Lord Lucien seemed embarrassed by the adulation, a reaction Azrael found both baffling and strangely…

endearing. The previous Lucien would have basked in such worship, demanded it, punished those who offered insufficient praise.

This Lucien looked almost uncomfortable with the reverence directed his way.

It was… charming, in its way. Like discovering a new facet of a gem you thought you knew completely. Azrael cataloged this reaction alongside the thousands of other observations he had made about his lord, a precious addition to his mental collection.

“We should return to the castle soon, my lord,” Azrael suggested quietly.

“You have been working since dawn.” And I wish to have you to myself, away from these greedy eyes that dare to gaze upon your perfection, he did not add.

The thought of returning to the privacy of the Dark Citadel, where Lucien would be his alone to attend, sent a pleasant warmth through his core.

Lord Lucien nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, probably a good idea. Things seem to be running smoothly here.” He stood, addressing the gathered citizens.

“I’m heading back to the castle for the night, but I’ll be back tomorrow.

The camp staff will continue food distribution through the night, so don’t worry about going hungry. Get some rest, everyone.”

As they made their way toward where Mr. Snuggles waited to return them to the Dark Citadel, they passed the medical tents. Healer 47 emerged, her wings drooping with exhaustion but her compound eyes bright with satisfaction.

“My lord.” She bowed deeply. “I wished to report personally before you departed. The void supplements have exceeded all expectations. Patients who would have died within hours are now stabilized. Many are already showing significant improvement.”

“That’s great news.” Lord Lucien smiled. “Keep up the good work, Healer 47. And make sure you get some rest too, okay?”

The moth demon’s antennae quivered with emotion. “Yes, my lord. And… thank you. For everything.”

As they continued toward Mr. Snuggles, Azrael reflected on the day’s events.

In a single day, Lord Lucien had transformed not just the Ashen Fields but the very nature of his relationship with his subjects.

Where once there had been only fear and resentment, now there was something new growing—something Azrael had rarely witnessed in his long existence.

Trust.

It was… intriguing. And potentially useful. Fear kept subjects in line, but trust might make them willing participants in their own governance. A tool to be explored, perhaps, alongside the more traditional methods Azrael preferred.

Mr. Snuggles lowered his massive head as they approached, allowing Lord Lucien to climb onto his back with practiced ease.

Azrael followed, positioning himself behind his lord as the dragon prepared for flight.

The proximity sent electricity through his veins—this delicious closeness that both satisfied and tormented him.

Every shared flight was a dangerous indulgence.

The physical contact he permitted himself—arms around Lucien’s waist, chest pressed against his back—walked the knife’s edge between duty and desire.

Each touch fed the hunger while making it more ravenous.

Each moment of controlled intimacy threatened to shatter his carefully maintained restraint.

These small liberties were both blessing and curse—momentary relief that ultimately deepened his craving for more.

More touch. More possession. More of what he had no right to take.

The warmth of Lucien’s body against his own was both heaven and hell—a taste of what he desperately wanted and could never truly have.

“A most productive day, my lord,” Azrael observed as they rose into the night air, the camp spreading out below them like a constellation of earthbound stars. “The relief effort has exceeded all expectations.”

“It’s a start,” Lord Lucien replied, his gaze lingering on the scene below. “But we’ve got a lot more to do. The camp is temporary—we need to rebuild the city, fix the food production issues, figure out what’s going on in the forest…” He yawned again. “But first, sleep. I’m absolutely wiped.”

As they flew toward the Dark Citadel, Azrael found himself viewing his lord with new eyes.

This Lucien was different, yes—more compassionate, more hands on, more concerned with the welfare of his subjects.

But he was also, in his own way, more powerful.

He had accomplished more in a single day than the previous Lucien had in decades of rule through terror.

For centuries, Azrael had maintained order through fear, believing it the only reliable method of control. Yet in a single day, Lord Lucien had achieved more with kindness than the previous regime had with decades of terror.

It was… educational.

Perhaps there was more than one way to ensure devotion. Perhaps the genuine gratitude of the masses could be as powerful as their fear. Perhaps Lord Lucien’s evolution during his slumber had indeed made him more formidable, not less.

The Dark Citadel loomed before them, its obsidian towers gleaming in the moonlight.

As Mr. Snuggles descended toward the eastern balcony, Azrael noted how empty the castle seemed compared to the bustling life of the camp.

With over ninety percent of the city’s population relocated to the Ashen Fields, Iferona itself had become a ghost town, its streets deserted, its districts silent.

Only the western quarter showed signs of life—the nobles and merchants who had remained in their comfortable mansions, lights glowing in windows as they no doubt discussed the day’s unprecedented events.

Azrael could imagine their conversations, their confusion, their calculations as they tried to determine how this new approach from their dark lord would affect their positions and privileges.

They would adapt or they would perish. Such was the way of Iferona, regardless of which methods Lord Lucien employed to rule.

Mr. Snuggles landed with surprising gentleness, folding his wings as Lord Lucien slid from his back. Azrael followed, immediately resuming his position slightly behind and to the right of his master—close enough to protect, far enough to show proper deference.

“You must be exhausted, my lord,” Azrael said as they entered the castle.

“I shall have a bath prepared immediately.” The thought of the bathing ritual sent a pleasant heat through his veins.

To serve his lord in that intimate setting, to tend to his needs with his own hands, to be permitted to touch that perfect skin under the guise of duty—it was a privilege he cherished above all others.

Lord Lucien nodded, stifling another yawn. “That sounds amazing. And food—something light. I’m too tired to deal with a full meal.”

“Of course, my lord. Perhaps some of the void bread and a selection of preserved meats?” Azrael was already mentally composing the perfect meal—light enough for a tired appetite, but substantial enough to restore his lord’s energy.

Each element would be arranged with artistic precision, a feast for the eyes as well as the palate.

“Perfect.” Lord Lucien paused, turning to face Azrael directly. “You did good work today, Azrael. I know all this”—he gestured vaguely—“isn’t exactly what you’re used to. Thanks for rolling with it.”

The praise, unexpected and unearned, sent that peculiar warmth through Azrael’s chest again. A warmth that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with… something else. He inclined his head slightly. “I exist to serve, my lord. In whatever manner you deem appropriate.”

“Yeah, but still. I appreciate it.” Lord Lucien smiled—that genuine expression that transformed his features from merely beautiful to radiant. “Not everyone adapts to change so well.”

They continued through the silent corridors of the Dark Citadel, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness.

Most of the servants had either been deployed to the camp or were resting in preparation for the next day’s efforts.

The castle felt hollow, abandoned—a relic of a regime that was rapidly evolving into something new.

As they reached Lord Lucien’s chambers, Azrael moved ahead to open the doors, then proceeded to the bathing chamber to prepare the promised bath.

He added the precise mixture of oils and essences that he knew his lord preferred, heating the water to the exact temperature that would provide optimal relaxation without inducing premature drowsiness.

His movements were practiced, efficient, perfect—as always.

But his mind was elsewhere, still processing the day’s revelations.

The sight of Lucien kneeling to help a common soldier.

The sound of children laughing in his presence rather than cowering.

The way the citizens had looked at him—not with terror but with something approaching adoration.

When he returned to the main chamber, he found Lord Lucien standing at the window, gazing out toward the distant glow of the camp. The dark lord’s expression was contemplative, almost wistful.

“Is something troubling you, my lord?” Azrael inquired, arranging the requested light meal on a small table near the fireplace. Each piece of food was positioned with artistic precision, a small masterpiece of culinary presentation. Only the finest for his lord.