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KIDNAP SOMEONE CUTE (AND PRETEND IT’S AMBITION, NOT LONELINESS)

KAZIMIR

“No.” I slammed my fist on the obsidian table. “Absolutely not.”

The mirror’s surface rippled as it spoke. “The terms are non-negotiable, Lord Blackrose. The Heirloom requires a marriage bond with one of heroic bloodline. Without it, the artifact is basically an ancient hunk of metal.”

Behind me, maps covered the war room’s walls, each one marked with careful notes for future conquests.

Etched tracking spells flickered across the table, charting movement throughout my domain.

And there, on its black marble pedestal, rested the Heirloom of Dominion, a deceptively simple circlet of gold.

“My lord?” Sims cleared his throat. He was a thin, meticulous strategist, the kind of man who told me the truth whether I wanted it or not. “Perhaps we should consider the requirements as an opportunity?”

I rounded on him, letting shadows curl in the corners of the room. “An opportunity for what, exactly? To parade around, courting some vapid princess?”

Sims offered a razor-thin smile. “An opportunity to do what we do best. Accomplish it by, ah... traditional villainous methods. After all, what self-respecting Dark Lord asks politely for a bride when he could simply… take one?”

Dominion magic crackled between my fingers as I let his words sink in. “Kidnapping,” I said. “Seize a bride, perform an involuntary ceremony, then toss her in a comfortable cell once we’ve tied the knot.” A dark satisfaction stirred inside me.

The mirror bubbled. “I feel compelled to point out that coercion may not satisfy the?—”

I flicked my wrist, sending shadows swirling across the mirror. “Sims, gather the others.”

Within minutes, my advisors were assembled: Vex, my Steward, leaning against the wall with silver hair peeking from beneath her hood; Thorne, my security chief, a human fortress of muscle and grunts; and Griffin, my slightly problematic enchanter, wearing robes several inches too short for his unnaturally stretched frame.

I pressed both palms on the table. “By now, you all know the situation. I need a highborn descendant of the First Hero, someone who’ll survive proximity to my dark magic without keeling over.

” I pulled a dagger from my belt, testing its edge with my thumb.

“Preferably someone who won’t try to stab me in my sleep, though that’s negotiable. ”

Griffin, half-distracted, said, “What about Princess Marigold of the Summer Court?”

I spun the dagger idly. “That poet who writes odes to butterflies? She’d faint at the sight of my breakfast spread.”

“Lady Rosamund of the Western Isles?” Thorne offered.

“Already betrothed to three different princes.” I drove my dagger into a stack of maps. The blade quivered. “Too messy politically.”

Sims tried next. “The Duchess of Thornhaven?”

“Too old,” I dismissed.

“She’s thirty-eight.”

“Practically ancient,” I said, wiggling the dagger free. “And I hear she collects unicorns. Living ones.” I suppressed a shudder.

Griffin spoke up, fidgeting. “Princess Violet of?—”

I paused mid-spin. “Which Violet? The pacifist who started a goblin peace coalition?”

“No, the other Princess Violet.”

“The one who breeds rabbits?”

“No, the other other Princess Violet.”

“How many Princess Violets exist in this cursed realm?” I snapped.

Griffin paled behind his glasses. “Seven, my lord. Popular name twenty years ago.”

“Absolutely not. I refuse to spend eternity clarifying which Princess Violet I kidnapped.” I hurled the dagger across the room, embedding it in the front of a desk. “Any suggestions that might save me from losing my dignity?”

Griffin brightened. “What about Lord Sebastian from the Northern Peaks?”

The entire room went still. Even my shadows seemed to freeze.

“Lord Sebastian,” I echoed, voice dangerously soft, “the imbecile who invited the Bone Witches to last year’s Winter Solstice ball?”

Thorne snorted. “I heard about that. Half the court of Solandris was cursed with speaking in rhymes for a month.”

“Well, yes, but—” Griffin pushed his glasses up. “He does have the First Hero’s blood. He’s gorgeous. And his scones are allegedly?—”

My shadows erupted from beneath the table, plunging sections of the war room into darkness. Everyone wisely shut up.

I let the tension hang before I spoke again. “I need someone with a modicum of self-preservation, or my enemies would never stop laughing.”

“Oh.” Griffin’s face fell. “I just thought... since you mentioned the stabbing thing... he’s quite pacifist?—”

“Moving on,” Sims cut in quickly. “What about?—”

“If you say ‘Violet’ again, I’m throwing you all off the battlements.”

Vex slid forward, producing a slim folder from within her cloak. “I keep a record of all significant nobles within a hundred leagues. The heroic bloodlines… well, they’re dwindling. But I found a possibility. Lady Arabella Evenfall of Solandris.”

I plucked the page from her hand. “Suitable how?”

“She’s of marrying age. The only daughter of Lord Evenfall, who’s currently out of favor at court—her disappearance might not cause much of a stir. And she has direct hero-blood lineage on her mother’s side.”

I eyed Vex. “What’s the catch?”

“She’s known to be, ah, accident-prone,” Vex said, sounding far too pleased with herself. “She’s driven three suitors away, possibly by setting fire to one’s cravat. Once, she convinced an entire Summer Court delegation she could speak to ghosts?—”

“Could she?” Thorne asked.

“No. It was complete nonsense, but it worked a little too well. Her father’s kept her out of major court functions since.

” Vex tapped a silver-painted nail against the table.

“The betting pools in Solandris have her either burning down her father’s estate or being shipped to a remote convent within the year. ”

My eyes fell on the rough sketch that showed a poised young woman with golden hair and freckles dusted across her nose.

Yet, the quirk of her mouth suggested hidden mischief.

Something about that faint arrogance made me pause.

I trailed my fingertip across the outline of her face, then snapped myself out of it.

Sims shifted in his seat. “But... Solandris.”

“The Dark Lord can manage it,” Griffin whispered.

“But if…” Sims’s voice lowered as the two of them furiously debated whether me going into Solandris was a good idea.

I let their voices wash over me for a moment before interrupting.

“Enough. I’m well aware of Solandris’s resistance to my magic.

Besides, we’ll be there and gone before the king’s goons so much as brandish a magical crossbow.

Her father apparently doesn’t care much about her well-being, so his defenses won’t be over the top. ”

Vex nodded, sliding a map forward. “She’s traveling to her summer residence soon. If we want her, that’s our window.”

“Perfect,” I said, leaning in to study the winding path. “The Whispering Woods. Good vantage points, easy terrain for an ambush.” I paused. “What’s her magical tolerance?”

Griffin flipped through the notes. “Above average. She inherited the First Hero’s healing gifts, so proximity to your dark magic shouldn’t incinerate her.”

I chuckled darkly. “Always a bonus in a future wife.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “We’d better avoid the Golden Fields, though. My shadow warriors can’t hold form there.”

“Easy.” Vex traced a slender nail along the route. “We catch her carriage in the Whispering Wood, knock out the guards, and whisk her away. Simple. Just be prepared for her unintentional disasters.”

“At least it won’t be boring,” I murmured.

Sims cleared his throat again. “Kidnapping a noblewoman from Solandris could spark full-scale war.”

“By the time King Auremar organizes his troops,” I said, “I’ll have the Heirloom activated. Let them come.” My gaze drifted to the golden circlet resting on the pedestal.

“And if Lady Arabella… resists marriage?” Sims persisted.

I fought the urge to pull my shirt away from the burning scars on my forearm. “I’ve broken far stronger wills than that of a sheltered noble. All I need is her vow.”

From her spot, Vex asked slyly, “Not planning on consummation?”

I glared. “The artifact doesn’t require it. Words suffice.” I turned to the mirror again, dropping the silence that cloaked it. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

The mirror rippled, beginning to speak, “In theory, the artifact might?—”

Shadows snaked back over it with a snarl from me. “I only need vows,” I said, ignoring the mirror’s muffled squawking. “There’s a difference between compelling someone to go through a ceremony and forcing my way into her bed.”

Vex murmured, “How chivalrous.”

I cast a pointed look at Vex, daring her to argue further. She merely lifted a brow.

“We’re done here,” I said, turning to the others. “Sims, prepare the Great Hall for a wedding. Vex, find me whatever legal documents we need and prepare invites. This wedding must be official. Thorne, you handle the guards. Griffin, get my runes ready for infiltration into Solandris.”

They bustled into action, but Griffin hesitated. “Should we… prepare a welcome gift? Some, uh, token to soften the transition?”

I shot him a flat glare. “Griffin, I’m kidnapping a noblewoman. I doubt she’ll appreciate a fruit basket.”

He squirmed. “But first impressions…”

My eyes flicked again to her sketch. That ghost of a smirk still had me off-balance. “Fine. Send roses. Whatever number you deem appropriate for an abducted fiancée.”

Thunder rolled outside the citadel, and lightning illuminated the war room’s vaulted ceiling. I turned to the window, watching the sky crack open in a violent storm.

Sims spoke softly, pulling me back. “Your orders for the infiltration, my lord?”

I turned, feeling a rush of anticipation burn in my veins. “I’ll do it myself. I refuse to risk one of you idiots confusing her with an interchangeable Violet.” I leveled Griffin with a pointed glare. “Or Lord Sebastian and his scones.”

Griffin shrugged helplessly. “To be fair, they are excellent sco?—”

“Don’t test me,” I snarled, letting the shadows flicker menacingly. “You have your orders. And for the love of all that’s dark, someone get me a cloak that says ‘villain.’ I want to look as dramatic as my reputation demands.”

Griffin, trying too hard, added, “Do we also need a kidnapping net?”

My shadows clamped around his collar, lifting him an inch off the floor. “We are not using a net .”

“Yes, my lord,” he choked out.

“Get to work,” I snapped, releasing him.

They scattered, leaving me alone with the echoing thunder and that dreadful mirror.

I walked toward the Heirloom, letting my fingertips glide across the cool metal.

All that power was just waiting to be claimed, and ironically, it hinged on an absurdly traditional practice: a wedding with a woman who (if the rumors were true) might roast me alive by ‘accident’ before I even said “I do.”

Hm. I would need to ward Lady Evenfall’s rooms against fire, just in case.

Lightning cracked outside. I strode from the war room with a grin that would have sent my enemies running for cover. I had a lady to kidnap, a wedding to prepare, and an artifact of unimaginable power to claim.

Just another day in the life of The Dark Lord.