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FORGE RINGS WITH BONE AND HAIR?(ROMANCE, DARK-LORD STYLE)

ARABELLA

The dress arrived late.

I stood in my chambers, arms crossed, watching Vex pace in front of the hearth. Her black coat slanted dramatically, and her newly dyed hair—midnight now instead of yesterday’s silver—only made her impatient scowl more severe.

“If they’ve ruined the timing of the ceremony,” she growled, “I’ll personally remove their fingers, one knuckle at a?—”

Before she could finish, the door burst open. Two servants hurried in, carrying a swath of fabric that looked like a midnight waterfall. They were followed by a small, jittery man with measuring tape draped around his neck and pins bristling from his collar.

“Forgive the delay, Lady Evenfall,” the tailor said, executing a deep bow. “The embroidery required additional attention.”

Vex’s sneer nearly made him drop the pins. “The ceremony begins in less than an hour.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” I said. I felt my heart hammering, no matter how hard I tried to steady myself. Reality was sinking in. Within the hour, I would marry the Dark Lord. Voluntarily, if one counted the string of negotiations and tenuous deals I’d squeezed him into.

The tailor and his assistants dressed me with swift, practiced motions.

The moment the fabric settled over my shoulders, I drew a sharp breath.

The midnight-blue velvet appeared nearly black under the torchlight, the silver embroidery twisting into elegant vines of thorns as I moved.

A high collar framed my neck, regal but not suffocating, and the fitted sleeves ended in points over my hands.

From the waist down, the gown flared into rippling layers.

Vex gave me a slow once-over. “It will do,” she pronounced, which might have been genuine praise from her. A servant stepped forward with a gleaming silver circlet set with sapphires—the bride’s crown.

They began twisting my hair into an elaborate updo, weaving thin silver threads through the braids and nestling small black roses among them.

“Those don’t draw blood, do they?”

“Not unless you ask nicely,” Vex replied. She paused by my shoulder and lowered her voice. “A detail for the ceremony, my lady. I need a single hair from you.”

I felt a twinge of irritation, but Vex merely stood waiting, not taking it by force.

“Fine,” I said. I carefully plucked one strand free myself, handing it over. Boundaries, no matter how small, deserved to be maintained.

Once they finished with a subtle enchantment that made my skin glow from within and added smoky shadow around my eyes, I took in my reflection.

The woman staring back had sharp lines and thorns embroidered along her bodice, as if to announce she was done being docile.

I considered, for one wild moment, refusing to show up for the ceremony at all.

But running would guarantee death, and if I died, whatever power lay dormant in my blood would remain untapped. I wanted to know what I was capable of.

“It’s time,” Vex announced. She pressed a small vial into my hand, the liquid inside clear as glass.

“Poison seems counterproductive at this stage,” I said, but uncorked it anyway. The soft waft of lavender and mint drifted up.

She snorted. “A calming draught. If I wanted you dead, Lady Evenfall, you’d never have stepped out of that forest alive.”

I tossed it back, feeling pleasant warmth spread through my veins.

Vex led me out of my chambers, along corridors teeming with swirling shadows, down multiple spiraling staircases, and past an airy courtyard. At last, we arrived at a tall tower doorway opening onto empty air. My heart lurched at the vast drop beneath swirling clouds.

“The Great Hall is on a separate island,” Vex explained. “We cross by lightning bridge.”

Right on cue, sizzling arcs of electricity flared, weaving themselves into a narrow, pulsing walkway just like the one I’d accidentally rearranged in the observatory. The bridge hummed with power.

“Everyone except the Dark Lord—and now you—who enters the citadel must carry a magic token,” she explained, “which allows them passage on the bridges that befit their rank and business.”

I swallowed hard, grateful for the calming draught now warming my veins. Without it, I might have balked entirely at the prospect of crossing what appeared to be solidified lightning.

“First time is always the worst,” Vex added, stepping onto the bridge. “Keep your eyes forward and don’t look down.”

My stomach tightened, but I forced myself forward. Each footfall sent tiny shocks through my boots. By the time we reached the far side, I’d gotten past the worst of the fear, but those bridges would take some getting used to.

Guards snapped to attention as we passed another archway. A short walk later, we reached towering black doors inlaid with silver. Griffin appeared, skidding to a halt in his too-short robes, the hem singed and his hair standing on end as though he’d just battled a thundercloud.

“Lady Evenfall!” he said breathlessly. “You look… remarkable. I—ah—wouldn’t mention the dress delay to His Darkness. He nearly incinerated the tailor’s first attempts. Mumbled something about ‘my wife is not a showpiece for lesser men to ogle.’”

I blinked. “He personally oversaw the designs?”

Griffin bobbed his head. “Rejected three. The first was too revealing, the second too… traditional. The third one caught fire before we got his specific notes.”

I gripped Griffin’s scorched sleeve. “Does he always burn things when he’s angry?”

“Only things he can replace,” Griffin said, forcing a smile. “I’m… indispensable, or so I hope.”

Vex cleared her throat pointedly. “We’re late, Griffin.”

He stepped aside, and at a nod from Vex, two guards pulled the doors open, revealing the Great Hall.

I stepped into a spectacle of roses, candles, and eerie light.

Black roses crawled up columns and draped across the ceiling, their metallic petals reflecting the flicker of countless black candles with cold, otherworldly flames.

Through the towering windows, a blood-gold sunset slashed across distant storm clouds.

The hall flickered with life. Some guests looked human, others…

not. I saw a pair of unnervingly beautiful vampires who stood too still to pass for mortal, a cluster of fae nobles whose perfect features were offset by their chilling, hollow stares, and even a few delegates with horns and charcoal-gray skin.

Kazimir Blackrose waited on the dais. He wore a black velvet coat with silver embroidery mirroring the style of my gown, high-collared and refined. His hair was swept back, and his storm-gray eyes locked onto mine the instant I stepped inside. Energy seemed to crackle in the space between us.

Vex leaned in to whisper, “Last chance to run.”

I breathed out slowly. “And miss the chance to horrify all these fine people?”

She gave a curt nod and moved to stand among the other advisors. A low, throbbing music began. Not something melodic, but more like a vibration that sank into my bones. The crowd parted, leaving a wide aisle leading to the dais.

I strode forward, summoning every ounce of poise I’d once learned to impress highborn suitors. Chin up, steps steady, gaze forward. I wasn’t doing this as a trembling bride. No, I was here on my own twisted terms.

Kazimir watched me approach, his expression taut. Behind him, shadows flickered at his feet, writhing for a split second before he quelled them. When I reached the dais, I could feel waves of controlled tension rolling off him.

He inclined his head. “Lady Evenfall,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I heard him. “You look… suitable.”

I kept my own voice down. “High praise from the Dark Lord. You almost look civilized yourself.”

A fleeting spark of amusement lit his eyes, then he turned to the officiant, a dark cleric whose eyes absorbed rather than reflected light, lending him a deeply unsettling look.

“Esteemed allies, honored guests, fearsome minions,” the cleric intoned, his voice echoing oddly, “we gather to witness the binding of Lord Kazimir Blackrose, His Supreme Darkness, Scourge of Azroth, Terror of the Western Realms, to Lady Arabella Evenfall, Descendant of the First Hero and Mistress of the Healing Arts.”

I shot Kazimir a sidelong glance at that last title. It was obviously a dramatic flourish he’d asked for.

The cleric continued, “We perform this ritual not by the insipid customs of lesser kingdoms, but by the ancient rites of conquest and alliance.”

He cleared his throat and opened a heavy tome with pages that creaked with age.

“From the Codex of Dominion, hear these words: ‘When power seeks to multiply itself, let blood call to blood. When darkness seeks to expand its reach, let it find a worthy vessel. When conquest is achieved, let it be sealed in bonds that neither death nor betrayal may sever.’”

The cleric lifted a small blackwood reliquary. “Bone of the groom, strand of the bride. Let dominion bind what softer magics cannot.”

He opened the lid, revealing a polished sliver of bone twined with the single hair I’d surrendered in my chamber. If Kazimir had truly contributed a piece of himself… I almost gaped, wondering when and how he’d harvested it.

Kazimir took the reliquary, and I heard the soft sizzling of his flesh meeting some potent magic.

With a murmured incantation, both bone and hair melted into a thin ivory ribbon streaked with silver light.

He wound the molten strip around my ring finger; it cooled instantly, fitting snugly.

He forged a second band for himself, letting leftover sparks drift to the ceiling.

We exchanged a glance in which I caught the faintest gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

The cleric exhaled in awe. Then he produced a dark goblet of volcanic glass that shimmered crimson beneath the hall’s blue-white torches.

“The Cup of Dominion,” he announced. “Forged in the Obsidian Mountain, tempered in the blood of a thousand warriors. Drink, and let your essences mingle as your purposes align.”

Kazimir took the cup first, eyes fixed on me. He sipped, then handed it my way, his fingertips lingering on mine. I braced myself for blood, but tasted only a rich, smoky wine that somehow thrummed with raw power as it slid down my throat.

The cleric retrieved the cup and set it aside. “Lord Blackrose, do you take this woman as your consort, to share in your conquests, to amplify your power, and to stand as your equal in the eyes of your enemies?”

Kazimir’s voice rang out confidently. “I do.”

“Lady Evenfall,” the cleric said, turning to me, “do you take this man as your consort, to share in his dominion, to embrace the darkness he offers, and to honor his authority in all matters of state and war?”

“I do,” I replied firmly.

The cleric raised his arms, and Kazimir’s shadows slithered across our wrists, binding us like ribbons before sinking into our skin in a cold, thrilling rush. It wasn’t painful, but it left a tingling pressure near my heart that didn’t fade right away.

“In accordance with ancient tradition,” the cleric proclaimed, “if any here object to this union, speak now and be immediately executed for treason.”

A startled laugh nearly escaped me—so refreshing, this blatant threat. The crowd remained tactfully silent.

“By the power vested in me by the ancient gods of chaos and order,” the cleric said, “I declare this unholy union sealed. And now, seal this bond… with the traditional conquest of lips!”

Conquest of ? —

I froze. We hadn’t negotiated this minor detail. My eyes flicked to Kazimir, whose posture was rigid. Neither of us made the first move. Emotions churned inside me—part indignation, part burning curiosity.

From the back, Griffin’s voice rang out a bit too cheerfully, “Kiss her, my lord, or we’ll think you’ve gone soft!”

Several guests snickered nervously. Kazimir’s shadows darkened, and I heard Griffin yelp. Finally, Kazimir turned to face me, raising his hand to my jaw.

“My apologies,” he murmured, lips so close I could feel his breath, “for what comes next.”

He kissed me.

I expected a brief, formal peck. Instead, his mouth fit against mine with a devastating heat .

Not bruising, not demanding, but thoroughly, unmistakably possessive.

Warmth jolted through me from my lips to my toes, sparked by something more than just the physical contact.

I tasted that same smoky intensity from the wine, mingled with his unmistakable magic.

From Kazimir’s slight hitch of breath, I knew he’d felt it too.

It was over in seconds, yet somehow it rearranged my breathing. He stepped back, eyes dark with something raw that jagged the edges of his composure. Then he schooled his features and turned to the crowd as though nothing seismic had just passed between us.

The cleric lifted his arms. “I present to you Lord and Lady Blackrose! May their enemies tremble and their alliance bring glorious destruction!”

The hall erupted in raucous cheers. I managed to keep my chin high, though my pulse was still skittering from that kiss.

At this point, Kazimir’s enchanters and mages rapidly transformed the hall for the post-ceremony feast. Chairs scraped across the floor, and long banquet tables sprouted where there had been none, as if grown from the stone.

Servants hurried in behind, bearing platters of steaming dishes, setting everything in place with flawless, magical coordination.

Kazimir offered me his arm as the room morphed around us. Reluctantly, I took it, aware of the watchful eyes from every corner.

“You played your role well,” he said under his breath, guiding me into the new banquet space.

“And what role do I play next?” I murmured back, feigning a polite smile for the ever-curious onlookers.

“The devoted bride, of course.”

The newly conjured feast sprawled before us, an uncanny mix of lavish dishes, some easily recognizable and others unsettlingly alive or glowing. Creatures, nobles, and more monstrous guests raised their glasses in salute. Kazimir held up our joined hands.

“To new beginnings,” he announced.

They echoed his words, draining their goblets. As we wove through the tables, he leaned closer, his grip tightening.

“Any one of these creatures might be a future ally,” he murmured, “or a future enemy. Sometimes both. Keep your guard up, Lady Blackrose.”

I kept my expression calm, even as the ring of molten bone on my finger seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own. “Yes,” I murmured, “that seems wise.”