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FEAST WITH YOUR ENEMIES (AND CALL THEM FRIENDS)

KAZIMIR

Glasses clinked across the Great Hall. Magic buzzed in the air. My wedding feast simmered with false merriment, every courtier desperate to outshine the others with displays of power, so long as they didn’t accidentally vaporize the person next to them.

I scowled into my goblet while Arabella sat beside me, the picture of a perfect bride.

Courtiers showered her with hollow praise.

Bored, I entertained myself with a mental count of how many I could kill before it became diplomatically awkward.

Only the true monsters in my retinue—the shadow wraiths drifting by the rafters, the nightmare specters sipping from crystal flutes—seemed genuinely curious about my new wife.

Meanwhile, Arabella was alarmingly good at this.

She smiled. She nodded. She deflected probing questions with just enough information to satisfy without revealing a damn thing. She even managed to look fascinated by Griffin’s droning explanations on the hall’s enchanted architecture.

“…and the chandelier crystals were harvested during a blood moon, which is why they pulse with that particular crimson undertone when?—”

Over Griffin’s shoulder, I caught sight of Viscountess Morana glaring at Arabella with open hostility.

She wore the ornate dagger I’d given her during our brief and apparently misinterpreted winter fling.

Nothing says “stabby ex-lover” like a woman who sleeps with sixteen daggers and names them all after previous conquests.

A feigned cough pulled me around to see Sims. He bowed so low his nose nearly grazed the polished floor. “My lord, the tribute from the Syndicate has arrived. Do you wish to inspect it now, or shall I let you continue your brooding?”

I shot him a look meant to blister his tongue. “Proceed.”

He straightened his cuffs and signaled to servants near the main doors. They entered in a stately line, arms laden with chests, covered platters, and an unsettling sense of hush that crept across the hall.

“From the Syndicate of Seven Shadows,” announced a well-dressed herald, “in honor of the union between Lord Blackrose and his bride, we present these tokens of respect and alliance… and definitely not bribes for any future favors.”

I almost smirked. The Syndicate’s packages always reeked of blood money. They unveiled exotic fruits that glowed with captive starlight, wine distilled from forbidden herbs, and beautiful jewelry carved from metals only found in the Obsidian Mountain.

Arabella leaned close, her voice lowered. “The Syndicate. Aren’t they notorious for trafficking forbidden artifacts and occasionally misplacing the souls of their business partners?”

“Yes,” I said, mildly surprised at her knowledge, “alongside a few other charming hobbies. They can be valuable allies, provided you enjoy living with a blade at your throat.”

Her eyes followed the procession. “How generous of them to send such lavish gifts.”

A flicker of humor nearly chased away my sour mood. “They’re not truly gifts but down payments. They’ll want a hefty return from me, with interest.”

“Then why accept them?”

I glanced at her. “Because refusing a Syndicate gift is more dangerous than accepting one.”

The herald came to our table and bowed deeply.

He presented a pair of daggers on a velvet cushion, each hilt glittering with crystallized blood.

“Forged in the darkness between worlds, bound so that what one feels, the other knows. A fitting symbol for this union—dangerous, alluring, and quite impossible to outrun.”

I accepted the daggers, pulse kicking up as I felt the raw magic thrumming within the steel—and likely more than one embedded curse. “The Syndicate honors us,” I said, dipping my head in a gesture that only barely feigned respect. “Our alliance remains strong… for now.”

He stepped back with a slithering bow. The servants fanned out to deliver the remaining treasures before escaping the hall in practiced unison.

Arabella eyed the weapons. “Nothing quite says ‘till death do us part’ like matching implements of murder.”

“The Syndicate’s definition of romance is unique,” I told her wryly.

“As is yours, Lord Blackrose.”

I might have retorted, but Vex appeared at my side. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “My lord, may I have a word?”

I rose from my seat and gestured to Thorne. “Make certain Lady Blackrose remains unmurdered in my absence.”

“Yes, my lord.” Thorne moved behind Arabella’s chair with the subtle menace of a mountain deciding where to avalanche.

Vex and I retreated to a small antechamber off the main hall. I closed the door behind us, dulling the clash of voices and music. Vex turned to me with a concerned look. Her composure rarely faltered unless the news was either dire or absurd.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“The staff,” she said. “They’re acting… strangely.”

Instinctively, I reached for dominion magic, half-expecting rebellion or demon-summoning. “Strangely how? Are they plotting treason?”

Her lips twitched. “They’re happy. Over the wedding.”

That stopped me cold. “Happy,” I repeated, as though the word belonged to another language. “You mean, in a rebellious sense, or?—”

“In a festive sense,” she clarified. “They’re cooking celebratory meals, placing flowers in corridors you never visit, and the stable hands are allegedly planning a dance performance to honor you and Lady Blackrose.”

My mind reeled at the utter nonsense. “Have they all been swapped with doppelgangers?”

Vex shook her head. “No enchantments are at play, at least none that I can detect. The only difference is that Sims announced a three-day holiday after the wedding.”

“I didn’t authorize that,” I said sharply.

“No, but he used your name anyway, citing some ‘traditional courtesy’ extended by gracious lords,” she said with a dry twist to her mouth. “They also believe Lady Blackrose negotiated improved conditions for them as part of your marriage contract.”

I stared at her. “She did no such thing.”

“Rumors can be stubborn. It’s elevating her status in their eyes. They see her as a benevolent influence.”

I huffed in annoyance. “Keep an eye on them. If anyone’s overindulging in these warm, fuzzy feelings, remind them why they usually fear me.” I gave her a searching look. “Anything else?”

Vex hesitated. That alone told me the next topic was both delicate and urgent. “It’s about sleeping arrangements.”

“What about them?”

“In preparation for tonight,” Vex continued smoothly, “you had wine and other, er, amenities sent to your chambers. I assume that means Lady Blackrose will join you?”

My magic flared across my skin, shadows flickering in the corners of the room. “You overstep, Vex.”

She seemed nonplussed. “I merely wish to arrange every detail according to your preferences. Rose petals? Warmed chains by the fireplace? A curated selection of?—”

“Enough,” I snapped, voice echoing with dominion. “Yes, she’ll join me in my chambers. That’s the plan.”

She nodded, lips pressed into a careful line. “Does she know that’s the plan, or is this one of your… surprises?”

I glared. “Our marriage arrangements are not your concern.” The shadows responded to my anger, swirling thicker around my feet. “She’s quite aware of her role.”

“I see.” Vex regarded me with unreadable calm. “So you’ve changed your mind about the ‘no-consummation’ clause you mentioned before, or is this just a power play?”

Her words ignited a spark of heat in my chest at the memory of that maddening kiss. “That’s no concern of yours.”

For a moment, I almost said more. But the blood resonance information was too valuable to share for now, even with Vex.

And the no-sex agreement? My followers needed to believe I took what I wanted, when I wanted it.

The reality—that I’d agreed to Arabella’s terms because I needed her willing participation—would remain my private humiliation.

Vex saw right through me, but she held her tongue. I seized the opportunity to shift topics. “Make sure you have the eastern tower set and prepared for tomorrow’s ritual. The Heirloom activation can’t be delayed.”

“Of course. We’ll have clean-up crews on standby, just in case.” Her gaze slid to the door. “The Syndicate’s daggers—shall I have Griffin run spells to confirm there aren’t any hidden curses?”

“Immediately,” I said evenly. “The last ‘gift’ they sent tried to devour my soul during a full moon. I’d rather not repeat that.”

She inclined her head but didn’t leave yet. “Lady Blackrose is already adapting to life here. Remarkably so, for someone who was kidnapped a day ago and forced into marriage.”

A hollow laugh escaped me. “She’s resourceful. And cunning. Qualities worth noting.”

Vex offered a mild smile. “I always analyze potential threats thoroughly, my lord.”

“She’s not a threat,” I replied automatically, then felt a flicker of annoyance at my defensive tone. “She’s an asset. A crucial piece in unleashing the Heirloom’s full power.”

Vex’s smile deepened. “Of course. Just a piece of equipment. A particularly attractive cog in your grand machine.”

I turned away, ending the conversation. “Return to the feast and make sure Viscountess Morana keeps her daggers where they belong.”

Vex obeyed with an elegant bow and slipped out. Alone, I exhaled slowly as my mind drifted, unbidden, to that kiss… The magic had caught me off guard, sharp and unsettling in a way I couldn’t explain.

I composed myself to rejoin my guests. Tomorrow, I would activate the Heirloom and secure dominion over entire realms.

So why wasn’t I nearly as interested in world domination as I was in finding out how Arabella would respond to the rest of the evening, and the order to sleep in my bed?

Deep down, I knew this diversion was dangerous.

Still, I was the Dark Lord. I didn’t need to justify my decisions, even when they made me question my own motives.

I forced the uneasy thought aside and stepped back into the clamor of the feast, determined to make this night unfold precisely as I commanded.