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ACTIVATE AN ANCIENT ARTIFACT (RESULTS MAY VARY)

KAZIMIR

Arabella swept into the chamber like she owned it, her deep blue gown hugging curves that nearly had me flinging compliments right and left.

I hadn’t decided yet whether my tailor deserved a medal or a beheading for crafting something so distractingly perfect.

Her gaze traveled over the rotating constellations on the ceiling, then dropped to the concentric crimson runes carved into the stone floor.

Three nights’ worth of blood, sweat, and magic had gone into those etchings, and I felt an odd satisfaction at seeing her pause in admiration.

Her hand was still in mine when a sharp rap on the door broke through my concentration. I cleared my throat and forced myself to let her go.

“Enter,” I called.

Vex slipped through first, her hood pulled low.

Griffin followed, lanky limbs folding in on themselves as he squinted at the sudden brightness.

Sims stepped in behind them, wearing his traditional “we might all die today” expression, and Thorne lumbered last, practically forcing the doorframe to widen in self-defense.

“Ah, the morning-after committee,” I said, leaning against the windowsill. “How was the rest of the feast?”

“Only three people died, my lord,” Sims reported with his usual calm efficiency, as if that were good news.

“Who?”

“Lord Vico’s second cousin choked on a chicken bone, one of the kitchen staff fell into the main hearth, and Viscountess Morana’s personal guard was found with a dagger in his throat.”

I muttered a curse under my breath. “So not Morana or the Syndicate representative, then. Figures.”

Griffin, looking as though he wanted to expel the night’s mistakes along with his next breath, groaned and massaged his temples. “I don’t even remember how I ended up naked on one of the outer isles. Last thing I recall is challenging someone to a duel over…” He squinted at me. “Was it pudding?”

“You enchanted the dessert spoons to chase people around the room,” Vex informed him drily, tugging at her hood. Beneath it, her now-silver hair was a frazzled mess. “While hiding under the table giggling and declaring yourself a genius.”

Griffin’s frown carved a deep line between his brows.

Vex kept going. “Then you thought the lightning bridge needed ‘improvements.’ You vanished soon after.”

“Ah,” Griffin muttered, vaguely horrified. “That explains the scorch marks.”

Thorne’s booming laugh filled the chamber and rattled the windows. “Doesn’t explain why both diplomats from the Ashen Wastes followed you across that lightning bridge.”

Griffin’s pallor turned nearly translucent. “I’m… rather concerned about what I might have promised them.” He put his face in his hands. “Those horns aren’t just for show.”

Sighing, I made a mental note to double his supervision. Last time he tinkered with the bridges, we lost an entire platform of tax collectors. Not that I missed them, but the paperwork had been dreadful.

Meanwhile, Sims smoothed his jacket. Once again, he was the only one unruffled by the night’s debauchery. “The court was quite taken with our new Dark Lady,” he said, inclining his head toward Arabella.

“Why wouldn’t they be?” I replied, stepping away from the windowsill to check the Heirloom. “She was enchanting.” That was an understatement; she’d been half the reason guests hadn’t torn the place apart—and the main reason I’d spent most of the night struggling to maintain my usual icy composure.

I felt Arabella’s stare against my back, but I refused to glance her way. After last night’s… tactical errors, I needed distance, even if it felt like having splinters hammered under my fingernails.

“There was never any doubt,” Thorne rumbled, crossing his massive arms.

“And the guests loved Lady Blackrose’s spirit,” Vex echoed, shooting a mischievous look at Arabella.

As one, we all turned to my bride, who stood there openly observing us, not a flicker of hesitation on her face.

Even when a room full of professional villains discussed her like a prized asset, she didn’t bat an eyelid.

My entire staff could learn something from that spine of steel.

Well, except for Thorne, who had a literal spine of steel courtesy of a blacksmith’s curse. But that was another matter.

I left the Heirloom and joined the others. “Now that we’re all here, we should begin.”

At once, the mood in the chamber shifted. Vex, Griffin, Sims, and Thorne moved to their assigned positions. It was almost refreshing to see them snap into professional focus, like a severely dysfunctional family that only bonded over hardcore villainy.

“My lord, everything is prepared as you requested,” Sims announced with a clipped bow.

I guided Arabella toward the dais. The Heirloom glowed faintly, answering our combined magic. Her lineage, my rune-carved bones… together we had enough raw power to blow up Skyspire just by arguing too intensely. The thought thrilled me more than it should have.

“The ritual is straightforward,” I explained, trying to keep my voice steady. “We stand in the innermost circle. I recite the activation phrase, you place the Heirloom on my head, and the marriage bond should satisfy the bloodline requirement.”

“Should,” she repeated, arching one of her perfect brows.

“Will,” I corrected, holding her gaze. “The blood tests confirmed it.”

She shot me a pointed look at the mention of those tests—still a thorn in her side, apparently—but said nothing. Instead, she focused on the Heirloom with a generous measure of doubt etched across her face. “It doesn’t look like much.”

“The most powerful artifacts rarely do.” I extended my hand. She only paused for a heartbeat before slipping her fingers into mine. Together, we stepped into that innermost circle of runes.

The instant our feet crossed the boundary, scarlet light pulsed outward, flooding the stones in concentric circles. The air thickened, pressing in on every inch of my skin. Arabella took a sharp breath beside me, her grip on my hand turning ironclad.

Steeling myself, I positioned her on the opposite side of the pedestal. The Heirloom, a simple golden circlet, seemed to drink in the crimson glow. This was it. Years of planning, searching, and killing… all culminating here.

I recited the incantation, the harsh words grinding out of my throat.

Dark power crackled through every rune carved into my bones, and I nearly winced at the familiar, searing pain.

Internally, I cursed my mother for the thousandth time.

Externally, I maintained my usual “I have everything under control” sneer.

When I finished, I nodded to Arabella. She delicately picked up the circlet.

Her eyes widened as golden ripples danced across the surface, answering her presence.

Then those same eyes flicked to me, gauging me, revealing that flicker—doubt?

Resolve? Something that made my heartbeat stumble.

She inhaled long and deep, then stood on tiptoes to place the circlet on my brow.

For one endless second, I felt nothing but the chill of metal against my hairline. Then the lines along the circlet flared. Magic surged through me, raw and heady. I sensed worldwide ley lines flickering at the edge of my consciousness, trillions of threads of energy just waiting to be molded.

Yes , I thought hungrily. This is what it would feel like to command entire realms.

I reached for that power, extending my will along the nearest ley line?—

And then… nothing.

The magic winked out as though I had imagined it. The air lost its electric charge, and the circlet dimmed, leaving me wearing an unimposing bit of metal. My heart plummeted from my chest.

“W-what’s happening?” Arabella asked in a hushed voice.

My muscles locked as I yanked the circlet off my head, scanning it with furious intensity. The lines on the surface had gone completely dark. I slammed it onto the pedestal, my hands shaking. “It didn’t work,” I snarled through gritted teeth, letting my shadows writhe at my feet.

Griffin approached, swallowing nervously. “Maybe a mispronounced?—”

“There was. No. Error.” I bit off each word. “I’ve studied this ritual for years.”

“Then maybe the problem isn’t the ritual,” Vex suggested, her sharp gaze falling on Arabella. “Might be the bloodline?”

Arabella’s entire body bristled.

“Her bloodline is not the issue,” I snapped, my dominion magic crackling through the floor. “She carries the First Hero’s blood, strong and true.”

“Then what went wrong?” Vex demanded, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know,” I said, and I hated admitting that. The air itself felt too thin. I reeled in my shadows, noticing one of them had nearly strangled Griffin where he stood. With a sigh, I waved it back. “But I intend to find out.”

I steadied myself with a deep breath. “Griffin, analyze the artifact. Check for tampering. Sims, review each step of the ritual text for any hidden disclaimers. Vex, see if we’ve had unwelcome interference. Thorne, lock down the tower. No one enters or leaves without my direct permission.”

They hurried off to their assignments, though Thorne paused by the door. “And the lady?” he asked carefully.

I turned to Arabella. Despite everything, she’d done as requested. I couldn’t even muster the rationalization to blame her for this. “Lady Blackrose stays with me,” I said, letting my words resound off the walls.

Her brows lifted, but she said nothing as the others filed out.

Once the door shut, I circled the now-empty pedestal.

Griffin was examining the artifact. The runes glowed faintly with each step, mocking my frustration.

We had the real Heirloom. We had the correct incantation.

We had the right bloodline. Why the hells had it failed?

“You’re certain it’s not me?” she asked, voice quiet but steady.

I halted, facing her. “Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Memories of the test results pricked the back of my mind, reminding me how dangerously strong her magical synchronicity was with mine.

I wasn’t sure if telling her would be wise, or if it’d simply give her more leverage.

“Let’s say the resonance was… unusually high,” I allowed.

“Stronger than expected. You’re not the issue. ”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re still withholding something.”

I glanced toward the artifact again. “I am. But I don’t have time for that now.” I needed to gather my thoughts before throwing more revelations at her. I’d forced her into this marriage to begin with, and now I might need more from her than originally planned.

Before she could press me, Griffin cleared his throat near the workbench. “Lord Blackrose, I did a quick inspection. The artifact isn’t damaged. All core enchantments are intact. It’s just…” He grimaced. “Dormant.”

“Meaning?” I demanded, coming up behind him.

“It’s waiting for something,” he said hesitantly. “I—I can’t say what. But it’s not broken.”

“That’s all you’ve got?” I slammed a fist onto the bench. Griffin and the Heirloom both jumped.

“Lord Blackrose,” Arabella said softly.

I whipped around, ready to snap, but her expression wasn’t mocking. I saw no pity either, just a detached understanding, as if she recognized what it felt like to have an entire future dangle just out of reach. My frustration hissed in my bloodstream, but I forced myself not to lash out at her.

I closed my eyes for a moment, exhaling. “Fuck,” I muttered, which was not the eloquent statement I’d planned, but it summed things up nicely.

Griffin sagged with relief as I unclenched my fists. I fixed him with a cold look. “Stay here and study this worthless hunk of metal. Thorne will guard Lady Blackrose. No accidents, no explosions. I might still need her if we ever figure this out.”

My voice came out sharper than intended, but I had no restraint left to soften it. Arabella bristled, her eyes flicking to Griffin and then back to me with the beginnings of a glare.

I turned on my heel and stalked out of the chamber.

My mind churned with half-formed curses at every ancient scholar who’d written about the ritual.

I was already strategizing how I’d resurrect each of them, only to kill them again for writing incomplete directions.

Whatever was missing, I had to find it—and fast.

After all, I’d already married her. I refused to accept that it was all for nothing.