Page 19

KAZIMIR

I hurled a priceless artifact against the wall of my war room and watched with grim satisfaction as it exploded into dust. Ten years of my life, spilled out in one violent rush of frustration.

“Ten. Fucking. Years.”

I punctuated each word by smashing another item within reach. A crystal paperweight, an enchanted compass, even a skull I’d been saving for special occasions. All were sacrificed to the altar of my rage.

Ten years of trudging through ruins and crypts for clues.

Ten years of poring over tomes older than dirt—texts that dissolved if I so much as breathed on them too forcefully.

Ten years of wringing knowledge out of cowardly priests and stuffy scholars who’d rather die dramatically than share their library cards.

And now, the Heirloom of Dominion refused to bend to my will.

I stalked across the war room’s wreckage and stopped in front of the ornate mirror. “Explain yourself,” I growled, slamming my palm on the carved frame. Blue runes flared beneath my fingers, and the surface of the glass rippled as though it were a pool of water.

“My lord is displeased,” the mirror observed in a voice as flat as stale liquor. “How may this humble repository assist?”

“The Heirloom failed to activate.” I gritted my teeth and felt a fresh wave of heat ripple up my spine. “I need to know why.”

“Have you tried asking it nicely?” the mirror inquired, just a little too sly for my taste.

I stood back, scowling. “You’re a magical artifact, not a second-rate jester.”

“One adapts to one’s master,” it replied archly.

The surface swam with fleeting images—dog-eared grimoire pages, diagrams of ley lines, bits of ancient script.

“The Heirloom of Dominion, forged by the First Hero to harness the power of the earth’s veins.

It requires a bearer of heroic blood and a user of dominion mag?—”

“I know,” I snapped, continuing to pace. Broken shards crunched underfoot. I’d destroyed half the items in the room, and I still felt no relief. “I confirmed Lady Evenfall’s lineage. The ritual components were flawless. And still… nothing.”

The mirror’s reflection stilled, darkening around the edges so it nearly swallowed my image. “Perhaps not everything was correct, my lord.”

I practically vibrated with the need to fling yet another priceless relic across the room. “Explain.”

“You performed the binding ritual and recited the words of power. You placed the Heirloom on your brow,” it said, thick with condescension. “Yet the marriage remains… incomplete.”

I paused in the act of reaching for another potential projectile. My hand twitched. “We spoke the vows. We drank from the Cup of Dominion. I sliced off a piece of my own bone for the rings. The officiant pronounced us wed.”

“Words and ceremony,” the mirror replied, tone smug. “Such primal magic requires more. Especially the kind used by the First Hero.”

I pressed my fists onto the desk, ignoring the stray bits of broken compass dragging against my knuckles. “The marriage must be consummated.”

“Indeed,” the mirror agreed, sounding far too pleased.

With a curse, I swept the maps and scrolls off the desk in a single swipe. “That’s out of the question. We have an arrangement.” My thoughts leapt to Arabella, and the steel in her gaze when she insisted on no forced intimacy. “I promised her I wouldn’t push that boundary.”

“How inconvenient for your world domination plans,” it said with a mock sigh.

I whirled to face it. “Show me proof. Ancient texts. Runic footnotes. Divine graffiti scratched into a crypt wall—anything.”

The surface of the mirror swirled, settling on an image of battered parchment streaked with nearly unreadable script.

“This source is obscure,” it admitted, “found in the ruins of the First Hero’s sanctuary. However, it states quite clearly that the union must be fully realized.”

I leaned in to examine it. “One source? This entire fiasco hinges on one fragment of an ancient text?”

“Nevertheless,” the mirror purred, “the Heirloom has done exactly nothing, despite everything else aligning perfectly. Perhaps you should reconsider your promise.”

I hissed through my teeth. My vow to Arabella might seem trivial to everyone else, but I knew the second I broke my word, any chance of her cooperation would vanish forever.

“Damn it,” I muttered, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Since when does the Dark Lord’s word outshine his lust for power?” the mirror prodded.

I stayed silent. Without her genuine involvement, the entire plan might collapse faster than I could carve another rune.

Eventually, I made myself step back from the wall, squaring my shoulders as though I could literally pull my dignity back into place. “This complicates matters.”

“Indeed,” came the mirror’s smug reply. “How will you proceed?”

My gaze shifted from the mirror to the shattered remains of my tantrum. “Carefully,” I said, turning from the broken relics. “Very carefully.”

I entered my private study about an hour after my little outburst, pretending my loss of control had never happened. Vex, Sims, Griffin, and Thorne were already inside.

Thorne quietly shut the door behind me. “I’ve doubled the guards around the tower, my lord,” he said. “In case we’re dealing with sabotage.”

I leaned against the desk with a tired sigh. “We’re not,” I said flatly. “That would be far too easy. This is something worse.”

“Shall I fetch someone from the dungeons for a sacrifice?” Sims asked, smoothing his robes as if human sacrifice were no more dramatic than a trip to the bakery.

“Tempting, but no.”

Griffin opened his mouth—likely to seek further clarification—but froze when I shot him a sharp look. He made a faint squeaking sound instead, which was marginally entertaining.

The runes under my skin prickled with annoyance. “Where’s Lady Blackrose?”

“She left the eastern tower a while ago,” Vex said, “then wandered the halls until I escorted her back to her chambers. She’s still trying to find her way around the citadel, though she won’t admit it.”

Sims cleared his throat. “My lord, have you determined what went wrong with last night’s ritual?”

I hesitated. My staff had witnessed me do monstrous things—summon shadows to tear men limb from limb, fill entire villages with unstoppable illusions, warp reality until it sang my name. Yet somehow, telling them I had promised my wife I wouldn’t force her into bed felt embarrassing.

Finally, I pushed aside my pride and said, “The Heirloom isn’t a simple relic. It demands… a more complete bond. According to the more archaic volumes, the marriage must be fully realized.”

Vex’s eyes narrowed a fraction, keying into my meaning. Sims took longer to catch on, but then he nearly toppled over before muttering, “So the union requires consummation.”

I gave him a thin smile. “Gold star for you.”

Thorne grunted in a practical, warrior-like way. “Then you know what to do, my lord. Take her to bed. Problem solved.”

Griffin’s face went taut with alarm. “But forgive me, my lord, didn’t Lady Blackrose try to kill you? She might not be… receptive.”

I directed a hard stare at him, the one I typically reserved for kings right before they signed over their kingdoms to me. Griffin swallowed visibly.

“She’s my wife,” I said. “And the details of how I handle that are none of your concern.”

Griffin, apparently wanting to dig his own grave, squared his shoulders. “Yes, my lord. It’s just… perhaps you should consider dating her.”

A hush descended on the room. My shadow magic stirred at the edges. “Dating,” I repeated, as though the concept offended me to my very bones. “As in… courting my own wife.”

Griffin, suicidal fool that he was, nodded. “Yes, precisely. Marriage requires continued affection?—”

Vex cut in, concealing a wince. “He’s been reading some truly terrible romance scrolls from the Enchanted Isles. They may not be… entirely scientific.”

Griffin turned beet red. “I was researching relationship bonds for magical amplification purposes?—”

“Enough.” I lifted a hand. My runes were searing beneath my skin, an itch I couldn’t scratch without incinerating someone. I drew a deep breath until I felt the worst of my anger recede.

“What matters,” I said, going to the window, “is I’m dealing with it. The Heirloom will activate. We proceed with our plans.”

I pointed a finger at Griffin, who almost jumped out of his boots. “You’ll prepare my training room for Lady Blackrose. Bring in all relevant texts and equipment. We begin tomorrow.”

His eyes lit up. “What kind of magical training, exactly?—?”

“Everything,” I said, remembering the way she’d tried to wield magic against me on the road. “I want to see what she can do firsthand.”

I glanced at Vex and jerked my head, dismissing the others. “Stay,” I ordered her. “We have further matters to discuss.”

Sims, Griffin, and Thorne exited, exchanging sidelong looks that begged for any crumb of gossip. Once alone, Vex perched on the edge of the desk, crossing her ankles in a deceptively casual pose.

“You never told them about your arrangement with Lady Blackrose,” she said matter-of-factly.

I gave her a hard look. “I didn’t tell you about it, either.”

Briefly, I thought her eyes shifted to my exact stormcloud hue—an unnerving trick she sometimes did—before she let out a wry grin. “I’ve simply observed how tense you’ve been since the kidnapping. Given the circumstances, I guessed you promised her something unusual.”

“It’s none of your concern,” I repeated, though my tone lacked conviction.

Vex swung her feet against the desk, fidgeting. “Just tell her the truth about the Heirloom’s requirement. Negotiate new terms.”

The jeweled dagger on my desk caught my eye, and I picked it up, rolling it between my fingers. “And give her more leverage?” I scoffed. “I’d rather juggle searing coals.”

“So what’s your plan, then?” Vex stilled. “Force her?”

My magic flared with genuine offense, shadows creeping along the floor. “No,” I snapped. “I’m not that kind of monster.”

I tested the dagger’s weight, flipping it by the hilt and catching it by the blade.

A shallow cut formed across my palm, and blood welled up.

The faint sting of pain kept me present, reminding me I was still in control.

“I’ll seduce her,” I said. “She wants me. She might hate it, but I’ve seen the way she looks when I corner her. She’s not made of ice.”

Vex tilted her head thoughtfully. “That’s… a new approach for you.”

I glared. “I’ve seduced people before.”

She shrugged. “Yes. To extract secrets or distract them before slitting their throats. This is different.”

Her words stung more than I cared to admit. For a beat, I said nothing. Then I shot back, “By the time she discovers the truth, the Heirloom will be active and she’ll realize I’m still her best option. She’s too pragmatic to sabotage herself in retaliation.”

Vex shook her head. “You really believe she’ll forgive that level of manipulation? If I were her, I’d cut your throat in your sleep.”

I forced a smirk, ignoring the uneasy clench in my stomach. “She can try. Not sure how successful she’d be, but I do admire her spirit.”

Something flickered across Vex’s face—an emotion gone before I could identify it. “All right. But you might do better with a more conventional tactic. Court her properly. Show her the person behind your fancy titles and brooding scowls.”

I bristled. “And what do you know of courting?”

She held my gaze a moment longer than felt comfortable. “Enough,” she said quietly, then set off toward the door. “Just remember, my lord, conquering a kingdom is nothing compared to winning over the right person.”

And then she slipped away, leaving me alone in my study with the sting of her words echoing off the stone walls. I tossed the dagger aside, letting it clatter across the desk. Outside, a tempest boiled on the horizon, matching the storm in my head.

I—the Dark Lord who had toppled three kingdoms by the time I was twenty-five—now had a new, far more daunting challenge than war.

I had to woo my own wife.