Page 24

CRUSH AWKWARD RUMORS BEFORE LUNCH?(GLOWER OPTIONAL)

KAZIMIR

I stood at the base of my tower like some overeager suitor, a sharp breeze tugging at my cloak.

Several days had passed since Arabella had set me on fire.

Since then, I’d commissioned a new tunic made from fire-retardant fabric (the tailor’s barely restrained eye-roll when I requested that modification still annoyed me).

In the interim, my wife and I managed two more sessions, lighter on flames but heavier on the tension that lingered between us.

Outside those training hours, though, I barely saw her. My sources—Vex, with her wry reports, and Pip, who babbled anxiously—kept me informed that Lady Blackrose roamed the citadel with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.

I knew full well she wasn’t attempting an escape.

If she were, I’d have caught a whiff of half-baked schemes or sudden inquiries about the wards.

Besides, she had no father’s estate worth returning to, no friends I knew who would—or could—hide her, and she showed too much genuine excitement during training.

Now, however, the practical side of me saw the potential for mishaps, and a guided tour seemed… prudent. I’d sent word an hour ago with firm instructions: Dress as a dark lady, wear a cloak, and meet me outside my tower. No explanation.

But when Arabella appeared at the bottom of the winding stair, I had to force myself not to stare.

She wore a hooded cloak over a dark velvet gown that clung to her in ways that made me regret our agreement all over again.

Aside from the wedding ring forged of my bone, she wore no jewelry, which made it all the more striking.

“Lord Blackrose,” she greeted, adjusting the hood so it pooled against her shoulders.

“Kazimir,” I corrected with mild emphasis, watching for her inevitable eye roll. She obliged, if somewhat halfheartedly.

She smoothed a velvet sleeve. “You said to dress as a dark lady and wear a cloak. Don’t blame me if it’s darker than you intended.”

“It suits you,” I said, holding out my arm. “Come along, then. Time for a tour.”

She took my arm but shot me a suspicious look. “A tour of the citadel? How unexpectedly considerate.”

“Would you like to inspect our dungeons first?” I asked. “We could start with the darkest cell, if that feels more traditionally villainous.”

She almost smiled. “Lead on, my lord.”

I guided her onto the broad stone walkway leading from the tower. Beneath us, clouds drifted in and out of view. If she felt uneasy about the dizzying drop, she concealed it well, though her fingers tightened slightly on my arm.

“You promised me more freedom,” she said as the wind whipped a lock of hair out of her braid. “So I’ve been familiarizing myself with your fortress.”

“Yes, I know.”

She shot me a mild glare. “No one is supposed to be spying on me.”

“They’re not,” I said confidently. “But this is my citadel, and I hear about anything notable that happens within it.”

She sighed, conceding the point. “I’m not trying to escape, if that’s what worries you.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgment, remembering all the ways I’d verified that truth.

“I believe you. Though there are certain places you should avoid unless you’d like a face full of serpents or illusions.

The North Tower is one of those places. Several minions lost fingers in the aftermath of Griffin’s last incident. ”

She paused to brush the hair out of her face. “You do realize forbidding something only makes it more tempting?”

I shrugged. “Go ahead, then. When you’re screaming from a barrel of snakes, I won’t come rescue you.”

She scoffed, then flashed me a wicked grin. “Perhaps the snakes are the ones who’d need rescuing.”

I resisted the urge to laugh. “Fair enough.”

We reached a place that overlooked the central courtyard.

“Welcome to the Inner Sanctum proper,” I announced.

Five spired towers stood equidistant from each other in a vast star formation, connected to one another by a strong outer wall.

I pointed them out in turn: “Our tower in the west, the Observatory in the southwest, where you’ve already caused mischief?—”

“I wasn’t going to tell you about that.”

“Griffin always caves. He can never keep a secret from me. And now you, apparently.”

Arabella sniffed, only half-repentant, before I continued pointing out the remaining towers. “Gate tower in the southeast, the Heirloom’s tower in the east, and the northern labs you should steer clear of. The courtyard here anchors the wards.”

She eyed the massive pentagram carved into the black stone. “A giant pentagram inside a villain’s fortress—subtle.”

“The fortress predates me,” I said with a shrug. “Though I’ve taken creative liberties to fit my purposes. Functionally, the structure is almost impossible to breach, and that’s before all sorts of nasty ward-work I’ve planted into the foundation.”

She turned her gaze to the distant isles suspended in clouds. “And this is only the main fortress, right?”

I nodded. “We call them the Outer Court. The Great Hall is out on a separate isle, as you know, and it also houses the guest quarters. There are other isles for staff and kitchens, stables, and so on. Each platform is linked by those lightning bridges.”

“The entire fortress is incredible. But aren’t you worried it’ll one day just…” She fluttered her fingers in a downward gesture. “Fall out of the sky?”

“I have contingencies in place. I’ll share them when it suits me, or if we start plummeting.”

She faced the watery sunlight cutting through the clouds. “How many people stay here?”

“About five hundred on average,” I said. “Soldiers, staff, a few insane inventors… The number fluctuates whenever Griffin’s contraptions backfire.”

She glanced at me sharply. “People aren’t numbers.”

“That’s precisely what Vex keeps arguing,” I said drily. “We track them by name now, so I suppose that’s progress.”

She let out a short laugh but didn’t press.

We continued along the walkway, heading for the High Gardens—a glass-enclosed conservatory nestled between the western and southwestern towers.

Sunlight, filtered through rolling clouds, cast the greenhouse in ethereal light.

Within, raised stone beds brimmed with bizarre flora, and thick vines curled along the pathway, swaying toward us as we passed.

“Don’t wander here alone at night,” I noted. “Some of these plants like to grab.”

Arabella took a pointed step back. “Let me guess—a team of terrified gardeners maintains all this?”

“Terrified or exasperated, depending on your perspective,” I replied. “They insist my very presence makes the plants anxious.”

She looked amused. “Plants don’t have emotions.”

“Try explaining that to the trembling ferns,” I retorted.

We exited at the far end, crossing a stone walkway that circled toward the gate tower.

“Just like the bridges, the entire fortress can appear and disappear at will,” I explained.

“At least that’s what the rumors say. In truth, we can move the citadel slowly and with great effort.

It’s still enough to terrify superstitious villagers who think it hovers overhead waiting to devour them. ”

She nodded thoughtfully. “My father tried to ban the servants from telling me stories about the Dark Lord, which guaranteed I heard every lurid detail.”

That sparked my interest. “And what delirious rumors were you fed?”

Arabella leaned against the stone battlement, wind tugging more hair loose from the braid.

She’d already given up trying to contain it.

“That you had every inch of skin covered in unholy tattoos.” She glanced at my chest. “But thanks to your extreme lack of modesty, I can confirm it’s scars instead of ink. ”

That spark of wicked amusement in her eye was becoming dangerously addictive.

“Disappointed?” I asked, voice dropping suggestively.

She colored slightly but managed a wry smile. “Still withholding judgment.”

I chuckled. “What else have they said?”

She pursed her lips. “That you collect virgins from border villages.”

I blinked. “Collect them? To do what, exactly?”

“Sacrifice them during the full moon,” she answered, trying to keep a straight face.

I let out a genuine laugh. “If I needed blood, I wouldn’t go searching for the rarest subset of the population.”

She flashed a grin and pressed on. “Then there’s the rumor you can read minds.”

“That one I encourage,” I admitted. “It keeps people honest. But reading minds is simplistic. Reading people —their fears, their ambitions, their tells—that’s a far more useful skill.”

Arabella tilted her head. “Can you read me, then?”

The question was loaded with challenge. I made a show of studying her, though I’d been forming an answer since the day I captured her.

“You’re a survivor who’s learned to turn society’s assumptions into tactics.

You are far cleverer than you let on, and you know how to weaponize being underestimated.

You’ll do anything— anything —when cornered.

Including accidentally wielding volatile magic,” I added, unable to resist the dig.

A brief flicker in her eyes told me I’d struck close to truths she wasn’t used to exposing. She breathed out slowly. “I hate that I can’t deny it.”

The wind turned cold, and Arabella shivered despite the wards that kept the worst of the high-altitude temperatures at bay. I paused in a small archway while she pulled her hood up.

“Any other scandalous rumors?” I asked as we resumed walking.

“Many.” She pulled a face. “There seems to be a preoccupation with virgins in general, though. Like the one that claims you can shift into a great black wolf and... well, I better not tell you in case it offends your villainous sensibilities.”