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SAVE VILLAGES, STEAL LOYALTY (AND OTHER ACTS OF ACCIDENTAL HEROISM)

KAZIMIR

I sank my blade into the bandit’s chest, savoring the resistance of muscle and bone before the inevitable give.

His eyes went wide, as though death was an unexpected plot twist in his chosen career path.

Blood bubbled at his lips before he slid free of my sword, collapsing into the mud alongside his unfortunate companions.

“Mercy,” rasped the last survivor. A burly brute with a battered face and a broken arm, he squinted through a gash that nearly took out his right eye. “Please, m’lord.”

I crouched to press my blade against his throat. In the hush that followed, I heard only the ragged sobs of villagers hidden in their homes. The air stank of fear, smoke, and fresh blood.

“Mercy,” I repeated thoughtfully. Did we cover that in Villainy 101? I think I was absent that day.

“We were just…” the bandit babbled. “Following rumors. Trying to make a living.”

I pressed the steel deeper, cutting a shallow line. “On whose orders?”

“N-no one specifically... just h-heard these villages were easy targets. No soldiers, no protection.”

“Where did you hear that?”

He hesitated, pupil flickering with the impulse to lie. I angled the sword. His breath caught. “The truth buys you a quick death,” I said softly. “Lies end in a far messier one.”

“A man—fancy Solandrian accent, paid us in gold. He claimed these settlements had no guard. I swear that’s all I know!”

I believed him. Standing, I regarded the bandit with deliberate calm.

“You promised m-mercy,” he stammered.

“I promised nothing,” I corrected. “But I am efficient.”

With a single fluid motion, I separated his head from his shoulders. Quick, clean, final. I felt a stirring of triumph, the runes carved into my bones heating beneath my skin. This sort of fieldwork always brought a rush—raw proof that my dominion magic and steel did more than feed nightmares.

It was also excellent exercise. I wondered, fleetingly, if Arabella might appreciate how I looked after a bloody scuffle—sweat clinging to my skin, the metallic tang of violence in the air.

Or would she be repulsed by the sight, that flash of disgust snuffing out any spark of attraction? Hard to say with her.

Thorne strode up, his broad shoulders spattered in gore. “That’s the last of them. Twenty-three total.”

“Any casualties on our side?”

“Minor wounds. Nothing to fret over.”

I nodded in satisfaction, surveying the carnage.

My three shadow warriors—summoned from the dark corners of my own runes—drifted among the bodies, silent and lethal as ever.

With a flick of my hand, I dismissed them.

They twisted into wisps of shadow and seeped under my scarred flesh, leaving me with a jolt of power that crackled cold across my nerves.

“String them along the road outside the village,” I said evenly. “To send a message.”

Thorne gave a curt nod. “And the villagers?”

I cast my gaze over the ramshackle huts. Every door and window remained barricaded, the people too afraid to see what fate awaited them. “What do people think of the Dark Lord these days?”

“Probably that you roast people alive and bathe in the blood of virgins,” he replied solemnly. “Same old story.”

I almost chuckled at the memory of Arabella telling me something similar only a couple days ago. Still, I quite liked rewarding terror with a firm dose of reality.

“Out!” I barked at the huts. “Now!”

Slowly, doors opened, revealing pale, hollow faces. A few men carried makeshift weapons, more posture than threat. Women shielded children behind them, trembling. An elder in a worn robe shuffled forward, determined despite the stoop of his shoulders.

“You’re the Dark Lord,” he said calmly.

I inclined my head. A ripple of tension went through the crowd.

“Why help us?” the old man asked. “The Viscountess?—”

“Is spread thin,” I interrupted. “Now, how long have these raids gone on?”

“Three weeks,” he answered. “They started small—stealing livestock, pilfering storehouses. Last week, they torched the mill in Oakhollow and murdered the miller’s family.”

I frowned. “And Viscountess Morana sent no soldiers?”

“She recalled most of them north,” someone else muttered darkly.

“And what of King Auremar?” I pressed. “Solandris is only a breath away.”

A bitter laugh escaped a tired-faced villager. “He’s busy polishing his towers. We’ve sent messengers—none returned.”

I took another step, letting them all see the gore staining my sword. “And yet I stand here, not Auremar or Morana. Ironic, wouldn’t you say?”

No one dared laugh. They just stared, fearful and half-hopeful.

“What do you want of us?” the elder ventured.

I liked his directness. “Simple. Trade with my territories. Pay me tribute—crops, livestock, resources. I’ll ensure no more bandits trouble you.”

“You want us to abandon the Viscountess.”

“If you prefer being ransacked to aligning with me, go right ahead.” I swept a glance over the ragged villagers, letting silence underscore how close they’d come to annihilation.

The hush stretched before the elder drew a trembling breath. “She won’t like it,” he whispered.

My expression turned cold. “Leave her to me.”

At that precise moment, hoofbeats cut across the tension. Soldiers galloped in from the eastern road, bearing the silver serpent crest of Arvoryn. The villagers parted, uncertain whether to hide or watch. I remained where I stood, sword still in hand, as Viscountess Morana dismounted.

A tall woman with braided dark hair and calculating eyes, Morana radiated an aloof elegance.

No fewer than five expertly crafted daggers were displayed on her belt, with more likely hidden within her clothing.

When her gaze alighted on the dismembered corpses, shock slid over her features before she masked it with chilly composure.

“Lord Blackrose,” she greeted with forced cordiality. “You’ve been busy.”

“Cleaning up your bandit infestation,” I replied. “They were having a grand time terrorizing your villages.”

Her jaw tightened, but her voice remained even. “My forces have been engaged elsewhere. And you took the liberty to handle it without informing me?”

“It didn’t require your permission,” I said, voice dangerously smooth. “Unless you’d rather the bandits continue making a hobby of murdering villagers.”

Morana’s attention flicked to the townsfolk behind me, then back. “We can discuss this privately.”

I cast a final glance at the elder. “Gather your people. Distribute the bandits’ stolen supplies. My men will see to a portion of your needs.” The older man bowed gratefully.

Morana and I headed to the battered village tavern, a creaking building that smelled of stale beer and old grease. Inside, the innkeeper anxiously handed us two mugs of watery swill. I took one sip, nearly gagging on the sour tang.

“It’s been a while since I tasted a brew that makes me appreciate stale swamp water,” I said, pushing the mug away.

Morana glowered. “You’re overstepping, Kazimir. These are my lands.”

“You’re welcome,” I returned evenly, leaning forward. “For saving your people while you were… otherwise occupied.”

Her eyes flashed, but she kept her tone level. “My scouts reported trouble in the north. I had no choice but to pull forces?—”

“Allowing these bandits through your territory, unchallenged, possibly aided by Solandris. Either your intelligence is lacking, or there’s a more sinister game at play.” I shrugged. “Either way, I provided the solution.”

She folded her arms, gaze tight. “And what do you want in return?”

“An addendum to our existing treaty,” I said, unfazed by her scowl. “I’ve just promised these villages my protection. And certain trade.”

Realization flickered across her face, followed by bitter resignation. Agreeing would deepen my hold over Arvoryn. Refusing would expose her as heartless in front of her own subjects. Morana was too cunning not to see the trap snaring tight around her.

“Fine,” she said, voice clipped. “We can discuss the details at my estate. Soon.” Her eyes lingered on mine. “Bring your new wife. Or... come alone, whichever you prefer most.”

Ah. There it was—the real source of her tension. Not just my incursion into her territory, but my recent marital status.

“Lady Blackrose has been occupied,” I replied casually. “But I’ll be sure to pass along the invitation.”

“If I’d known you were in the market for a bride when your men came through last week, I might have negotiated better terms,” she said, bitterness creeping into her tone. “A royal wedding is quite the event to spring on one’s allies without warning.”

I regarded her coolly. “Our arrangement was never meant to be long-term, Morana. You knew that from the start. We had fun testing which of your daggers were properly balanced for throwing at moving targets, but that was never going to end with me down on one knee.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she tried for one last volley. “We had fun. We could again.”

I let out a low laugh. “We both know you’re more interested in power than pleasure. I have a new bride. You have a husband whose best talent is staying out of your way. Let’s not pretend there’s anything more here than political convenience.”

Her gaze hardened. “I see. Well, remember that loyalty can shift. Quickly.”

“So can my mood,” I said softly, letting a sliver of dominion magic snap through the air. The tavern’s rafters groaned ominously.

She relented, turning her attention to the swirling dregs of her mug. “You suspect these raids weren’t random?”

“Someone told those bandits exactly where to strike,” I confirmed. “Gave them gold, knowledge of your troop movements.”

Morana’s anger simmered. “If you’re implying?—”

“I’m implying someone, maybe not you, wants you destabilized. Perhaps they thought you’d be too distracted by your own intrigues to notice.”

Her hand shifted involuntarily to her bandaged arm, still healing from the brawl at my wedding feast. “Your concern is… touching.”

I snorted. “You keep Arvoryn peacefully buffering my domain from Solandris. If you decide to sabotage yourself with foolishness, that’s your choice, but so far you’re more useful alive than dead. I’m sure you’d like to keep it that way.”

She rose, tension vibrating under her skin. “I should return to my men.”

I stood as well, ignoring the watery ale. “I’ll be leaving a small garrison in each village. Consider it me making sure the roads stay safe.”

Her jaw clenched, but she offered no argument. She only paused at the door, leaning in low enough that no one else would overhear. “I’ve heard Solandris troops were spotted near the pass. Not the usual patrols. Something more secretive.”

I kept my expression cold. “Does that warning come freely?”

“Call it a gesture of our continued friendship.” She slipped on her riding gloves. “Despite recent changes.”

I inclined my head, not bothering to hide a smirk. “Your goodwill is noted.”

She walked back outside. The villagers watched with an odd mix of awe and suspicion, their loyalties drifting inexorably toward me. Morana felt it too, that subtle shift in the crowd. She mounted her horse and forced a smile for their sake.

“Thornwick!” she called out. “Know that Lord Blackrose and I will ensure your protection.”

They nodded, but it was clear who had already saved them. Morana and her retinue galloped off, and that was the end of their halfhearted performance.

I exhaled a quiet breath, half irritated, half amused.

Morana was growing more resentful. Or jealous.

She’d never been one for genuine attachment, but apparently the idea of me standing beside someone else—claiming real power through a marriage bond—gnawed at her.

She’d be trouble in the future. I’d need to decide precisely how to handle her, soon.

“Orders, my lord?” Thorne asked.

“Leave six men to guard the village. Make sure the locals know they’re under my protection.”

In the late afternoon, we traveled to a hidden clearing where my enchanters activated a portal. A translucent shimmer expanded, turning into a swirling gateway.

On the other side, I emerged atop Portal Isle—my citadel’s primary nexus to different corners of my domain. Guards straightened at attention. and Vex appeared from the gloom, silver hair reflecting the portal’s glow.

“Back in one piece, I see,” she observed. “The bandits?”

“Neutralized,” I said flatly.

“And Viscountess Morana?” Her voice held just enough curiosity to imply she suspected our reunion could have sparked more than conversation.

“Alive,” I said drily. “For now.”

We crossed into the inner courtyard, moving away from the scattered courtiers trying to catch my attention. Rumors of my marriage and the potential power shift had them all scrambling.

“And how’s my wife?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

“She trained alone this morning,” Vex answered. “Then kept to her chambers. Also, your commission for her is complete.”

“Good,” I said, stripping off my bloodstained cloak and handing it to a startled attendant. “Send word for dinner in the private hall. Inform Lady Blackrose she’ll be joining us this evening.”

With that, I marched onward, half-focused on Arabella’s inevitable scowl when I presented her with what I’d had made. Not that I cared about winning her approval, of course. It was strictly professional curiosity about whether she’d appreciate my gift or try to strangle me with it.

Marriage, it turned out, was an annoyingly complicated arrangement.