Page 27

SEDUCE HER WITH GIFTS (AND brOKEN MACHINERY)

KAZIMIR

An hour later, I paused outside Arabella’s chambers with the midnight-blue leather training gear—supple, enchanted, and ruinously expensive—draped over my arm. I was a man of many hobbies, but surprising my reluctant bride had rapidly become an unexpected favorite.

I was, however, still the Dark Lord, not some shy errand boy. Knocking was for peasants and heroes. So I opened the door and stepped inside without the courtesy of a warning.

Arabella’s room had changed since her arrival.

Once stark and impersonal, it now felt almost cozy: a book lay open on its spine atop a chaise, wildflowers tussled gently in a porcelain vase, and the ever-present black roses infused the air with that alluring, dangerous scent.

Standing by the tall window, Arabella turned at the soft click of the latch, her hair catching the twilight in shimmering waves.

“Lady Blackrose,” I greeted, moving closer than necessary. “I trust your solo training went well, since the fortress is still intact.”

She gave me a quick once-over, like she was checking if I was still in one piece. Then her face returned to its usual combative set. “What do you want, Lord Blackrose?”

I lifted the folded leather gear. “I come bearing a gift. Before I escort you to dinner.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “A gift?”

I let the silence spool out for a moment, enjoying her faint hint of curiosity. “Training leathers,” I clarified, extending the bundle. “It occurred to me that since you keep turning my shirts into ashes, you might want something durable—and flame-resistant—for yourself.”

She hesitated, then reached out. The moment her fingertips brushed the supple leather, I spotted the tiniest flicker of delight in her eyes. Strange how that small flash made my chest tighten… though I needed to keep that tidbit under lockdown.

I cleared my throat. “They’re enchanted to resist fire and lessen impact.”

She swallowed, expression growing thoughtful. “I... Well, I’ve never worn anything like this before.”

I waited, giving her space to elaborate if she wished.

“My father always insisted on dresses,” she said finally. “Even when riding, he’d demand I sit sidesaddle.”

“Your father sounds like a world-class prick,” I said with perfect sincerity.

A short laugh escaped her, too abrupt to be entirely forced. “Yes,” she agreed. “He is.”

I tapped the leather. “Tonight’s dinner is private—just my advisors. Informal enough. You can wear these if you want.”

She gave me a little smirk. “Right… while you plot the realm’s downfall between one course and the next?”

“Don’t forget the part where we debate infrastructure,” I said. “Now, try them on.”

She narrowed her eyes, searching for a trap. I did love that look on her. But for once, I just stepped back, crossing my arms as if bored. “I’ll step out if you prefer.”

Arabella blinked, probably not expecting me to give her an ounce of privacy. That was precisely why I offered it. If Vex’s talk of “courtship” had taught me anything, it was to keep her guessing.

After slipping outside the door, I propped a shoulder against the cold stone wall and tried not to dwell on how surprising it felt to be…

considerate. It wasn’t that I was turning into a hero.

I simply enjoyed messing with my wife’s expectations.

That was it. Definitely no stirring, inconvenient warmth in my chest at the idea that I might actually please her with this. No, absolutely not.

Finally, she emerged. My pulse stuttered.

The midnight-blue leather hugged her curves, making her look more feminine and more dangerous all at once.

My personal black rose crest—stitched in dark thread—adorned the collar and the subtle detailing along her back.

Coupled with her boots, she looked every inch the formidable Lady Blackrose I’d envisioned.

Actually, she looked better than anything I’d dared to picture, and I felt an uncoiling heat in my gut that I refused to let show in my expression.

“Well?” she asked, rotating just a fraction, as though both proud and self-conscious. The interplay of her golden hair against the dark leather sent a satisfying jolt through me.

I nodded. “They fit perfectly,” I managed. “The enchantments will align with your magic when you need them.”

She ran her hands down the jacket, almost… shy? A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “They feel strong.”

“They suit you,” I said lower, meeting her gaze. The corridor felt charged with the tension that had become familiar—and maddening—between us. I found myself picturing her in that gear, hurling spells at me, grinning wickedly.

Arabella glanced away first, forcing a half-laugh. “I suppose it’s strange to wear these at dinner.”

I lifted a brow. “You are Lady Blackrose. If anyone disagrees, you can set them on fire.”

A flicker of relief crossed her eyes so quickly, I almost missed it. She likely expected criticism if she strayed from standard noble dinner attire. She’d yet to realize I didn’t care for anyone else’s standards. I was the standard.

With that, we walked side-by-side down the stairs, the stone echoing with our footsteps. I couldn’t decide which was more intoxicating: the flicker of gratitude she tried to hide or the subtle way her presence made my blood hum.

It made me wonder if she found this pull between us equally addictive.

I smothered that particular curiosity before it could grow legs. After all, analyzing feelings was dangerously close to having them. The Dark Lord didn’t wonder if his bride found him attractive; he made damn sure of it, preferably while keeping his own inconvenient reactions to himself.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Arabella said finally, her voice softer than usual. Then, as if catching herself, she added, “Though I’m sure you had some nefarious purpose behind it.”

I paused to let my gaze sweep pointedly over her curves. “I assure you,” I said in a low murmur, “every purpose I have is nefarious. But I’ll let you unravel the rest of my intentions at your leisure, Lady Blackrose.”

I gestured to the dining room doors and gave her a mock bow. “After you.”

The private dining chamber lacked the ostentatious trappings people usually expected from a Dark Lord.

There were no gilded chandeliers dripping with crystallized tears, no tapestries depicting the exact moment hope left my enemies’ eyes.

Instead, it was simply a comfortable room with a roaring fire and a round table that could seat six.

When Arabella and I entered, my odd little court had already assembled. Vex stood by the fireplace, her dark hood drawn low enough to reveal only a quick silver glint from her eyes.

Sims sat hunched over a stack of documents, wearing the perpetually constipated expression that defined him. Thorne polished his blade with the kind of tender care most men reserved for lovers. And Griffin?—

“Careful!” I called as a metal contraption clattered to the floor.

“It’s fine, perfectly fine,” he insisted, chasing the scattered gears across the floor. “Just a minor hitch, but I nearly had it worked out.”

Arabella stepped between the debris without disturbing so much as a single gear. “What are you trying to build?” she asked, her tone politely curious.

Griffin beamed as he snatched up the gears with his long fingers. “It’s a self-adjusting cartography apparatus that maps ley lines beneath any territory. Brilliant in theory... provided it doesn’t explode first.”

Vex shook her head. “No instructions, I take it?”

“Instructions stifle creativity,” Griffin said, waving a dismissive hand.

“And prevent explosions,” Sims muttered in that melodramatically dour voice of his.

I guided Arabella to the seat on my right. My advisors all noticed her transformation. Vex offered the ghost of a knowing smile, while the others reacted more like they’d seen a house cat transform into a panther.

“This feels... cozy,” Arabella noted, eyeing the round table and the warm flames.

“Were you picturing skull goblets and bone furniture?” I asked, feigning hurt.

She tilted her head. “At a minimum. Although, those might be somewhat unwieldy for daily use.”

I nodded solemnly. “We reserve the bones for special events. State visits, birthdays, the odd execution here or there.”

A servant entered with the first course, an aromatic soup steaming in carved bowls.

I’d ordered the meal prepared in a style reminiscent of Solandris.

A subtle manipulation, yes, but one I presumed would remain inconspicuous.

There was no hiding it from Vex, of course, but she would keep her observations to herself unless it proved relevant.

“I heard you started magical training with Lord Blackrose,” Griffin said, still fiddling with gears. “How are you finding it, Lady Arabella?”

She cast me a brief, sidelong glance before answering. “I set him on fire.” Her tone was almost casual, but she wasn’t quite hiding a hint of mischief. “Apparently, I’ve got more raw power than expected.”

“Magnificent!” Griffin glowed like a kid given unlimited sweets. “Oh, the complexities of spontaneous magic! Did you notice focal color shifts, temperature anomalies?—?”

I cut him off with a warning look. “Griffin, hold off on the in-depth magical inquiries until after dinner? We have brewing border disputes that take precedence over my wife’s fireworks.”

Griffin let out a long-suffering sigh and turned to Arabella with an apologetic grin. “Of course. But if you ever want to see how your magical surges might integrate with mechanical systems?—”

Thorne cleared his throat impatiently. “We’ve got three new raid reports from the border,” he said, sparing Griffin nothing but a curt glance. “Villages hit in the last week alone.”

“The bandits again?” Arabella asked, her spoon pausing halfway to her lips.

“So it seems,” I answered, watching her intently. “Though they’re better organized than most common thugs.”