Page 34

PROVIDE COMFORT, ASSERT DOMINANCE (MULTI-TASKING FOR THE MODERN DARK LORD)

ARABELLA

I couldn’t seem to get warm.

Despite the scalding bath I’d taken after our return to the citadel, despite the roaring fire in Kazimir’s chambers, and despite the four blankets I’d cocooned myself in, a stubborn chill clung to my bones.

I blamed the last crossing over the lightning bridge.

The icy wind had sliced right through my cloak, and hours later I was still shivering.

“Are you still cold?” Kazimir asked from the bed. He lay there with maddening ease, naked except for the book resting on his chest.

I shot him my fiercest glare from within my mountain of blankets. “What gave it away? The chattering teeth or the fortress worth of bedding?”

He turned a page without looking up. “You’re huddled there like a half-drowned kitten.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, tucking my frozen feet beneath me. The fire snapped and sent sparks dancing toward the chimney, but its warmth fizzled out before it reached my couch.

Kazimir’s non-committal hum said he didn’t believe me. I tried to focus on the dusty text on gemstone magic I’d brought over, but it worked better than any sleeping draught. My eyelids drooped.

“I know a way to warm you,” he said at last.

I opened my mouth to launch a snark about abandoning innuendo for a single night, but when I turned he was rummaging for clothes, not prowling toward me with a scandalous proposal.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused by this deviation from his usual nightly pastime of trying to provoke me.

“Dressing,” he replied, as though it should have been obvious. “You’re shivering, and we can fix that.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And how do you propose to accomplish that, exactly?”

He crossed the room, fetched yet another blanket from a chest near the hearth, and draped it across my shoulders. “Follow me.”

“Where?”

“Must you question everything?” He sighed, but his voice lacked true irritation. “Just come along, unless you plan to freeze solid.”

I mulled over my options: stay alone in his lair where the dangers were well-charted, or track the Dark Lord into unknown territory. Predictably, curiosity won.

“Fine.” I clutched the blankets and rose. “Lead on, Lord Blackrose.”

He opened the door and gestured for me to go first. The corridor was hushed, the orblights dimmed for the late hour. We descended the spiral stair, then wound through a slanted passage that burrowed beneath the citadel. Gradually, the air grew warmer, laced with a comforting, spiced aroma.

We emerged into a snug kitchen—smaller than the grand one I’d glimpsed before. This looked older, part of the fortress’s original design. A generous hearth dominated one wall; copper pots glimmered overhead; bundles of dried herbs perfumed the air.

“The main kitchens are always busy,” Kazimir explained as he headed toward a cabinet. “Plus, they’re across another lightning bridge. This little corner of the Inner Sanctum is quieter.”

“I didn’t know this existed,” I admitted, drifting toward the hearth’s glorious heat.

“There’s much about the citadel you still don’t know.” Without warning, he caught me by the waist and set me on the counter like I weighed nothing. My stomach swooped at his casual strength.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, clutching my blankets.

“Preparing mulled wine,” he said, pulling spices and a jug of deep red wine from the cupboard. “Maybe something to eat. Hungry?”

Only when he asked did I notice the hollow ache. “A little.”

He moved with confident ease—wine into a copper pot, cinnamon sticks, cloves, citrus peel—decidedly domestic for the Terror of the Western Realms.

“I had no idea you could cook,” I said while he stirred.

“Heating wine isn’t cooking.” He shot me an amused glance. “You’re too easily impressed, Lady Blackrose. Though perhaps I should have tried this tactic first instead of kidnapping you.”

I snorted. “Nothing says ‘marry me’ like mulled wine at midnight.”

The scene felt surreal: me barefoot on a kitchen counter while Kazimir Blackrose fussed over a pot of spiced wine. He poured the steaming wine into two earthenware cups and handed one to me.

I wrapped both hands around it, greedily absorbing the heat. One sip and an involuntary moan slipped out. “This is amazing.”

“I know.” A faint, smug smile crossed his face.

He sliced bread, layered it with cheese and cured meat, and passed me a plate. The first bite was bliss. Silence settled, but it was a comfortable hush, fragile and precious.

“So,” I ventured warily, “why the sudden kindness? Slipping aphrodisiacs into my wine again?”

“No.” One eyebrow arched. “Would you rather I let you turn into an ice statue?”

“I just wasn’t expecting… this.”

“I told you from the beginning I had no interest in harming you.”

“Harming me is one thing,” I said, picking at a stray crumb, “but mulled wine in the dead of night is another.”

“Maybe I prefer you warm and coherent.” He took a drink.

My body certainly approved; the tremors had stopped. “Thank you,” I muttered, setting the empty plate aside. “It helped.”

Kazimir lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, as if to dismiss my gratitude. “Shall we stick to safer topics, or do you want to keep analyzing my every move?”

“Oh, I intend to keep analyzing.”

He chuckled. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Summoning my nerve, I chose to address the issue that had bothered me since our journey from Arvoryn Manor. “Earlier, when I teased about taking lovers, you were… upset.”

Kazimir’s gaze fixed on his wine, swirling the last of it. “Are you planning to take a lover, Arabella?”

“That’s not the point.”

He set down his mug. “It is to me.”

I refused to flinch under his intense gaze. “You and Morana were lovers, and it didn’t bother you one bit that she had others, or even a husband. Yet at the mere hint I might do the same, you snapped like an enraged wolf. Why?”

His eyes darkened with possessiveness. “Morana and you are not the same.”

“Our agreement doesn’t prevent me from seeking another bed,” I reminded him.

He stalked forward and braced his hands on either side of me, leaning into my space. “You seem to think I was joking.” He lowered his voice. “What’s mine stays mine.”

A forbidden spark lit beneath my ribs. I should have been outraged. I was outraged—but also disturbingly heated by it. “I’m not a trinket in your hoard.”

“No.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “You’re a force in your own right. Being mine doesn’t diminish that—it amplifies it. My resources, my protection, devoted to preserving exactly who you are.”

My heart hammered. “And you? Planning to collect another lover?”

His posture stiffened, as though the notion offended him. “I have no interest in trifles,” he said roughly. “I find myself sufficiently occupied with one infuriating woman.”

The blunt honesty stole my retort. He looked so intense in that moment—dark eyes locked on mine, a stray lock of hair falling across his forehead. But he also seemed vulnerable, the fearsome Dark Lord letting slip a confession he might not even realize was a confession.

“Oh,” I managed, feeling ridiculously breathless.

His mouth curved slightly. “Yes. Oh .”

He stepped back, restoring a sliver of distance. The earlier chill was long gone; I was warm from head to toe, and the mulled wine wasn’t solely to blame.

Grateful for the reprieve, I cleared my throat. “Fine. New subject?”

“Gladly.” He leaned against the opposite counter, arms folded. “That tale you told Griffin, ‘The Hero’s Garden.’ My library holds no record of it. Where did your mother learn it?”

I shrugged. “She never said. But she believed the roses represented transformation, not conquest.”

Kazimir looked skeptical. “The Golden Roses are powered by ley lines—no moral lesson involved.”

“Then explain the heroic bloodline’s role in activating the Heirloom, and the roses inside the crown. Coincidence?”

“Long exposure to high magic can shape bloodlines. It’s not necessarily divine or mythical.”

My truth-sense told me he wasn’t being fully honest. “Have you discovered why the Heirloom failed?”

Kazimir shook his head. “No. We’re still investigating.”

Lie. I felt it, but swallowed the retort. If I forced the issue he’d retreat behind his walls, and I wanted to know what he was hiding before confrontation became inevitable.

He exhaled slowly, as if relieved I hadn’t pressed, then nodded at the dishes. “If you’re finished, let’s go back to bed.”

I slid from the counter—the wine left me pleasantly light-headed. He extinguished the lamps with a wave, leaving only the embers in the hearth.

When we arrived back in his chambers, I paused near the threshold, suddenly uncertain. The bed loomed, a familiar battleground of tension and carefully negotiated boundaries. But the memory of the wine, warmth, and Kazimir’s low confessions lingered around me.

He rested a hand on the doorframe near my shoulder, leaning close enough that I caught the scent of winter storms and steel. “Feeling better?”

The almost-tender note in his voice tightened my throat. “Yes,” I murmured. “Warmer.”

“Good.” His gaze traced the line of my mouth.

I took a deep breath and looked away from his intensity. But my eyes only landed on the buttons of his loose shirt, and my mind helpfully supplied the image of what lay beneath. I couldn’t blame it on the wine; I hadn’t drunk enough.

His hand lifted—slow, almost hesitant—fingers brushing a stray curl near my temple. He paused, and I looked up to see the question plain in his eyes.

Something in my chest cracked. If he touched me, I might forget every reason to resist. I caught his wrist gently, moving his hand before stepping out of reach. A flicker of disappointment crossed his features, but he dipped his chin in acceptance and let his hand fall.

I retreated to the bed, where the pillow wall already waited. Still wrapped in my blankets, I crawled in on my side, pulse still thrumming with the phantom of his almost-touch.

Instead of joining me, Kazimir remained at the doorway, watching as I attempted to get comfortable under his gaze. The quiet stretched, thick with things unsaid. Finally, he straightened. “Good night, Arabella.” His voice was rough with unsated want.

Before I could respond, he left, closing the door behind him.

His side of the bed stayed empty all night, and I couldn’t decide which was more surprising—that he possessed enough restraint to keep his distance, or that I’d spent half the night wishing he hadn’t.