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MASTER THE MORNING AFTER (WHEN VILLAINS DON’T FLEE BEFORE brEAKFAST)

KAZIMIR

Warmth. That was the first sensation I registered when consciousness finally clawed its way to the surface of my mind. Not the familiar chill of my chambers, nor the cold emptiness of waking alone. Just... warmth.

I almost distrusted it on principle. But as I blinked my eyes open, I realized the source was Arabella’s body curled against mine. She slept with her head tucked beneath my chin, one arm flung over my torso as though claiming territory. It should have triggered every survival instinct I possessed.

Instead, I lay there like a fool and studied the sight of her tangled hair, the freckles scattered across her face, and that distinctly smug curve to her lips even in sleep.

Gradually, though, I became aware of the state of the room.

Clothes strewn about, an overturned chair, a crack in the window from unrestrained magic.

Books had been knocked off shelves and onto the floor, some pages askew in silent condemnation.

And feathers drifting over everything.

My rational mind tallied repair costs and replacement times, but another part of me basked in the aftertaste of having taken my wife thoroughly enough to leave the room in shambles.

A selfish satisfaction welled up that I’d claimed every inch of her last night…

and she’d claimed me in return, if the new bruises on my skin were any indication.

Discomfort pricked at me, the knowledge that contentment was a villain’s pitfall.

Contentment was for heroes. Contentment led to complacency, and complacency led to having your head on a pike while your enemies divided your territory.

I hadn’t built my empire from the blood-soaked ruins of betrayal by allowing myself to be content .

But perhaps I could allow myself a sliver of gratification this morning. Purely in celebration of a plan well-executed, of course. Conquering a kingdom or disemboweling a rival brought the same wry sense of accomplishment. Perfectly normal villain behavior.

Arabella stirred against me. I remained perfectly still, watching her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks.

When she opened her eyes, they locked immediately onto mine.

I braced for curses or a flying fist, but she only murmured, “Good morning,” in a husky, deliciously pleased tone that made my pulse kick.

“Yes,” I said, unable to hide my smugness. “It is an excellent morning.”

She rolled her eyes at me but made no move to distance herself. “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

“Difficult not to.” I let my gaze sweep over the ruins of our nighttime enthusiasm. “Judging by all this wreckage, I exceeded expectations.”

Her lips twitched. “I suppose you can crow a little.” She kissed my chest, then paused, as if debating some deeper thought.

I arched an eyebrow. “Were you about to bite me? Because I can think of somewhere else I’d rather have your mouth.”

She gave a warm laugh against my skin. “I’ve never woken up with someone before, like… this.”

Oh. A confession. My pulse thudded in surprise. “Neither have I,” I admitted, the truth slipping out before I could properly shield it in sarcasm. Damn it. “In my line of work, it’s a good way to get stabbed in your sleep.”

“But we’ve been sleeping in the same bed since the wedding,” she countered. “Were you just lying awake with a dagger under your pillow?”

“For the first nights, yes.” I shrugged lightly, mindful she was still using my chest as a pillow. “You made it clear about that no-forced-intimacy arrangement. But old habits die hard.”

A thought occurred to me. Something she’d said in the war room before I’d taken her against that table. “You mentioned it’d been a while for you.” I tried to sound casual, but something dark and possessive coiled in my chest. “Exactly how many lovers have you had?”

Arabella raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking for their names and locations so you can hunt them down? Because your jaw just tightened in that way it does when you’re contemplating violence.”

“Of course not,” I lied shamelessly, my jaw flexing. When she narrowed her eyes, I amended, “Perhaps. A little. So what if I am?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Two. One stable hand, one traveling bard. Hardly worthy of your wrath. They weren’t exactly epic romances.” Her finger traced a line down my breastbone. “Don’t pretend you’re disappointed.”

The relief I felt was ridiculous, almost embarrassing. My fingers drummed absently on her hip. “On the contrary. I’m glad there aren’t more names on that list.” Then I let my hand creep higher along her ribcage. “How did you hide such indiscretions?”

“I became creative,” she said, voice crisp with mild defiance. “Your turn. How many conquests has the Dark Lord left heartbroken across the realms?”

I gave her my most villainous smile. “Hearts? None. Bodies, though… several. I don’t keep a strict tally, but I assure you, they knew what they signed up for. No illusions about exchanging love notes.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Any arrangements were always... temporary.”

Arabella sat up and pinned me with a mock glare. “Several is not a number.”

“It’s precisely a number,” I countered, letting my gaze drift lazily over her bare breasts. “Just not a specific one.”

“That’s not fair. I told you mine.” She jabbed playfully at my ribs, and I jerked away with an undignified sound that was definitely not a squeak.

Her eyes lit up like it was her birthday. “Are you... ticklish?”

“Absolutely not,” I said with all the dignity I could muster. “The Dark Lord is not ticklish. That would be ridiculous.”

A wicked grin spread across her face. “The Dark Lord is a liar.” Her fingers darted toward my ribs again, and I caught her wrist.

“This is treason,” I warned, but she was already attacking with her other hand, finding a spot just below my rib cage that made me twist away.

“How many?” she demanded, relentless in her assault.

I retaliated by rolling us over, trying to pin her arms, but she squirmed free in an infuriatingly agile move.

The bed jolted, sheets tangling around us until we both tumbled off the edge onto the rug.

I landed on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head.

Her body was warm and pliant beneath mine.

“Twelve,” I admitted. “Give or take a few.”

Arabella’s eyes widened slightly. “Twelve? That’s fewer than I expected from a man of your… reputation.”

I let out a mock insulted sound. “Quality over quantity. Besides, conquering realms and chasing artifacts occupies a lot of hours in the day.”

She gave me an innocent look. “And all those virgins you supposedly stole? Did you count those?”

“No. That’s not funny.”

“If you can joke about putting aphrodisiacs in my food, I can joke about your villainous appetite. It makes me wonder if?—”

I seized her mouth in a slow, possessive kiss. She met me eagerly, her body arching as my mind went blank with need. When we finally broke apart, she was looking at me with a mixture of amusement and desire.

“Are we counting this morning?” she asked.

“This morning, last night, and however many more times I can have you before we’re forced to deal with the rest of the world.”

She was studying me intently.

“I’ve wondered something,” I said. “Why did you trust me not to touch you after we got married? Surely you didn’t think that absurd pillow wall would stop me if I’d chosen to break our agreement?”

She hesitated, clearly wrestling with something. Finally, she sighed. “I have... an ability. A truth-sense. I can tell when people are lying to me.”

I propped myself up on my hands to look at her. “And you didn’t think to mention this before?”

“It’s not something I advertise,” she said defensively. “My father... he didn’t like it when I caught him in lies.”

I let that sink in. She’d known all along if I was lying about my vow or exaggerating my desire to keep her safe. She’d read my half-truths about wanting—no, needing —her consent. A flush of grudging admiration warmed my chest.

“Useful,” I remarked, trying not to sound flustered. “No wonder you kept outmaneuvering my attempts at seduction.”

Arabella gave a sly smile. “Yes.”

I inhaled. Was I embarrassed that she’d seen through many of my manipulations? Possibly. I decided to bury that feeling and pressed her deeper into the rug instead, letting my body speak.

“Well,” I said finally, “I suppose that evens things between us. A little.”

“Hm. No comment.”

“You know,” I murmured, “there are ways to extract information without words.” I brushed my lips lightly along her jaw, eliciting a little gasp.

She whispered, “You’ve mentioned your interrogation techniques before, kidnapper.”

I continued a slow path down her neck, nipping gently while my hands explored the slight curve of her waist. “I can demonstrate thoroughly, unless?—”

Arabella’s breath hitched as my lips traveled down to her breastbone. She tangled her fingers in my hair, tugging impatiently. “Unless what?”

I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Unless you’d like breakfast first,” I said. “We could share one, unlike my previous... arrangements.”

She gazed at me with a combination of shrewd calculation and desire. Then she hooked her leg over my hip. “Breakfast can wait,” she decided, pulling me back down to her. “I’m hungry for something else.”