Page 62

STAND CLOSE (AND PRETEND IT’S STRATEGY)

KAZIMIR

The temperature dropped noticeably as I stalked through the corridors. Servants flattened themselves against walls when I passed, gazes fixed on their boots. Even Thorne gave me a wide berth when we crossed paths in the courtyard.

“Where is Lady Blackrose?” I demanded, not slowing my stride.

“I don’t know, my lord,” Thorne said. “Perhaps the library?”

I’d already checked the library. And the training room. And her old chambers. And the observatory.

I waved him off, too consumed by the twin frustrations gnawing at me. One was the external threat gathering on my borders—that I could handle in my sleep. But the other lived under my own roof, slept in my own bed, and had practically mastered the art of vanishing from me.

Three days. Three godsdamned days since Arabella asked for room to breathe.

Three days spent spotting only the end of her skirt flicking around a corner, or marching into a chamber just in time to catch the lingering hint of her perfume.

I wasn’t the type to cower from confrontation.

No. The problem was much worse than that.

If we truly saw each other, truly spoke…

The tension would spike.

We would end up in our chambers.

We would lose ourselves in that heady rush of magic and desire.

We would break the Heirloom.

We would destroy the Western Realms.

After our last argument, the pain from my runes had settled into a dull echo, as if my bones still remembered the torment.

These flare-ups happened more frequently now, something I refused to share with anyone, least of all Arabella.

It was mine to bear, not a weakness for others to dissect.

Apologies over me being in pain? Absurd.

I was the Dark Lord Kazimir Blackrose, the Terror of the Western Realms. People feared me; they didn’t fret for my well-being.

“My lord?” A tentative voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts.

I turned and found Pip hovering in the intersection of two corridors, a tottering stack of linens in his arms.

“What?” I snapped.

He flinched, though he held his ground. “I—I was only wondering if you needed anything, my lord.”

I forced out a slow breath, tamping down my temper. “I’m looking for Lady Blackrose. Have you seen her?”

Relief spread across his face. “Yes, my lord! I saw her heading toward the High Gardens maybe half an hour ago.”

Of course. The one place I barely visited. I crossed an outdoor walkway toward the western tower, taking spiral steps two at a time, shadows crawling after me. By the time I reached the landing, the darkness around me had deepened to a near-inky black.

I paused at the glass doors, scanning the lush interior.

Thick greenery climbed archways, vines heavy with flowers, exotic fruit glowing with a faint magical sheen, herbs growing in intricate magic-boosting patterns.

And there she was, perched on a stone bench beneath a canopy of luminescent leaves, her hair lit by midday sunlight.

She looked radiant in that golden haze. Beautiful. Irritating.

Almost as if she sensed me, she stiffened, closed her book, and slipped deeper into the greenery toward a side door leading to the apiary.

My shadows spilled through the doors when I strode in, dimming the warm sunlight and causing a few blossoms to curl inward. I followed the path she had taken.

Stone walls enclosed that small patio, keeping out the worst winds.

Enchanted beehives dotted the perimeter.

Griffin stood at the center, bent over a hive with one of his absurdly long fingers hooked under a dripping honeycomb.

And there stood Arabella next to him, feigning a deep interest in absolutely anything except me.

I hoped no one expected me to appear fearsome while chasing my wife through a garden of docile bees.

“—and you say the honey gains magical properties?” she asked, though her posture looked rigid.

Griffin nodded, entirely oblivious to the tension crackling in the courtyard.

“Indeed, my lady! Bees that feed on black roses produce honey infused with trace elements of shadow magic. It’s remarkably versatile in potions.

.. and other uses. Enhances pleasure, induces prophetic dreams, and makes a decent cure for sore throats.

Not sure why people stop asking once they hear that first part. ”

Arabella watched a bee land on her tunic. “Enhances pleasure?”

Griffin’s cheeks pinked, and he stumbled over his words. His lanky body seemed to shrink in on itself, as if he wanted to vanish. Clearly, the conversation had gotten away from him.

“Sex magic,” I said flatly, and felt a wry satisfaction at Arabella’s blush. “It forms a connection between partners. If you apply it to certain areas, one can feel the other person’s sensations.” I let my gaze slide over her in a slow sweep. “Every. Single. Sensation.”

Griffin turned a deep shade of scarlet, suddenly paying almost reverent attention to his sleeves. A lone bee circled his head in confused loops, but he stayed put, as if too mortified to move.

Arabella held my gaze, her pupils widening. “And you’ve confirmed these effects for yourself, Lord Blackrose?”

“Not yet. I’ve kept a jar for when I find the right partner.” Her breath hitched, feeding my ego. “I didn’t realize you were interested in beekeeping.”

She swallowed. “There’s plenty you don’t know about me. If you’d bothered to ask?—”

“I’ve hardly had the chance,” I cut in. “Hard to ask questions when my wife slips off the moment I walk in.”

Griffin stood there blinking at us both, as if he somehow regretted existing. He cleared his throat and took a cautious step back. “I should finish checking these hives,” he ventured. “My apprentice normally cares for them, but he’s in the infirmary… Stung repeatedly. Rather severe reaction.”

I flicked my gaze at the honeycomb. Dark amber, potent with shadow-laced potential. “So, these bees are temperamental?”

“They require a specific approach,” he said. “I’d prefer not to hand that job to anyone else.” He gave a half shrug. “Unless you’d like them to die...?”

I glanced at the shimmering comb. “No,” I conceded. “But be quick about it.”

Griffin resumed his work, though he seemed painfully aware of our conversation. I turned my attention back to Arabella.

“I asked for space,” she said, determinedly calm. “You agreed.”

“Actually, you asked for space, not to vanish entirely.” I took a purposeful step forward. “And things have changed.”

She frowned. “Changed how?”

“The Hero’s Guild is mobilizing. Morana sent word yesterday, and my scouts confirmed it. Three companies, supposedly for ‘training’ but inching closer to my border. Apparently, the king has been holding closed-door meetings with the Guild for days.”

Griffin paused, honey dripping off the comb. “Curious timing.”

Despite his previous half-hearted attempts to threaten me, Auremar had never sent the Hero’s Guild.

Those self-righteous warriors with their enchanted weapons and state-sponsored piety had always stayed within Solandris’s borders, polishing their armor and accepting medals for heroically slaying garden pests they called “monsters.” I’d almost be flattered they were finally considering me worth the trip, if it weren’t so irritatingly inconvenient.

I nodded at Griffin. “Yes, rather.”

Arabella glanced between us. “Are you saying Auremar knows about the Heirloom?”

“Perhaps. But likely it’s because of the message I sent with the last spy,” I explained, watching her reaction carefully.

“What message?”

“The captain’s head,” Griffin offered helpfully, then flinched under my glare.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “An unmistakable declaration that his plans for you didn’t amuse me.”

She pressed her lips tight. “Now the Guild is after us. A sterling example of your diplomacy.”

“Would you rather I’d returned you to Auremar?” My voice dipped velvet-soft, dangerous. “Maybe place a ribbon around your neck?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “But there’s a lot of space between ‘do nothing’ and sending severed heads as invitations.”

Griffin tried to suppress a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

I moved on, ignoring both her cutting sarcasm and Griffin’s poorly disguised amusement. “We have to fortify the Heirloom’s power before the Guild marches on us.”

“And how exactly do we do that?”

“We figure out how to maintain our bond,” I said, stepping close enough that her annoyance radiated off her, warm and electric. “Our connection influences the Heirloom’s stability. The more ‘out of sync’ we are, the weaker it gets.”

She chewed her bottom lip.

“I don’t mean repeating what caused the last explosion,” I clarified, “but your strategy of keeping away from me isn’t going to solve anything.”

Her eyes sparked with anger. “My ‘strategy,’ as you call it, is caution. You make it sound like a ploy to undermine you.”

“You vanish whenever I appear,” I said grimly, “bending your schedule to avoid me.”

“I’m being careful,” she shot back. “We already have enough tension. Adding more physical contact on top of it is asking for disaster.”

“You’re afraid,” I said, voice low. “But not of magic. You’re afraid of this.” I gestured between us. “It’s not about my pain or the Heirloom, but about how I make you feel.”

She scoffed.

“The second I step near you, your breath catches,” I continued. “You flush. You can’t hold my gaze longer than a few seconds.” My heart thumped as I watched her stubborn defiance. “You insist you need space because of the Heirloom, but you’re lying to yourself.”

Color crept up her neck, yet she stepped closer even as she struggled to keep her eyes locked on mine. “Am I? All our interactions have revolved around your quest for the Heirloom’s power. What else am I supposed to think?”

I closed the distance, lifting her chin so she had to look me in the eye. “Use your truth-sense. Tell me if I’m lying when I say you’re more than a key to my power.”

She inhaled, and I sensed her gift activate, that subtle shift in her gaze as she weighed my words. Irritation, confusion, and desire flashed through her eyes.

“You’re not as immune as you pretend,” I added softly. “I’m not immune to you, either. The difference is: I’m not running from it.”

Her voice shook. “I don’t run.”

“No?” I arched an eyebrow. “How would you define that abrupt exit you attempted just now?”

“Strategic retreat,” she said stiffly.

I felt an uninvited urge to grin. Then I spotted movement behind her. Vex appeared in the doorway, surveying the courtyard with one brow raised. She spotted Griffin, who gave her a hesitant nod, and joined us.

“My lord,” Vex greeted, stepping closer. “More border reports arrived. The Hero’s Guild is moving faster than expected.”

I kept my stare on Arabella. “I’ll read them soon,” I said. “We were discussing our urgent situation.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Vex said, voice guarded but eyes amused. She glanced at Griffin, who pretended deep fascination with his honeycomb. “Shall I give you privacy?”

“No,” Arabella answered quickly. “I was leaving.”

“Were you?” I countered. “We hadn’t decided how to handle the Heirloom.”

“What’s left to say?” she argued, crossing her arms. “Griffin insists we can’t risk more resonance until it stabilizes. So no… physical contact.”

“You seem to think that means avoiding me altogether,” I pointed out.

Griffin, apparently finding some courage, cleared his throat. “Well, the real threat comes from certain intimate acts, not all. The types that trigger significant magical surges.”

Arabella’s cheeks flamed. “Yes, thanks, Griffin. Perfectly clear.”

He continued, oblivious to her embarrassment. “Based on interesting data of the last few days, smaller interactions—mere proximity, if you will—might help maintain your established bond, which could stabilize the artifact rather than worsen it.”

I tilted my head. “So you’re suggesting we stay near each other, but not too near?”

His ears went pink. “Quite so, my lord. Exact thresholds remain… fuzzy.”

Vex coughed, possibly turning laughter into something more dignified. “He means to say, if you both avoid each other entirely, you risk an even bigger blow-up next time you do come into contact.”

Arabella let out a long exhale, casting a resigned look at me. “Fine. I’ll stop avoiding you. But I still need breathing room to deal with everything.”

“Reasonable,” I agreed, and a strangely potent mix of relief and anticipation coursed through me. “We’ll resume training and shared meals.”

She nodded, then turned for the exit. “I’ll see you at dinner.” She disappeared into the High Gardens.

I blinked after her for a moment, keenly aware I could chase her again. But maybe for once, I wouldn’t. No sense in pressing our luck.

Vex and Griffin exchanged glances. A quiet, private amusement flickered between them.

“Something to share?” I asked, tone steely.

Vex straightened. “Not exactly, my lord.”

“Then why the meaningful look?”

Griffin stammered, “We—I just—” He hesitated, then tried not to flinch from my stare. “We’ve been making bets.”

My brows shot up. “Bets?”

Vex glowered at him, but he plowed on. “On whether or not you and Lady Blackrose can hold out until the Heirloom stabilizes before, er… giving in to temptation and obliterating half the Western Realms.”

“Griffin,” Vex muttered, “shut up.”

He made an apologetic grimace. “What can I say? He asked.”

I folded my arms across my chest, torn between anger and reluctant amusement at how well they knew me. “And what are the stakes?”

Griffin’s grin turned sheepish. “I’ve got three gold on you both losing control by the end of the week.”

“And Vex?” I glanced around with a dangerously calm expression. “Do you fancy an apocalypse?”

Vex met my gaze, not flinching. “I put my money on you two behaving, though… barely.”

I stared them down, exasperated. “If Arabella and I stop the world from collapsing, you both owe five gold to the citadel’s repair fund.”

Griffin brightened. “So you’re in?”

“Merely acknowledging your insolence,” I corrected, though a corner of my mouth threatened to twitch. “Now get back to your bees, Griffin, then help with the Heirloom.”

I strode away, hearing them mutter in hushed excitement behind me.

“You really think they’ll manage it?” Griffin asked softly.

“Not a chance,” Vex whispered. “And do not tell him I said so.”

I shook my head as I left, the flicker of amusement at war with the cold dread that maybe Vex was right. Because every time Arabella and I collided, we risked losing ourselves again. And next time, we might just bring the entire realm down with us.