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WAKE YOUR SPOUSE WITH A BLADE (TRUE ROMANCE, DARK LORD STYLE)

ARABELLA

Something cold and razor-sharp pressed against my throat, dragging me from dreamless sleep into heart-pounding awareness.

“You’re dead,” Kazimir’s voice whispered in the darkness, his breath warm against my ear.

I stayed perfectly still, eyes adjusting to the gloom. A faint silvery glow emanated from the blade at my neck—not steel but a sliver of shadow essence. Kazimir loomed over me, half-hidden in darkness, the other half illuminated by moonlight spilling through the window.

“Most people,” I said evenly, “just shake someone awake.”

The shadow blade dissolved. “Most people aren’t married to the Dark Lord.”

“Lucky them.”

Kazimir straightened, and I realized he was fully dressed in fitted training leathers, his hair slicked back. The smug bastard looked infuriatingly composed.

I pushed upright, blinking away sleep. “It’s the middle of the night.”

He moved toward the door. “Enemies rarely attack at convenient hours.”

“And which enemies might those be?”

“The breathing kind.” He paused, hand on the door. “You have four minutes.”

The door closed behind him, leaving me alone in the moonlit chamber.

I sucked in a frustrated breath, tempted to burrow back under the covers, but something in his tone had roused my curiosity.

Within three minutes, I was out in the corridor, wearing my training leathers and hair hastily braided.

Kazimir stood waiting, arms crossed. His mouth twitched upward in approval.

“I expected to drag you out by your ankles,” he said mildly.

“I was tempted to make you work for it.” I stifled a yawn. “But curiosity won.”

We set off, his stride swift and deliberate, forcing me to hurry.

“Is this some bizarre ploy to push me past the Heirloom’s limits?” I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He stopped so abruptly I almost collided with him, and in a blink, he had me caged against the tapestry-lined wall, hands braced on either side of my head. My pulse kicked hard.

“Oh, Arabella,” he murmured, his voice settling into that dangerously soft tone that shot heat through my core.

“If you only knew how close I am to forgetting every restraint for you.” His breath brushed my lips, warm and taunting.

“You want me to risk the Heirloom? All to hear you scream my name like you did that night—loud enough to rattle this entire citadel.”

“Your ego is staggering,” I managed, though my breath hitched.

His voice was low and as smooth as silk. “You like it.”

A current of want tore through me, forcing me to swallow hard. His gaze fell to my mouth, his own lips curving in a slow, knowing smile that made my pulse throb.

“As soon as we solve this little complication,” he said, voice roughening with every word, “you’ll find out exactly what happens when I stop playing the Dark Lord… and start being a man who can’t get enough of his wife.”

My heart slammed behind my ribs. Each syllable threatened to pull me closer, until I was practically leaning toward him, barely aware of the step I took forward.

His grin flashed wickedly, like he knew he’d already won.

Then he slipped back, letting a cold rush of air replace the warmth of his presence.

The abrupt distance left me dizzy and furious at how badly I wanted him.

He was calling my bluff, I realized. But he was also admitting just how much I unsettled him. And that realization sent a dark thrill racing through my veins.

Kazimir smoothed his collar with one tug. “We have somewhere to be.”

“Where?” I asked, trying to steady my racing heart.

“Down.”

I rolled my eyes and followed him through the deserted corridors.

The tension between us felt electric, but the chill of the damp air was a welcome shock to my flushed skin.

Now and then, we passed servants who bowed or flattened themselves against the walls, seemingly eager to avoid the swirl of danger and frustration that followed us.

I kept my gaze forward, ignoring the pit in my stomach that said I wanted more of him than I should.

We descended deeper still, the air growing colder and tinged with a mineral scent. At last, we reached a heavy iron door inscribed with runes. Kazimir pressed his palm to the center, and the door groaned open.

Beyond lay a cavernous chamber—larger than any training hall I’d seen—with natural stone walls and a rough-hewn floor. Weapons racks, battered practice dummies, and odd contraptions lined the perimeter, as if no one had tidied in months.

Kazimir lit torches along the walls with a flick of magic. The dancing light revealed half a dozen wooden-and-metal humanoid figures posed in eerie stillness, each clutching a real weapon.

“What is this place?” I asked.

He strode to the center of the cavern. “Preparation. With Solandris escalating, Auremar won’t rest until he’s pried you from my hands—or destroyed you so no one else can use your bloodline.”

I crossed my arms. “I handled Sir Darian.”

“You did. But a single knight-commander isn’t the king’s entire arsenal.

” He gestured at the motionless figures.

“These are keyed to attack you at increasing levels. They won’t kill you, but they’ll hurt—and they’ll teach you to survive.

Magic alone might fail if it’s blocked, countered, or if you’re exhausted. ”

The way his gaze flicked over me betrayed more worry than he meant to show. “These constructs aren’t me,” he said flatly. “No more excuses for hesitating. You’ll learn better footwork… and we avoid certain temptations.”

My pulse kicked at that reminder of what happened when we sparred alone. “So I’m practicing against wooden puppets instead of you?”

“They won’t make the mistake of flirting back.”

I studied him for a moment. “You’re worried.”

“I’m practical,” was his gruff reply. “War is coming.” Then he glanced away. “If you regret staying?—”

“No,” I said firmly. “Do you regret taking me?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

Kazimir’s eyes met mine. “No,” he said simply. “Not once.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest, but he didn’t give me time to savor the sensation. He flicked a hand at one of the constructs, sending it forward with a shudder.

“Choose your weapon.”

I stepped over to a rack of blades and staffs and opted for two daggers. Lightweight, balanced. “I’m not exactly a master duelist.”

He gave a half-shrug. “You don’t need to be. You only need to survive.”

He stepped aside and let the construct advance. It rushed at me, sword raised in a clumsy but swift arc. I barely managed to duck, the blade whistling over my head.

“Block!” he ordered.

I brought my daggers together and caught the sword in a shaky X-block. My arms trembled under the force, but I held on until I heard him call again.

“Disengage!”

I twisted, letting the construct’s momentum spin it off balance. For the next hour, he barked out instructions: how to parry, where to step, how to find an opening. The constructs improved with each round, and I fell more times than I cared to admit.

By the thirtieth—or maybe the hundredth—time I’d been disarmed, I lost it. “This is absurd!” I hurled a dagger at a far wall, where it bounced harmlessly to the ground. “I can’t win like this. I have real magic.”

Kazimir strolled over and picked up my fallen blade. “Magic that can be drained or negated. You need more than that to outlast the Hero’s Guild.”

“That doesn’t make your method any less futile,” I snapped.

He tossed the dagger at my feet. “Again.”

“No,” I said flatly, ignoring the sting in my arms and the bruises forming on my knees.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and shadows darkened the room. “No?”

“You heard me.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m tired, I’m sore, and I’m getting nowhere with this. Either change your approach or I’m going back to bed.”

For a moment, I thought he might actually drag me back to the center of the room and force me. Then his expression softened with a grudging smile. “Finally.”

“Finally what?” I demanded.

“The fire. You’ve been too compliant. That’s not you.” He waved again at the construct. “This time, fight your way. No illusions of normal combat. Use what you have.”

I stared nervously at the lurching wooden figure. “You kept telling me not to rely on magic.”

“Show me what you’d do if your life truly depended on it. Then we’ll go from there.”

He stepped back, and two constructs came forward at the same time, swords raised. My palms prickled with sweat, but I swallowed my fear. If he wanted me to use my natural instincts, then I wouldn’t keep playing at this sword fight.

One construct swung high, the other low, forcing a choice I refused to make.

Instead, I summoned a pulse of healing magic and channeled it into the daggers.

Golden light flared along the blades, meeting the swords in a burst of sparks.

Both constructs recoiled, as if stunned by the backlash of power.

I let out a sharp cry and cut into the nearest construct’s wooden shoulder. It split cleanly, splinters raining down. The second dove for me, but I ducked beneath its swing and drove my glowing daggers into its chest. It seized once, then collapsed.

Turning back, I saw the first attempt to raise its sword again—so I slashed and separated its head from its torso. Silence echoed against the cavern walls.

Kazimir observed me from the side. “That,” he said softly, “was impressive.”

I exhaled, chest heaving. “You told me to do whatever it took.”

He stepped forward, gaze flicking between me and the wreckage. “I did. Though I didn’t expect you to dismantle them so completely.” With a flick of his wrist, four more constructs rattled to life.

My blood felt like ice water. “Kazimir?—”

“Fight,” he said simply, and backed away.

I gritted my teeth. “I really hate you right now.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Hate me, but stay alive.”