Page 7

KAZIMIR

Dawn was still hours away, and I’d already accepted that sleep was a lost cause. My thoughts flitted between the ceremony tomorrow and the warded suite containing one furious Lady Evenfall.

I left my chambers, locking the door with both key and spell.

Anyone with a shred of self-preservation would steer clear, but I couldn’t be certain of my new fiancée.

The fortress lay quiet, except for the occasional hum of the floating orblights.

Storm clouds rolled outside a high window, hurling lightning across the sky and sending thunder vibrating through the airborne stone.

I paused at Lady Evenfall’s quarters, pressing my fingers to the still-warm sigils I’d etched hours before. The wards thrummed in response.

I huffed out a laugh. “I was going to toss her in the dungeon after the ceremony,” I muttered. “Now she’ll roam my halls, probably conjuring who-knows-what and setting my staff on fire. Brilliance, Kazimir. Truly.”

I supposed it was my own fault. I’d planned to break her resistance, lock her away, complete the marriage ritual, claim the Heirloom’s powers. Done.

Simple. Efficient. Textbook villainy.

Yet my glorious plan had devolved into negotiating freedoms with her as though we were equals. No, worse: I’d actively conceded points. Next, I might have to offer brunch privileges for her and the minions.

I descended five levels below my private rooms to my cramped, chaotic workroom. Racks of parchment, precarious stacks of ancient books, alchemical beakers, and half-finished mechanical contraptions littered every inch of space along the walls.

In the center, one broad workbench remained clear. I’d been itching to test something since discovering Lady Evenfall’s blood on the enchanted roses, which weren’t just decorative but designed to sample the blood of anyone who touched them. And I’d bottled that drop while she wasn’t looking.

With a gesture, I lit oil lamps around the room and arranged my instruments. I retrieved the small vial from my pocket. Before I could go further, a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” I called, not bothering to look up.

In crept Pip, carrying a cage with a nightingale inside. He set it on the bench, his hands trembling. “The bird you requested, my lord,” he said softly.

I scrutinized the terrified little thing, tapping on the bars until it froze under my magic—no point chasing it around the workroom. On the periphery, I felt Pip shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“What?” I asked, letting annoyance creep into my voice. “I assume you have a reason to linger?”

His throat bobbed. “The kitchen staff asked about special requests for the wedding feast.”

My fist slammed onto the table, rattling glass and sending flasks skidding to the edge. Of all the trivialities...

“This can’t wait until daylight?”

He stammered, “S-Sims feared a repeat of—of the last feast, my lord—when Griffin animated the entrees?—”

“Fine,” I snapped, pointing toward the door. “Tell them to do whatever they like. Now get out before your sniveling anxiety ruins my concentration.”

Pip bowed, turned too quickly, and smacked into a shelf. Several empty vials fell to the floor and shattered.

“I’m sorry, my lord!” he gasped, crouching to gather the shards and cutting his hand in the process.

I strode over in three strides and yanked him upright by the collar. The familiar dark swirl of my dominion magic crackled in the room.

“Get. Out,” I snarled, letting the raw threat in my voice tighten the air.

He paled, eyes widening in terror, and fled without another word. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, the shadows coiled back into my bones, leaving me scowling at my own momentary lapse.

I inhaled deeply, forcing calm, then lifted the nightingale from its cage. Its heart fluttered against my palm.

“Consider this your contribution to the greater villainous cause,” I murmured, stroking its feathers.

A flick of power, a whispered resonance through the runes carved in my ribs, and the bird’s life force drained out in shining whorls of pale light.

Setting aside the limp body, I poured the shimmering essence into the silver bowl.

I positioned two pristine crystal vessels on the workbench, priming one with a fresh prick of my blood, the other with Arabella’s single drop.

I connected them with delicate silver filaments.

Chanting in the guttural, ancient tongue my mother had practically beaten into my skull, I felt each syllable vibrate through the runes beneath my skin.

The bird’s captured life force twined upward in blue tendrils, splitting into two streams that fused with both vessels.

The filaments flared, bridging the gap between them.

In a flash, everything went incandescent. A shockwave of magic tossed me clear across the room, books and flasks crashing around me in a storm of shattered glass. I cursed, shielding my eyes from the surge of light.

The vessels sang, an otherworldly chord that reverberated through my bones. The runes carved on my ribs burned white-hot, a blaze of pure energy that should have hurt but instead felt dangerously euphoric.

What in the darkest hells?

I staggered to my feet, blinking through the radiance. Both crystal vessels shone bright as small suns, lines of power pulsing in perfect unison between them. My instruments—designed to read magical force—quivered off the charts.

“A forty-fold amplification,” I muttered, disbelief hollowing out my voice. “That’s... impossible. That’s… Fuck.”

The ancient texts hinted that my bride’s heroic bloodline would amplify my dominion magic, maybe doubling or tripling it. But this? Forty times was an absurd fountain of potential.

The door flew open, and Vex rushed in, dagger raised. “My lord, the entire fortress felt that. Are you?—”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, barely looking at her. My gaze clung to the dancing lights. “A minor experiment with unexpectedly large results.”

She took in the wreckage, from shattered glass to the still-humming power. “Should I fetch Griffin?”

“No,” I said sharply. Then I reined myself in. “You can go. And don’t speak of this to anyone . Understood?”

She gave a short bow, face tight with curiosity but she didn’t give into it.

As soon as I was alone again, I grabbed my journal and scribbled frantically, recording every measurement and observed effect. If Arabella’s blood had done this with a few drops of bird essence, what might happen if we completed the entire Heirloom ritual?

I could reshape continents, I thought, pacing over glass. Flatten kingdoms with a word. And with the Heirloom of Dominion fueling me, I could probably yank the moon down and wear it as a fucking hat.

When I was done, I sealed the journal with a personal ward. Anyone who tried to peek would be vaporized on the spot.

The two vessels continued their eerie, harmonic glow. I rolled a broken crystal shard between my bloody fingers and mulled over how close I was to absolute might.

And how dangerously reliant I was on one obstinate bride who refused to kneel.

“The universe has a gruesome sense of humor,” I muttered. “The potential for apocalyptic power… packaged neatly with the greatest vulnerability I’ve had in years. And it’s all tied to one sharp-tongued, infuriatingly gorgeous noblewoman.”

The vessels responded with a pulse of brightness, as if her blood resonated with my frustrated confession.

Outside, thunder rumbled again, shaking the tower.

I stood among the debris, adrenaline buzzing through the burned-out edges of my runes, alone with the realization that everything had just become a thousand times more complicated.

And dangerously more intriguing.