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MEET YOUR VILLAIN’S QUIRKY STAFF (BEFORE THEY COLLECT MORE BODILY SAMPLES)

ARABELLA

I woke to silken sheets, a towering canopy overhead, and the sickening reminder that I was meant to marry the Dark Lord in a few hours. My stomach twisted.

“Fuck.” I pressed both palms over my eyes. The word felt deliciously raw, so I repeated it loud enough to echo off the walls.

No one barged in to scold me for my language or lecture me on proper decorum. The emptiness felt alarmingly free.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, bracing myself for the chill of a fortress perched among storm clouds. Even the plush carpeting under my feet couldn’t hide how cold this place truly was. Only the hearth’s crackling fire kept the room from icing over.

The wardrobe brimmed with choices, some practical, some absurdly lavish. Gone were the pastel frills my father favored. I chose a deep emerald tunic and black leather trousers, the sort of outfit a girl might wear if she planned to burn her captor’s fortress.

Opening the door, I half expected a guard. Instead, a spiral staircase stretched upward and down through silence. Either Kazimir was supremely confident in his wards, or he truly meant to honor our deal.

Assuming his chambers lay above, I headed down.

I wanted to see as much of Skyspire Citadel as possible before anyone could second-guess the decision to give me this small bit of freedom.

The stairs ended in a wide corridor that branched left and right.

Straight ahead, two guards flanked enormous double doors. They stiffened as I approached.

“Good morning.” I mustered my courtliest smile. “Lord Blackrose granted me permission to explore.”

I braced for outrage and an attempt to haul me back upstairs. Instead, the guards exchanged a glance, then bowed. One gestured behind him. “The main hall is through these doors, along with the way to the inner courtyard. From there, you can access the east wing or the library.”

“And that corridor?” I pointed right.

“The High Gardens,” he said. “Beyond them, the observatory.”

“Much appreciated.” Their hands never strayed far from their weapons, but they didn’t stop me.

The corridors formed a labyrinth of locked doors and wandering staircases. Eventually, I discovered a narrow flight hidden behind an unmarked door. I climbed until my legs burned. A hatch above me leaked frigid air.

Stepping through, I found myself perched on an outer wall.

Wind sliced across my cheeks as I leaned forward, clinging to the icy parapet.

My heart gave a lurch at the sheer height.

Dark, shimmering walls connected five towers spaced evenly apart, each one glinting with runes.

In the courtyard below, an enormous pentagram was laid out in black stone.

Every line and angle of the fortress seemed designed for magical synergy, an infernal masterpiece of architecture; Kazimir had built this domain to channel unimaginable power.

A gust shoved me back and I decided I’d admired the view long enough.

Back inside, I roamed until I nearly collided with Pip, the timid servant from last night. Dishes rattled on his tray.

“Lady Evenfall!” he squeaked. A ragged bandage wrapped his palm, the gauze stained crimson.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Nothing, my lady. Just an accident in His Lordship’s workroom.”

“Let me see.” I gently tugged his hand forward after helping him balance the tray. He seemed torn, but he obeyed. Beneath the sloppy bandage, I spotted shards of glass in a nasty gash.

“This is hardly ‘nothing,’” I muttered. “You need this cleaned, or it’ll never heal.”

He shrank back. “I have other duties, my lady. Lord Blackrose is particular about timeliness?—”

“Set the tray down,” I said firmly, gesturing to a nearby alcove. “It won’t kill him to have slightly cooler tea.” Though, knowing Kazimir, I had my doubts.

Pip placed the tray on a stone bench, and I carefully unwrapped the bandage. The cut looked deep. Ignoring the faint quake of leftover exhaustion in my limbs, I covered his palm with both hands and summoned the familiar warmth.

For a moment, I remembered every forced demonstration of my “gift”, when I was paraded before peasants to prove House Evenfall’s heroic lineage.

Back then, I’d played the part of the gracious benefactor, all while cursing my father under my breath.

But now, with no audience and no pretense, the healing felt strangely honest.

Pip exhaled shakily. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He flexed his fingers in amazement. The gash was gone, leaving only a faint pink line. The small bits of glass had worked out, as well. He wrapped them carefully in the old bandage.

“I suggest avoiding shattered glass next time.” I anticipated the light-headedness that followed using my magic. Strangely enough, it didn’t manifest at all.

His gaze drifted to the tea tray. “I should go. If it’s cold, he’ll be furious.”

“Tell him I waylaid you for directions, or threatened to set the library ablaze. Whatever sounds plausible.”

He offered a shy grin. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Off you go. We can’t have lukewarm tea starting the apocalypse.”

Pip hurried away. I stood there a moment, inhaling the fortress’s cold air and the faint tang of ozone. Kazimir’s priorities were starkly clear: his tea delivered promptly, even if it meant his servant bled onto the tray. Arrogant bastard.

But if he thought this marriage guaranteed my obedience—the same kind of fearful deference he demanded over drinks—he was in for a shock.

I turned a corner and stepped into a circular chamber that stole my breath. This had to be the observatory.

An enormous crystal contraption hung from a domed ceiling, refracting the storm light pouring in from floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, smaller crystals hovered over a ring of pedestals, each one displaying crackling pathways of light that linked towers to drifting islands. Bridges.

I edged closer to one pedestal, eyes fixed on the image of a bridge.

As I watched, the structure flickered and changed positions, connecting to a new floating rock.

The bridges weren’t static; they could alter, fuse, or vanish at a moment’s notice.

No wonder Kazimir conquered kingdoms so easily.

This place would be impossible to fully invade.

One wrong turn, and you’d find yourself stranded on a floating chunk of rock with no way out.

The man might be a brutal, domineering lunatic, but he was frighteningly clever.

I moved back to the pedestal where I’d started, trying to spot any runes or levers that controlled the mechanism. Almost without thinking, I touched the crystal.

Power slammed through me. The crystal flared to life, and I snatched my hand back—but not before I triggered some sort of magical meltdown.

I heard shouts echo through the corridors.

The bridge beneath my fingertips shimmered erratically, twisting in on itself.

Nearby displays flickered and distorted.

“Shit,” I hissed, scrambling backward. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” A voice squawked from the doorway, so high and terrified it bordered on hysterical. “Not again! He’ll murder me in creatively awful ways this time for sure! Possibly twice!”

A gangly figure lurched into the observatory with all the grace of a newborn colt.

Impossibly tall, spindly arms and legs, hair sticking out like burnt straw, and a face that practically vibrated with panic—this had to be the strangest courtier I’d ever seen.

He ducked beneath the arch despite the ample door height and made a beeline for the disrupted pedestal.

“Three guards on the eastern bridge,” he muttered, “they’ll plummet?—”

He froze when he noticed me. His yellowish eyes went comically wide. “Wait, you’re… oh, but you’re not supposed to be here. No one’s supposed to be in my observatory except Lord Blackrose and me, and definitely not messing with the crystals. I mean, clearly no one told you?—”

“Who are you?”

“Griffin.” He bobbed his head jerkily, practically a bow if you squinted. “I’m the citadel’s enchanter. Among… other things.” Then he waved at the pedestal. “If I might…?”

I nodded, and he maneuvered those spidery hands around the crystal, murmuring some incantation under his breath.

Gradually, the chaotic light calmed. The writhing illusions of the bridges slowed to a steady hum, and the distant shouting died down.

My tension slipped away as everything flickered back to normal.

Griffin sagged, breath hissing out in relief.

“Thank the gods. Maybe I won’t be executed for letting the bride blow up the citadel on her first day here.

” He pushed a sweaty lock of singed hair off his forehead.

“Lord Blackrose has enough on his plate, what with the wedding and the world domination and the perpetual brooding.”

I folded my arms. “So this kind of crisis is a regular occurrence?”

His panicked expression twitched. “Oh, no. Well, there are… occasional issues. The system’s temperamental. Usually it’s my fault. But this—” He paused, eyeing me with a sort of nervous fascination. “How?”

I tried not to look guilty. “I accidentally touched the crystal. And it just… reacted.”

Griffin’s lips formed a silent wow . “The crystals should only respond to specific magical signatures—my own or His Lordship’s.

Anyone else would need at least a few rituals with goat’s blood, plus nude chanting under a new moon for good measure.

Yet you apparently skip all the fun steps and just… do it.”

He looked me over again, and I felt my anger coil. “That might be because of your bloodline,” he theorized, eyes brightening with scholarly excitement. “First Hero ancestry is potent. Lord Blackrose said?—”

I seized the obvious lead. “So he’s been discussing me with you?”