Page 1 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

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KIDNAP SOMEONE CUTE (AND PRETEND IT’S AMBITION, NOT LONELINESS)

KAZIMIR

“No.” I slammed my fist on the obsidian table. “Absolutely not.”

The mirror’s surface rippled as it spoke. “The terms are non-negotiable, Lord Blackrose. The Heirloom requires a marriage bond with one of heroic bloodline. Without it, the artifact is basically an ancient hunk of metal.”

Behind me, maps covered the war room’s walls, each one marked with careful notes for future conquests. Etched tracking spells flickered across the table, charting movement throughout my domain. And there, on its black marble pedestal, rested the Heirloom of Dominion, a deceptively simple circlet of gold.

“My lord?” Sims cleared his throat. He was a thin, meticulous strategist, the kind of man who told me the truth whether I wanted it or not. “Perhaps we should consider the requirements as an opportunity?”

I rounded on him, letting shadows curl in the corners of the room. “An opportunity for what, exactly? To parade around, courting some vapid princess?”

Sims offered a razor-thin smile. “An opportunity to do what we do best. Accomplish it by, ah... traditional villainousmethods. After all, what self-respecting Dark Lord asks politely for a bride when he could simply… take one?”

Dominion magic crackled between my fingers as I let his words sink in. “Kidnapping,” I said. “Seize a bride, perform an involuntary ceremony, then toss her in a comfortable cell once we’ve tied the knot.” A dark satisfaction stirred inside me.

The mirror bubbled. “I feel compelled to point out that coercion may not satisfy the?—”

I flicked my wrist, sending shadows swirling across the mirror. “Sims, gather the others.”

Within minutes, my advisors were assembled: Vex, my Steward, leaning against the wall with silver hair peeking from beneath her hood; Thorne, my security chief, a human fortress of muscle and grunts; and Griffin, my slightly problematic enchanter, wearing robes several inches too short for his unnaturally stretched frame.

I pressed both palms on the table. “By now, you all know the situation. I need a highborn descendant of the First Hero, someone who’ll survive proximity to my dark magic without keeling over.” I pulled a dagger from my belt, testing its edge with my thumb. “Preferably someone who won’t try to stab me in my sleep, though that’s negotiable.”

Griffin, half-distracted, said, “What about Princess Marigold of the Summer Court?”

I spun the dagger idly. “That poet who writes odes to butterflies? She’d faint at the sight of my breakfast spread.”

“Lady Rosamund of the Western Isles?” Thorne offered.

“Already betrothed to three different princes.” I drove my dagger into a stack of maps. The blade quivered. “Too messy politically.”

Sims tried next. “The Duchess of Thornhaven?”

“Too old,” I dismissed.

“She’s thirty-eight.”

“Practically ancient,” I said, wiggling the dagger free. “And I hear she collects unicorns. Living ones.” I suppressed a shudder.

Griffin spoke up, fidgeting. “Princess Violet of?—”

I paused mid-spin. “Which Violet? The pacifist who started a goblin peace coalition?”

“No, the other Princess Violet.”

“The one who breeds rabbits?”

“No, theotherother Princess Violet.”

“How many Princess Violets exist in this cursed realm?” I snapped.

Griffin paled behind his glasses. “Seven, my lord. Popular name twenty years ago.”

“Absolutely not. I refuse to spend eternity clarifying which Princess Violet I kidnapped.” I hurled the dagger across the room, embedding it in the front of a desk. “Any suggestions that might save me from losing my dignity?”

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