Page 135 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

I laughed ruefully. “It would. Thank you for everything.”

He offered a small bow before padding away, leaving me with Nyx. The dragon let out a low, rumbling sound of reassurance.

I stroked her snout. “At least we understand each other, right?”

She blinked, unimpressed. Then she nudged my shoulder. The dragon was so large now that it almost bowled me over. I couldn’t help a small smile.

“Come on,” I said. “You’ve earned another nap by the stables.”

We walked side-by-side, and as I looked around at the citadel’s looming spires, I mulled over that shocking wave of fear I’d felt seconds before the explosion. My power was too potent for me to be sloppy. And that only made me more conscious of Kazimir’s self-negligence. If he tore himself apart, the entire Western Realm would implode. And he was the only person who could help me learn to control my magic; I needed him at full strength.

A small part of me recognized that I was lying to myself, too. Maybe I wanted more than just an “alliance” or help with my power. Maybe I wanted the man who hovered protectively above me, who bled from his nose but still shielded me from rogue shadows.

Had I overreacted? Perhaps. But the fear, both of my own power and of whatever was happening to him, had been real.

No. I wasn’t the villain here, but I wasn’t going to be a victim, either. “Space” was exactly what I needed.

And perhaps a few more hours throwing shadow weapons at inanimate straw.

With a growl that felt far too much like his, I turned on my heel and stalked toward the training room. If I couldn’t fix Kazimir’s secrets, I could at least hone my magic until thinking about him didn’t burn a hole in my chest. That was safer than letting his lies and my own desire combust again.

55

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 thetype 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.

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