Page 140 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

She stepped around the oak table, meeting me halfway. Even from a small distance, I felt the hum beneath my bones. Her eyes flicked to my hand, as though expecting me to reach for her. When I didn’t, she lifted her chin defiantly and stepped closer. “The last time we traveled by personal portal, I was your prisoner and you were an absolute ass about it.”

The spark that had ignited whatever this disaster of feelings was between us. How much had changed since then. I’d gone from wanting to use her to wanting... well, still to use her, but in entirely different ways.

“And now?” I asked.

“You’re just looking for a reason to keep me in your arms,” she accused softly, voice laced with wry humor.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, which was a lie and we both knew it. I drew runes in the air, the swirling energy of a portal forming at the edge of the war room. I murmured the final word, and a vortex of violet light spun open. “Full contact,” I reminded her, sliding my arm around her waist. “Can’t have your head end up in another part of the realm.”

“I remember,” she muttered, but she leaned in, bracing a palm against my chest. “You do so love your excuses to manhandle me.”

In a rush of distorted air, the portal yawned wide. We stepped through together, the world dissolving into swirling darkness before rebuilding itself around us. The southern outpost materialized instantly—a squat fortress perched near a river bend. Storm clouds hovered overhead, as though paying homage to my mood.

Arabella peeled away from me the moment we landed, smoothing her clothes with a quick, almost self-conscious gesture. I fought the urge to yank her back.

She scanned the fortress, then the horizon beyond, a calculating look in her eyes. The wide-open landscape stretched in all directions—no witnesses, fewer guards than the citadel, a clear path to the nearby river. I could practically see her mapping escape routes.

“Kazimir.” She turned to me, eyes narrowed slightly. “If I wanted to run, would you try to stop me?”

The directness of the question startled me, but I still considered it carefully. Once, the answer would have been simple: I’d have hunted her to the ends of the earth. Now…

“I would be... disappointed if you chose not to stay,” I finally said, watching her reaction.

A smile ghosted across her lips. “That’s not an answer.”

“Make no mistake: You’re still my wife, and I didn’t go through all this trouble just to let you walk away.”

She studied me for a moment longer, as if testing my words against her truth-sense. “Interesting. You still didn’t actually say you’d stop me.”

I sighed. “If you’re planning on leaving, then by all means.”

I stepped aside and waited. Arabella was testing me, just as I was testing her, I supposed. Would I really let her go? Theuncomfortable question laid something bare in me that I shoved down and buried beneath my usual possessive arrogance.

Of course, she made no move to leave. My chest unknotted in quiet relief, though I’d never let it show.

I gestured toward the outpost. “Shall we? Or would you prefer to continue this philosophical debate while our prisoner expires?”

She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded and fell into step beside me. We walked in silence, and within moments, were at the gate. It was manned by my own men, and everything seemed normal. No traps, then. But I still didn’t regret being cautious, especially because the intelligence had come from Morana.

“Where’s our would-be informant?” I demanded of the nearest guard.

The guard bowed. “Inside, my lord, but he’s not doing well. Commander Vex is with him.”

I nodded brusquely. Arabella and I entered the outpost’s main hall, where the torches guttered in the wind seeping through the old stone. Vex stood near a makeshift infirmary corner, arms crossed. Keen-eyed as ever, she caught Arabella’s presence and quirked an eyebrow at the space (or lack thereof) between us.

Behind her, a man slumped in a chair, wrists bound. He wore the tattered remnants of an expensive jacket. Dark lines of poison spread across his neck, creeping toward his jaw. A single glance told me he had little time.

“Perris?” Arabella demanded. “What in the seven hells are you doing here?”

The man jerked at her voice, raising milky, terrified eyes. “Lady Evenfall,” he rasped. “You must help?—”

“Her name,” I cut in coldly, “is Lady Blackrose.”

A look of sheer terror crossed his face as he realized who I was. Though I’d never seen him before, his name was familiar.

“You know him?” I asked Arabella.

“Unfortunately.” Her mouth twisted. “He tried to court me at my father’s insistence. Ambitious, but not particularly bright. He once told me women shouldn’t concern themselves with politics because our delicate constitutions couldn’t handle the strain.”

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