Page 147 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

The flutter in my stomach was immediate, but I hesitated. The Heirloom was still throwing off faint sparks in my awareness, as if glaring at us for our mischief. “We’ll push it too far.”

Kazimir let out a slow, frustrated exhale, forcing himself to nod. “Later, then,” he promised, voice rough. “I won’t forget.”

I almost whimpered from the raw intensity in his voice. Instead, I forced myself to my feet. “I think that’s enough training for today.”

He nodded but didn’t get up. I wondered if he’d take a nap there against the wall after I left.

“What’s on your schedule today?” he asked casually.

I brushed off my leathers. “More reading.” And maybe a bath and some self-love. “I have a new book to look through.”

Kazimir’s mouth quirked. “And you’ll be ready to spar again tomorrow, I assume?”

“Yes.” Though the next step in my training would be figuring out how to keep me improving without either of us ending up in bed. Or on the floor. Or pinned to a wall. “You know, so I don’t accidentally get rescued by Auremar’s knights in shining armor.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. They’ll rue the day they try to save you, Lady Blackrose.”

58

CALCULATE THE RISK-REWARD RATIO (OF ANCIENT RITUALS AND DESK ACTIVITIES)

KAZIMIR

The columns of numbers blurred into nonsense. Somewhere between “Siege-Engine Repair Fund” and “Boot-Stipend(mercenary)” my thoughts wandered to the taste of Arabella’s skin and refused to come back. Runes pulsed beneath my shirt, throbbing in wicked counter-rhythm to the quill scratching parchment. War demanded coin; my body demanded her.

The door opened without so much as a perfunctory rap. Arabella stalked in—no apology, no hesitation—wearing a forest-green dress that weaponized every curve. My ledgers never stood a chance.

“Someone’s flouting healer’s orders about rest,” she said, sliding a slim, cobalt book across the desk.

“I’ll rest when the treasury stops hemorrhaging.” I folded my hands to keep from hauling her onto the desktop. “Or when I invent a breathing tax, whichever arrives first.”

She arched a brow. “It’s your mind that’s hemorrhaging, not the coffers.”

I smirked, but the book’s goldleaf title snagged my attention—Sacrificial Restorations: The Healer’s Burden. A scarlet ribbon marked a chapter headed The Lifeweave Ritual: Healing the Tethers of Arcane Vessels.

Arabella perched on the desk, ankles crossing. “Magister Vellum gave it to me just before our little library adventure. I forgot about it until now.”

I skimmed.Third Age… Great Magical Drought… cabal of artifact-keepers—gods, this thing was older than half my nightmares. As the title promised, it was a ritual to feed healing magic into the artifact’s fissures, to stitch the fractures with living essence. The dangers section dripped in cheerful understatement—SoulTethering, EssenceDrain, Wraithification—followed by delightful case studies of healers who either shriveled into jerky or slept for centuries.

I snapped the book shut. “Absolutely not.”

Arabella didn’t flinch. “Kaz, every other repair method you’ve suggested involves demon lords, royal bloodletting, or both. This is cleaner.”

“Cleaner?” I tapped the cover. “One attempt restored the CrownofTides and burned out her magic forever. Another user became a décor item—a withered husk, Arabella. The Twins of Callahan are still snoring in a glass coffin. If the Heirloom rejects you...”

I lose you.

Something twisted in my chest. A thought threatened to coalesce—unthinkable, realm-shaking—and I slammed the mental door before it could take shape.

Her gaze softened, but only for a heartbeat. “And if we do nothing, the crack widens, ley lines unravel, and half the Western Realm is gone. My heroic bloodline gives me better odds, and the Heirloom already half-recognizes me through themarriage bond. This might be the one gamble stacked in our favor.”

I rose, circling the desk until I stood in front of her. “You could end up chained to that crown for the rest of your life. If someone chips it, you’ll bleed. If it’s stolen, you’ll wither. I will not allow that.”

She tilted her chin, stubborn light sparking in hazel eyes. “Allow? You abducted me, remember? Stole me away to power your precious Heirloom. I’ve adapted, I’ve cooperated, and I’ve even... desired things I never thought I would. Because I decided to. On my terms. You do not get to pick and choose when my autonomy matters.”

Damn her for being right. “And if it fails? If the ritual drains you until there’s nothing left but a withered husk? Am I supposed to stand by and watch while you sacrifice yourself for an artifact I dragged you into this citadel to activate?”

Her hand came to rest over my sternum.

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