Page 15 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

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 silentwow. “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?”

Griffin gulped. “Not in detail, just… that your lineage is important. That your presence matters. That I wasn’t to bother you or do anything that might scare you away. Though I suppose me being here at all might count as bothering you, in which case I should probably go?—”

“You created this?” I gestured to the crystal displays, deliberately changing the subject to put him at ease.

Pride momentarily replaced anxiety on Griffin’s expressive face. “Yes! Well, with His Lordship’s direction, of course. But the basic enchantment structure is mine.” He gestured animatedly. “The bridges respond to the needs of the citadel, adapting to traffic patterns and security concerns.”

“That’s remarkable,” I said, genuinely impressed. “What else have you created?”

Griffin’s face lit up as if no one had ever bothered to ask about his work. “Oh, all sorts of things! The self-heating baths, the defensive wards that prevent assassins from approaching within ten feet of His Lordship...” He counted off on his long fingers. “Also a rather disastrous attempt at self-writing poetry quills that only produced erotic sonnets about tentacles, but we aren’t supposed to talk about those anymore.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The black roses?”

His amber eyes lit with pride. “Yes! Aren’t they magnificent? Metallic petals, lore-binding properties… uh, I mean, that was just for aesthetic flair?—”

“They’re certainly unique,” I said diplomatically. “Though one bit me last night.”

“Oh!” He recoiled like I’d hit him. “Did it… draw blood?”

I stared him down, letting the silence speak for me.

He gave a nervous, wheezing laugh. “It’s only meant to draw a tiny sample. They’re, um, testing magical resonance. Completely routine if you follow the Northern Enchanters’ Guild guidelines… after the last reform, anyway.”

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