Page 158 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

Naturally, she trailed after me as I rushed into the corridor, and I wondered why I bothered giving orders at all. We nearly ran into Thorne, who looked agitated enough to chew nails.

“My lord,” he said, bowing. “The Syndicate is here.”

“Which representative?”

Thorne’s face tightened. “All of them.”

“I thought the Syndicate attended our wedding,” Arabella said.

“They sent proxies,” I corrected. “The actual members rarely leave their sanctums. For all of them to appear together, unannounced...”

It was like having six hungry sharks suddenly appear in your bathtub.

Thorne’s voice dropped. “They demand an immediate audience.”

I steeled my expression. “Demand, do they?” Then I gave Thorne a curt command: “See them to the Great Hall, and order a meal prepared.”

He took off at once. Arabella turned to me. “You hold a seat among them, don’t you?” she asked. “That’s what I suspected when they showered us with wedding gifts.”

“Seventh Chair,” I confirmed.

“Do they know about the Heirloom?”

I tapped a finger against my wedding ring. “They might suspect something, but not the specifics. That’s likely why they’re here.”

Smuggling, assassination, information brokering, magical artifacts—nothing moved without the Syndicate’s knowledge or approval. But I’d kept my quest for power a secret, and if they discovered my true plans before they were fully realized, I’d end up fighting a war on two fronts.

Without the benefit of the artifact that had started all the trouble.

I turned away, voice low as I led us toward our chambers. “I won’t let them sabotage our plans. Or you, Arabella. But watch out. They’re a nest of vipers.”

63

FEED THE SHARKS IN YOUR BATHTUB (BEFORE THEY SMELL BLOOD)

ARABELLA

The midnight-blue gown absorbed light rather than reflected it, creating an effect as if I were wrapped in a slice of moonless sky. Silver thread traced subtle patterns along the bodice and sleeves—arcane symbols mirroring some of the runes on Kazimir’s skin. The neckline plunged lower than I preferred, and the back dipped even more dramatically, exposing most of my spine to the icy air that lingered over the lightning bridge. By this point, though, I only bothered with cloaks when it was cold enough to freeze my last functioning brain cells. Otherwise, the wind grabbed them and tried to tug me over the edge.

Vex walked beside me because Kazimir was already in the Great Hall with the Syndicate. I’d needed more time to dress—and, if I were being honest, to brace myself for a midnight dinner gathering where I felt like both the main course and the entertainment.

She eyed me as we descended a tower staircase. “You look like you’re marching to your execution,” she remarked, her hair dyed a deep, blood-red hue.

“Maybe I am,” I muttered.

We paused at a landing, and Vex turned to face me. Her gaze flickered silver for a split second—something I’d learned happened only when she was truly worried about Kazimir.

“The Syndicate values three things: power, profit, and predictability,” she said quietly. “They already know you have power—your bloodline makes that obvious. What they don’t know is whether you’re their asset or their liability.”

I lifted my eyebrow. “Which am I supposed to be?”

“Neither.” Vex gently adjusted the small silver circlet nestled in my hair. “You’re Lady Blackrose, wife to the Dark Lord and mistress of this fortress. You’re not beneath them, and you’re not afraid of them.”

I tried to manage a sardonic smile. “So basically, act like Kazimir with better manners and fewer war crimes?”

Her mouth twitched. “Not exactly. Lord Blackrose already has his own history with the Syndicate. You’re unknown, which can be useful.”

She continued down the stairs, lowering her voice as we neared the final curve. “There are three representatives you need to watch carefully: Lady Zaraiah holds the Chair of Whispers—she runs the entire intelligence network.” Vex’s tone hardened. “She and Lord Blackrose have... history.”

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