Page 171 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

I snapped my fingers, summoning coiling shadows to bind him to his chair. He yelped in panic. “Pack him,” I instructed my shadow warriors.

They lifted his entire chair, occupant and all, dragging him to the door. He let out a high-pitched squeal. “Efficient, aren’t they?” I asked Arabella lightly, keeping my hand on her back.

We wound down the servants’ staircase, Evenfall’s shrill protests leading the way, but either the servants had the good sense to stay in their rooms, or they were glad to see him go. I made sure his chair bumped around the walls and corners all the way to the door.

I leaned in to whisper, “Any regrets?”

She shook her head. “Not one.”

Outside, my shadows tipped his chair forward, dumping him onto a velvet cushion in the merchant’s carriage. He let out an ‘oof’ as I dispelled the immediate restraints. Before we could climb in ourselves, though, movement stirred by the trees.

Five figures approached, blades catching the moonlight. Auremar’s cleanup crew. So the Alchemist’s tip hadn’t been a ruse after all.

“Stay behind me,” I snapped at Arabella. Her palm flattened on my back, feeding me extra magic that cut through the worst of the pain. Lord Evenfall whimpered and tried to burrow into the cushions like a terrified mole.

I didn’t bother with pleasantries. My shadows tore two assassins apart in a flurry of snapping teeth. Another screamed when a warrior shredded his chest. I flung a dominion bolt at the fourth, though the bitter rose-laden air of Solandris snagged my spell. White-hot agony ripped through my ribs.

A knife hurtled toward Arabella, but she snapped up her hand, conjuring a flash of golden light that deflected the blade. Pride flared so bright I almost forgot the battle.

Within half a minute, the attackers were bloody heaps on the ornamental gravel. I released my remaining shadow warriors, and the abrupt release of power nearly sent me to my knees. Arabella pressed her hand harder to my back, trying to keep me upright.

“You’re not alright,” she whispered.

The world swayed. “I’ve been in worse shape,” I gasped. “Let’s get the fuck out.” We stumbled inside the carriage, with Evenfall huddled in the seat across from us. I banged the roof with shaking knuckles. “Drive!”

The carriage lurched forward. For her sake, I restrained myself from setting the entire manor ablaze.

68

CONFRONT YOUR PAST (BRING THREATS, NOT FORGIVENESS)

ARABELLA

Sleep hadn’t brought rest, only a restless tangle of limbs and simmering resentment. Kazimir had all but collapsed beside me after hauling my father off to the dungeons, the lingering drain from Solandris finally claiming him. He’d honored my request—no cage hanging from bare rock, merely a cell with some added “enhancements.”

The magical entanglement continued to hum between us. The pain of forced proximity had eased enough that neither of us collapsed if we stepped apart, but I still found myself reaching for him in the darkness, startled awake by the emptiness if he rolled too far away.

Kazimir was already awake when I stirred. Leaning against the headboard, he regarded me with a stare that seemed to peel back my every defense. Though a slight tightness lingered at the corners of his eyes—aftermath of overusing his magic in Solandris—he appeared more relaxed than the night before.

I pushed off the sheets and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My father had sat in a cell long enough. Now, I wanted answers. And I wanted closure.

“You’re going,” Kazimir said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” I replied, my tone clipped as I grabbed my still-dirty training leathers. Pulling them on felt almost ceremonial. “And you’re coming with me.”

The entanglement left him little choice, but I wanted him there regardless. He cracked a dry smirk. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Skyspire’s dungeons weren’t musty pits in some forgotten courtyard. They were carved into an outer isle. Cold walls absorbed the light, making it feel less like a prison and more like a void carved into the sky. This was Kazimir’s domain—efficient, cold, and unyielding. He walked beside me, one hand splayed against the small of my back.

Rows of cells lined the interior of the smaller isle, all of that same smooth obsidian. Guards in black armor watched us from behind face-covering helms. Most cells lay empty. Kazimir didn’t believe in long-term imprisonment; swift judgment or recruitment were more his style.

A jarring dissonance echoed up the corridor: some poor soul mutilating a lute while singing off-key about shadows and heartbreak. The chords made me want to rip the strings out of his hands.

“The ‘Minor Annoyance’ wing,” he explained. “For petty criminals. Your father got premium accommodations last night.”

We stopped in front of a cell. Lord Atticus Evenfall sat on a pile of straw, looking sallow and exhausted. The reek of stale sweat and regret clung to him. Next door, the hapless minstrel belted out an especially painful note.

“He’s improving,” Kazimir noted with mock cheer, tilting his head toward the musician. “He hasn’t sung the verse about my ‘brooding eyes’ in at least a day.”

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