Page 174 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

Kazimir’s shadows erupted in rage, sharpened spikes of pure rage that shattered the stone wall behind my father’s head. The surge of his fury shook the entire room, and his eyes flashed silver. A low growl—an actual, animalistic growl—vibrated in his chest. Father leaned as far away as his shackles allowed.

Kazimir’s voice scraped across the air, roughened by an accent I’d never heard before. “Why did they suppress your wife’s magic, too?”

Father could only stammer. “She— Her family didn’t… want her drawing attention at court.”

I couldn’t stand to look at him. My breath hitched, rage tangling with grief. A lifetime of illusions, my mother’s actual death stolen from me. Every painful minute in that tower. The man who had orchestrated all of it now cowered, pinned by shadows and shaking in fear. I felt no triumph, only a yawning pit of betrayal.

“And so you offered the court your daughter instead,” Kazimir stated roughly. “Without even knowing why.”

“I offered a political alliance!” Father cried, trying to regain some footing. “One that would restore House Evenfall! Auremar was intrigued—a young bride, pure heroic blood?—”

Kazimir moved so fast I barely caught it until his hand clamped around Father’s throat. “At the cost of silencing one generation and selling the next.” Sharp black claws emerged from Kazimir’s fingertips. “They call me the villain,” he snarled. “But I have never sold my own blood.”

Father’s frantic, choking sounds filled the room. I placed a hand on Kazimir’s arm, not sure if I was stopping him or encouraging him. Part of me wanted to watch Father suffocate. The rest of me wanted to tear him limb from limb for all he’d done. But the bigger part, oddly, just felt hollow.

Kazimir let go, and Father sank forward in a coughing fit. The battered man looked up at me with something akin to dread.

“You remember the stories Mother told me,” I said softly, “about a hero who used love and compassion. She must have been so horrified by you.”

He tried to spew more invective, but it came out as a sob. Then his eyes narrowed bitterly. He glared past me at Kazimir. “Don’t pretend you’re any better! What did you want her for, Dark Lord? Her blood? Her magic? Or just a noble whore to warm your bed?” He spat weakly towards Kazimir’s feet. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

I maintained my grip on Kazimir’s arm to prevent him from unleashing more fury. “The difference, Father, is that Ichosehim.”

Kazimir’s gaze flicked to me, a glimmer in those shadow-dark eyes. He turned back to my father, his fury banked but not extinguished. “Auremar’s hubris will cost him—and you, Lord Evenfall. I’ll keep you alive for now while Lady Blackrose decides how to best deal with you. Know that her will is theonlything keeping me from tearing you limb from limb.”

The guards unlocked the shackles and yanked him upright. Father’s eyes locked on mine. “Arabella, don’t let him make you his pawn.”

I felt no flicker of sympathy. I said nothing. He’d stolen everything that should have been mine—family, memories, innocence. There was no forgiveness left.

As they dragged him away, Kazimir’s hand slipped into mine. The hum of our entangled magic flared, then steadied. I managed to stay upright, though rage and heartbreak churned through every vein. When my father disappeared around the corner, I released a shaky breath.

“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered. “The stench is making me sick.”

69

REPEL THE KNIGHTS-IN-SHINING-ARMOR (YOUR WIFE DOESN’T NEED SAVING, THANKS)

KAZIMIR

I watched Nyx spiral above us, her sleek black form slicing through the clouds and painting dark trails against the pale sky. She’d grown significantly since the day I first brought her to Skyspire, hoping to seduce my new wife. Now, she boasted a fifteen-foot wingspan and the kind of aerial precision that raised one inevitable question: just how powerful would she become once fully grown?

I let my gaze drift downward. Arabella leaned against the stable’s outer wall, the tension in her posture betraying the storm beneath her surface. She hadn’t said much since we left her father in the dungeons. Instead, she’d walked straight out to see Nyx, as though only the dragon’s presence could anchor her thoughts. Any number of pressing matters demanded my attention—troops to marshal, defenses to reinforce, a war to spark—but I remained at her side. If she needed this moment of quiet, I wouldn’t deny her. And if I was honest with myself, I wasn’t prepared to walk away from her even if the entanglement allowed it.

Something fierce shimmered behind her eyes whenever she stared into the sky, the same look I’d glimpsed when she first arrived at Skyspire, defiant and ready to carve her own path. Even in stillness, she looked coiled tight enough to shatter steel with her bare hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked carefully. My voice came out a bit harsher than intended, reflecting the tangle of regret and protectiveness inside me.

She shook her head, not turning around. “Not yet,” she said quietly. “I’m not ready.”

I understood all too well. On more than one occasion, I would’ve done the same: swallow your rage until you find the right moment to aim it. Still, if Arabella asked me to rip off a dungeon door and hand her a sword, I would have complied.

My eyes narrowed when I spotted dark bruises around her wrists. A spark of anger lit in my gut. I reached out and took her hand gently, tilting it to study the discolored flesh.

“What happened?” I managed, my tone low with forced calm.

She hesitated. “It’s nothing.”

“Arabella,” I pressed, voice dropping further, “those are finger marks.”

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