Page 188 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” I admitted. “Was their warning about your father a genuine attempt to elicit a favor, or a calculated move to draw us away from Skyspire at a critical moment?”

Arabella’s expression darkened. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone, especially not someone from the Syndicate.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed. “And debts to the Alchemist have a way of coming due at the most inconvenient times. We’ll need to be prepared when they call it in.”

Vex was waiting for us on the other side of the lightning bridge, her expression grim. “Morana?”

“Gone,” I replied. “Edmund, however, won’t be a problem any longer.”

Vex’s eyes flicked to Arabella, noting something in her posture or expression that gave away her role in Edmund’s demise. “I see,” she said simply. “And what of Auremar’s forces?”

“Retreated back through the pass,” I said. “The Guild’s failure at Skyspire has forced him to reconsider his strategy. It buys us time, but not much.”

Vex’s expression shifted slightly. “And the Heirloom?”

I exchanged a glance with Arabella. Vex didn’t know where it was, only that it was safe. “Waiting for us to take full control.”

“You think it’s ready?” my wife asked.

“I think we’re ready,” I corrected. “The Lifeweave ritual repaired the damage, and our bond has only strengthened since then. It’s time to wield its power.”

Vex looked between us, her expression carefully neutral. “And then what?”

“Then it won’t matter what Auremar or anyone else is plotting,” I said with grim satisfaction.

77

HARNESS ULTIMATE POWER (UNEXPLAINED VOICES ARE PROBABLY NOTHING)

KAZIMIR

The Heirloom pulsed on its makeshift pedestal—a dull, rhythmic glow that grazed my senses like the slow pound of battle drums. I’d chosen this cramped, mostly forgotten antechamber in our tower to hide the circlet until Arabella and I were ready. Now, though, its power flooded the space with dancing gold light and shadow, the two energies swirling together in an almost sentient conversation.

I circled the pedestal, trying to ignore the slow churn of dread and excitement in my chest. “It’s stronger than it’s ever been,” I murmured. Dust motes trembled in the artifact’s glow. “The resonance changed again after the Lifeweave.”

Arabella lingered near the door, arms locked tight around herself. Her shoulders looked tense enough to snap. “Are you sure,” she asked quietly, “that pushing straight into another ritual is a good idea? Especially after all of this?”

I stopped my prowl and faced her. The flickering light carved stark angles into her face, creating hollows beneath her cheekbones. She didn’t look simply cautious—she looked haunted in a way I rarely saw, even in her darkest moods.

“Having second thoughts, Lady Blackrose?” I tried for a light tone. “Or have I worn you out with our more physical activities?”

A faint pink flush warmed her collarbone, and I felt a familiar surge of satisfaction at stirring her. Yet her eyes stayed on the circlet, shadowed with worry. “No jokes, Kazimir. Something about the Heirloom feels off this time.”

She wasn’t wrong. I could feel the difference too. After the Lifeweave ritual, she and I had linked ourselves so tightly to the crown that its energy had practically become an extension of our souls. But hearing her admit she felt that ominous shift made my pulse spike in a way I loathed to show.

I stepped closer. When I took her hands, they were cold. “We’ve survived a siege, a spy, your father’s manipulations, and that fiasco at Morana’s estate—naturally, you might be on edge.”

She lifted her gaze to mine, searching my face for a moment. “You’re not? You look like it’s all just a standard Tuesday of villainy.”

I tried for a dismissive grin. “Let’s just say chaos is my default setting. Maybe you’ll learn to enjoy the adrenaline rush.”

Her answering attempt at a smile was small and fleeting. “What does that make me, if I’m enjoying it?” she asked, voice hushed.

“My queen,” I said simply, raising one of her hands to my lips. “My co-conspirator in all forthcoming war crimes.”

She didn’t smile this time. Concern pooled in her eyes, a tension I recognized far too well. “Kaz,” she repeated, more insistently, “I’m serious. Something?—”

“I know,” I cut in, lowering our hands. “So am I. But we can’t avoid it forever—the Heirloom is ready, and waiting only makes it more dangerous. This is what we’ve built everything toward.”

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