Page 21 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

The cleric raised his arms, and Kazimir’s shadows slithered across our wrists, binding us like ribbons before sinking into our skin in a cold, thrilling rush. It wasn’t painful, but it left a tingling pressure near my heart that didn’t fade right away.

“In accordance with ancient tradition,” the cleric proclaimed, “if any here object to this union, speak now and be immediately executed for treason.”

A startled laugh nearly escaped me—so refreshing, this blatant threat. The crowd remained tactfully silent.

“By the power vested in me by the ancient gods of chaos and order,” the cleric said, “I declare this unholy union sealed. And now, seal this bond… with the traditional conquest of lips!”

Conquest of?—

I froze. We hadn’t negotiated this minor detail. My eyes flicked to Kazimir, whose posture was rigid. Neither of us made the first move. Emotions churned inside me—part indignation, part burning curiosity.

From the back, Griffin’s voice rang out a bit too cheerfully, “Kiss her, my lord, or we’ll think you’ve gone soft!”

Several guests snickered nervously. Kazimir’s shadows darkened, and I heard Griffin yelp. Finally, Kazimir turned to face me, raising his hand to my jaw.

“My apologies,” he murmured, lips so close I could feel his breath, “for what comes next.”

He kissed me.

I expected a brief, formal peck. Instead, his mouth fit against mine with a devastating heat.Not bruising, not demanding, but thoroughly, unmistakably possessive. Warmth jolted through me from my lips to my toes, sparked by something more than just the physical contact. I tasted that same smoky intensity from the wine, mingled with his unmistakable magic. From Kazimir’s slight hitch of breath, I knew he’d felt it too.

It was over in seconds, yet somehow it rearranged my breathing. He stepped back, eyes dark with something raw that jagged the edges of his composure. Then he schooled his features and turned to the crowd as though nothing seismic had just passed between us.

The cleric lifted his arms. “I present to you Lord and Lady Blackrose! May their enemies tremble and their alliance bring glorious destruction!”

The hall erupted in raucous cheers. I managed to keep my chin high, though my pulse was still skittering from that kiss.

At this point, Kazimir’s enchanters and mages rapidly transformed the hall for the post-ceremony feast. Chairs scraped across the floor, and long banquet tables sprouted where there had been none, as if grown from the stone. Servants hurried in behind, bearing platters of steaming dishes, setting everything in place with flawless, magical coordination.

Kazimir offered me his arm as the room morphed around us. Reluctantly, I took it, aware of the watchful eyes from every corner.

“You played your role well,” he said under his breath, guiding me into the new banquet space.

“And what role do I play next?” I murmured back, feigning a polite smile for the ever-curious onlookers.

“The devoted bride, of course.”

The newly conjured feast sprawled before us, an uncanny mix of lavish dishes, some easily recognizable and others unsettlingly alive or glowing. Creatures, nobles, and more monstrous guests raised their glasses in salute. Kazimir held up our joined hands.

“To new beginnings,” he announced.

They echoed his words, draining their goblets. As we wove through the tables, he leaned closer, his grip tightening.

“Any one of these creatures might be a future ally,” he murmured, “or a future enemy. Sometimes both. Keep your guard up, Lady Blackrose.”

I kept my expression calm, even as the ring of molten bone on my finger seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own. “Yes,” I murmured, “that seems wise.”

10

FEAST WITH YOUR ENEMIES (AND CALL THEM FRIENDS)

KAZIMIR

Glasses clinked across the Great Hall. Magic buzzed in the air. My wedding feast simmered with false merriment, every courtier desperate to outshine the others with displays of power, so long as they didn’t accidentally vaporize the person next to them.

I scowled into my goblet while Arabella sat beside me, the picture of a perfect bride. Courtiers showered her with hollow praise. Bored, I entertained myself with a mental count of how many I could kill before it became diplomatically awkward. Only the true monsters in my retinue—the shadow wraiths drifting by the rafters, the nightmare specters sipping from crystal flutes—seemed genuinely curious about my new wife.

Meanwhile, Arabella wasalarminglygood at this.

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