Page 38 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

“How inconvenient for your world domination plans,” it said with a mock sigh.

I whirled to face it. “Show me proof. Ancient texts. Runic footnotes. Divine graffiti scratched into a crypt wall—anything.”

The surface of the mirror swirled, settling on an image of battered parchment streaked with nearly unreadable script.

“This source is obscure,” it admitted, “found in the ruins of the First Hero’s sanctuary. However, it states quite clearly that the union must be fully realized.”

I leaned in to examine it. “One source? This entire fiasco hinges on one fragment of an ancient text?”

“Nevertheless,” the mirror purred, “the Heirloom has done exactly nothing, despite everything else aligning perfectly. Perhaps you should reconsider your promise.”

I hissed through my teeth. My vow to Arabella might seem trivial to everyone else, but I knew the second I broke my word, any chance of her cooperation would vanish forever.

“Damn it,” I muttered, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Since when does the Dark Lord’s word outshine his lust for power?” the mirror prodded.

I stayed silent. Without her genuine involvement, the entire plan might collapse faster than I could carve another rune.

Eventually, I made myself step back from the wall, squaring my shoulders as though I could literally pull my dignity back into place. “This complicates matters.”

“Indeed,” came the mirror’s smug reply. “How will you proceed?”

My gaze shifted from the mirror to the shattered remains of my tantrum. “Carefully,” I said, turning from the broken relics. “Very carefully.”

I entered my private study about an hour after my little outburst, pretending my loss of control had never happened. Vex, Sims, Griffin, and Thorne were already inside.

Thorne quietly shut the door behind me. “I’ve doubled the guards around the tower, my lord,” he said. “In case we’re dealing with sabotage.”

I leaned against the desk with a tired sigh. “We’re not,” I said flatly. “That would be far too easy. This is something worse.”

“Shall I fetch someone from the dungeons for a sacrifice?” Sims asked, smoothing his robes as if human sacrifice were no more dramatic than a trip to the bakery.

“Tempting, but no.”

Griffin opened his mouth—likely to seek further clarification—but froze when I shot him a sharp look. He made a faint squeaking sound instead, which was marginally entertaining.

The runes under my skin prickled with annoyance. “Where’s Lady Blackrose?”

“She left the eastern tower a while ago,” Vex said, “then wandered the halls until I escorted her back to her chambers.She’s still trying to find her way around the citadel, though she won’t admit it.”

Sims cleared his throat. “My lord, have you determined what went wrong with last night’s ritual?”

I hesitated. My staff had witnessed me do monstrous things—summon shadows to tear men limb from limb, fill entire villages with unstoppable illusions, warp reality until it sang my name. Yet somehow, telling them I had promised my wife I wouldn’t force her into bed felt embarrassing.

Finally, I pushed aside my pride and said, “The Heirloom isn’t a simple relic. It demands… a more complete bond. According to the more archaic volumes, the marriage must be fully realized.”

Vex’s eyes narrowed a fraction, keying into my meaning. Sims took longer to catch on, but then he nearly toppled over before muttering, “So the union requires consummation.”

I gave him a thin smile. “Gold star for you.”

Thorne grunted in a practical, warrior-like way. “Then you know what to do, my lord. Take her to bed. Problem solved.”

Griffin’s face went taut with alarm. “But forgive me, my lord, didn’t Lady Blackrose try to kill you? She might not be… receptive.”

I directed a hard stare at him, the one I typically reserved for kings right before they signed over their kingdoms to me. Griffin swallowed visibly.

“She’s my wife,” I said. “And the details of how I handle that are none of your concern.”

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