Page 50 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

Anger coiled up my spine.Solandris again.“Very well. I’ll handle it immediately.”

He bowed, casting a wary glance at Arabella before hurrying off. She stared after him, then turned to me, eyes filled with curiosity. “Bandits?”

“Nothing too dire,” I lied. “But I need to see them crushed.”

Her posture shifted. “You’ll go personally?”

“I usually do, when warranted,” I said, letting steel bleed into my voice. “I doubt it’ll take long.”

She hesitated a beat before saying, “Don’t get yourself killed, kidnapper. You owe me the rest of that ‘grand tour.’”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Death doesn’t suit me. I’ll be back soon… with new horrors to show you.” I brushed my fingertips lightly against her hand, feeling that stubborn spark again, before pivoting away.

The citadel demanded my unwavering attention. So did Arabella, in a way that unsettled me more than any bandit threat. But for now, I’d handle the day’s crisis, and hope no brand-new disasters awaited me upon returning.

No rest for the wicked—or for a villain hopelessly intrigued by his troublesome bride.

23

SAVE VILLAGES, STEAL LOYALTY (AND OTHER ACTS OF ACCIDENTAL HEROISM)

KAZIMIR

I sank my blade into the bandit’s chest, savoring the resistance of muscle and bone before the inevitable give. His eyes went wide, as though death was an unexpected plot twist in his chosen career path. Blood bubbled at his lips before he slid free of my sword, collapsing into the mud alongside his unfortunate companions.

“Mercy,” rasped the last survivor. A burly brute with a battered face and a broken arm, he squinted through a gash that nearly took out his right eye. “Please, m’lord.”

I crouched to press my blade against his throat. In the hush that followed, I heard only the ragged sobs of villagers hidden in their homes. The air stank of fear, smoke, and fresh blood.

“Mercy,” I repeated thoughtfully.Did we cover that in Villainy 101? I think I was absent that day.

“We were just…” the bandit babbled. “Following rumors. Trying to make a living.”

I pressed the steel deeper, cutting a shallow line. “On whose orders?”

“N-no one specifically... just h-heard these villages were easy targets. No soldiers, no protection.”

“Where did you hear that?”

He hesitated, pupil flickering with the impulse to lie. I angled the sword. His breath caught. “The truth buys you a quick death,” I said softly. “Lies end in a far messier one.”

“A man—fancy Solandrian accent, paid us in gold. He claimed these settlements had no guard. I swear that’s all I know!”

I believed him. Standing, I regarded the bandit with deliberate calm.

“You promised m-mercy,” he stammered.

“I promised nothing,” I corrected. “But I am efficient.”

With a single fluid motion, I separated his head from his shoulders. Quick, clean, final. I felt a stirring of triumph, the runes carved into my bones heating beneath my skin. This sort of fieldwork always brought a rush—raw proof that my dominion magic and steel did more than feed nightmares.

It was also excellent exercise. I wondered, fleetingly, if Arabella might appreciate how I looked after a bloody scuffle—sweat clinging to my skin, the metallic tang of violence in the air. Or would she be repulsed by the sight, that flash of disgust snuffing out any spark of attraction? Hard to say with her.

Thorne strode up, his broad shoulders spattered in gore. “That’s the last of them. Twenty-three total.”

“Any casualties on our side?”

“Minor wounds. Nothing to fret over.”

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