Page 54 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

Her eyebrows shot upward. “A gift?”

I let the silence spool out for a moment, enjoying her faint hint of curiosity. “Training leathers,” I clarified, extending the bundle. “It occurred to me that since you keep turning my shirts into ashes, you might want something durable—and flame-resistant—for yourself.”

She hesitated, then reached out. The moment her fingertips brushed the supple leather, I spotted the tiniest flicker of delight in her eyes. Strange how that small flash made my chest tighten… though I needed to keep that tidbit under lockdown.

I cleared my throat. “They’re enchanted to resist fire and lessen impact.”

She swallowed, expression growing thoughtful. “I... Well, I’ve never worn anything like this before.”

I waited, giving her space to elaborate if she wished.

“My father always insisted on dresses,” she said finally. “Even when riding, he’d demand I sit sidesaddle.”

“Your father sounds like a world-class prick,” I said with perfect sincerity.

A short laugh escaped her, too abrupt to be entirely forced. “Yes,” she agreed. “He is.”

I tapped the leather. “Tonight’s dinner is private—just my advisors. Informal enough. You can wear these if you want.”

She gave me a little smirk. “Right… while you plot the realm’s downfall between one course and the next?”

“Don’t forget the part where we debate infrastructure,” I said. “Now, try them on.”

She narrowed her eyes, searching for a trap. I did love that look on her. But for once, I just stepped back, crossing my arms as if bored. “I’ll step out if you prefer.”

Arabella blinked, probably not expecting me to give her an ounce of privacy. That was precisely why I offered it. If Vex’s talk of “courtship” had taught me anything, it was to keep her guessing.

After slipping outside the door, I propped a shoulder against the cold stone wall and tried not to dwell on how surprising it felt to be… considerate. It wasn’t that I was turning into a hero. I simply enjoyed messing with my wife’s expectations. That was it. Definitely no stirring, inconvenient warmth in my chest at the idea that I might actually please her with this. No, absolutely not.

Finally, she emerged. My pulse stuttered. The midnight-blue leather hugged her curves, making her look more feminine and more dangerous all at once. My personal black rose crest—stitched in dark thread—adorned the collar and the subtle detailing along her back. Coupled with her boots, she looked every inch the formidable Lady Blackrose I’d envisioned. Actually, she looked better than anything I’d dared to picture, and I felt an uncoiling heat in my gut that I refused to let show in my expression.

“Well?” she asked, rotating just a fraction, as though both proud and self-conscious. The interplay of her golden hair against the dark leather sent a satisfying jolt through me.

I nodded. “They fit perfectly,” I managed. “The enchantments will align with your magic when you need them.”

She ran her hands down the jacket, almost… shy? A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “They feel strong.”

“They suit you,” I said lower, meeting her gaze. The corridor felt charged with the tension that had become familiar—andmaddening—between us. I found myself picturing her in that gear, hurling spells at me, grinning wickedly.

Arabella glanced away first, forcing a half-laugh. “I suppose it’s strange to wear these at dinner.”

I lifted a brow. “You are Lady Blackrose. If anyone disagrees, you can set them on fire.”

A flicker of relief crossed her eyes so quickly, I almost missed it. She likely expected criticism if she strayed from standard noble dinner attire. She’d yet to realize I didn’t care for anyone else’s standards. I was the standard.

With that, we walked side-by-side down the stairs, the stone echoing with our footsteps. I couldn’t decide which was more intoxicating: the flicker of gratitude she tried to hide or the subtle way her presence made my blood hum.

It made me wonder if she found this pull between us equally addictive.

I smothered that particular curiosity before it could grow legs. After all, analyzing feelings was dangerously close to having them. The Dark Lord didn’twonderif his bride found him attractive; he made damn sure of it, preferably while keeping his own inconvenient reactions to himself.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Arabella said finally, her voice softer than usual. Then, as if catching herself, she added, “Though I’m sure you had some nefarious purpose behind it.”

I paused to let my gaze sweep pointedly over her curves. “I assure you,” I said in a low murmur, “every purpose I have is nefarious. But I’ll let you unravel the rest of my intentions at your leisure, Lady Blackrose.”

I gestured to the dining room doors and gave her a mock bow. “After you.”

The private dining chamber lacked the ostentatious trappings people usually expected from a Dark Lord. There were no gilded chandeliers dripping with crystallized tears, no tapestries depicting the exact moment hope left my enemies’ eyes. Instead, it was simply a comfortable room with a roaring fire and a round table that could seat six.

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