Page 55 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

When Arabella and I entered, my odd little court had already assembled. Vex stood by the fireplace, her dark hood drawn low enough to reveal only a quick silver glint from her eyes.

Sims sat hunched over a stack of documents, wearing the perpetually constipated expression that defined him. Thorne polished his blade with the kind of tender care most men reserved for lovers. And Griffin?—

“Careful!” I called as a metal contraption clattered to the floor.

“It’s fine, perfectly fine,” he insisted, chasing the scattered gears across the floor. “Just a minor hitch, but I nearly had it worked out.”

Arabella stepped between the debris without disturbing so much as a single gear. “What are you trying to build?” she asked, her tone politely curious.

Griffin beamed as he snatched up the gears with his long fingers. “It’s a self-adjusting cartography apparatus that maps ley lines beneath any territory. Brilliant in theory... provided it doesn’t explode first.”

Vex shook her head. “No instructions, I take it?”

“Instructions stifle creativity,” Griffin said, waving a dismissive hand.

“And prevent explosions,” Sims muttered in that melodramatically dour voice of his.

I guided Arabella to the seat on my right. My advisors all noticed her transformation. Vex offered the ghost of a knowing smile, while the others reacted more like they’d seen a house cat transform into a panther.

“This feels... cozy,” Arabella noted, eyeing the round table and the warm flames.

“Were you picturing skull goblets and bone furniture?” I asked, feigning hurt.

She tilted her head. “At a minimum. Although, those might be somewhat unwieldy for daily use.”

I nodded solemnly. “We reserve the bones for special events. State visits, birthdays, the odd execution here or there.”

A servant entered with the first course, an aromatic soup steaming in carved bowls. I’d ordered the meal prepared in a style reminiscent of Solandris. A subtle manipulation, yes, but one I presumed would remain inconspicuous. There was no hiding it from Vex, of course, but she would keep her observations to herself unless it proved relevant.

“I heard you started magical training with Lord Blackrose,” Griffin said, still fiddling with gears. “How are you finding it, Lady Arabella?”

She cast me a brief, sidelong glance before answering. “I set him on fire.” Her tone was almost casual, but she wasn’t quite hiding a hint of mischief. “Apparently, I’ve got more raw power than expected.”

“Magnificent!” Griffin glowed like a kid given unlimited sweets. “Oh, the complexities of spontaneous magic! Did you notice focal color shifts, temperature anomalies?—?”

I cut him off with a warning look. “Griffin, hold off on the in-depth magical inquiries until after dinner? We have brewing border disputes that take precedence over my wife’s fireworks.”

Griffin let out a long-suffering sigh and turned to Arabella with an apologetic grin. “Of course. But if you ever want to see how your magical surges might integrate with mechanical systems?—”

Thorne cleared his throat impatiently. “We’ve got three new raid reports from the border,” he said, sparing Griffin nothing but a curt glance. “Villages hit in the last week alone.”

“The bandits again?” Arabella asked, her spoon pausing halfway to her lips.

“So it seems,” I answered, watching her intently. “Though they’re better organized than most common thugs.”

Vex’s tone brightened, and she turned toward Arabella as if she were giving cheerful news. “Lord Blackrose personally dispatched the latest groups.”

Arabella’s expression flickered—something that looked more like deep thought than horror. She set her spoon down.

“And the troublesome part,” I went on, “is the location of these raids. The villages fall into a muddled no-man’s-land between Arvoryn and Solandris.”

Griffin fumbled with his contraption again, producing a high-pitched squeal that set my teeth on edge. He twisted a gear, silencing the device with an apologetic grin.

“You mentioned Viscountess Morana,” Arabella said quietly. “Doesn’t she watch over Arvoryn?”

“Yes, but these villages traditionally belong to Solandris,” I clarified. “But there’s enough dispute that Morana lays claim as well and has pledged protection.”

A spasm of motion from Griffin’s contraption promptly died when he jostled the apparatus too hard. He cursed under his breath, turned a little valve, and then returned his attention to dinner, muttering about calibrations.

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