Page 57 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

Griffin’s contraption suddenly whined again, and he twisted a gear to silence it. A faint beam of light shot directly into Sims’s eye, provoking a stream of curses from him.

“Minor calibration problem,” Griffin offered lamely. Then, to everyone’s surprise, the machine whirred softly and projected a three-dimensional map of glowing lines above the table.

Arabella’s eyes widened. “What is that?”

“The ley lines,” I said. “Specifically, those running beneath Solandris. This power is what sustains Auremar’s precious roses, and what currently makes it difficult for me to infiltrate his lands.”

Her gaze turned from the projected light back to me. “So that’s why you can’t just storm in. The combination of rose essence and the ley lines resists your dominion magic.”

“Indeed.” My voice felt tight. I was rarely so transparent with anyone, but she deserved this small glimpse if I wanted her fully on my side.

The contraption sputtered, then sparked. Griffin groaned in frustration and snatched a goblet of water, dousing it with minimal ceremony. A hiss of steam rolled into the air.

Dessert arrived—Solandrian pastries stuffed with a sweet berry compote. While we ate, Arabella stayed uncharacteristically quiet.

“I’m trying to reconcile King Auremar as you describe him with the man I saw years ago,” she said eventually. “He always seemed the epitome of goodness.”

I studied her carefully. “Have you met him, personally?”

“A few times, though I had only one real audience.” Something in her voice hardened. “My father tried to get me placed in the royal court as a healing prodigy. The king politely declined.”

That bitterness in her eyes was fleeting but potent. It told me more about Auremar’s supposed benevolence than any rumor could.

Griffin’s contraption sparked again, drawing all eyes as a puff of black smoke wafted up. He scrambled to salvage the pieces, muttering frantic apologies.

Arabella turned to me. “One thing still bothers me. Why do you protect these outlying villages at all? You don’t rule them.”

I allowed a slow, dark smile. “Many reasons. One is ensuring their gratitude, which often proves more durable than forced tribute, and makes them happy to have my garrisons nearby. Another is sabotaging Auremar’s reputation. And, well, I like to irritate him.”

She took that in, then muttered, “Practical villainy at its finest.”

“I try.” I set down my utensils and signaled the servant to clear the plates. “Which brings us to our next matter: Viscountess Morana invited us to Arvoryn Pass.”

Arabella’s eyes narrowed. “Us?”

“She specifically requested you,” I said, relishing the slight annoyance that flashed across her face. “And if you go, it flaunts our marriage in her courtyard and undermines her expectations that this union is a temporary arrangement.”

“She did nothing but glower at me during our wedding,” Arabella pointed out.

Thorne snorted. “She looked like she wanted to carve you up with a butter knife.”

Vex let out a sardonic laugh. “Her brawl with the Syndicate that night also left her guard dead, which complicates things. Three letters from the Syndicate in one week, each more threatening than the last.”

Sims shuffled his documents. “The Syndicate demands compensation for the injuries to their representative. Meanwhile, Morana claims her guard was murdered under mysterious circumstances.”

“Convenient that nobody can pin it on any single party,” Thorne added. “Might’ve been the Syndicate or Morana herself.”

I dismissed it all with a wave. “We’ll handle that in Arvoryn. And remind her that attacking Syndicate affiliates leads to problems I’d rather not address.”

Arabella observed me for a moment. “So I’m basically an accessory to piss her off and demonstrate solidarity.”

“An accessory with insight,” I corrected, letting my shadows flicker playfully. “And you’ll see for yourself what Solandris has turned into. Arvoryn sits exactly on the border—close enough to glean plenty of revelations.”

“I doubt the Viscountess requested me for my charming company.”

“You needn’t worry,” I assured her. “The Viscountess knows better than to harm what belongs to me.”

Arabella’s eyes flashed. “I don’tbelongto anyone.”

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