Page 62 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

Lord Evenfall’s elegant script stared back at me from the parchment, all pretentious flourishes with none of the substance.

Lord Blackrose,

While I understand that the whims of villains are beyond the comprehension of civilized men, I must insist upon appropriate compensation for the theft of my daughter. Lady Arabella’s value to our household extends beyond mere sentiment. Her bloodline and magical aptitude represent significant political currency in the current climate.

I demand reparations of no less than fifty thousand gold crowns, to be delivered within a fortnight. Additionally, I expect the return of Lady Arabella by month’s end, as her absence has created inconvenient complications with previously arranged negotiations.

Should these reasonable terms prove unacceptable, I shall be forced to pursue more aggressive avenues of resolution.

With all due consideration,

Lord Atticus Evenfall

I crushed the edge of the parchment. Not a single question about Arabella’s well-being. Just a neat price tag and a threat. The veins in my temple throbbed with the urge to destroy something. I’d known her father was a callous bastard, but seeing it spelled out so blatantly made it all the more infuriating.

Behind me, Arabella spoke up in a quiet but sharp voice. “Well?”

I turned, noticing how she leaned against the corridor wall, breathing heavier than usual after our training session. Her face was pale but defiant, a combination that tested my composure in ways I didn’t appreciate.

I handed her the letter.

Arabella’s gaze flickered across the page, her face hardening into a mask so practiced I almost missed the slight tightening around her eyes.

“Fifty thousand gold crowns,” she said distantly. “That’s what I’m worth to him. That, and whatever ‘previously arranged negotiations’ he’s worried about.”

The messenger beside us coughed nervously, sensing the gathering storm. My first instinct was to send him back with a severed head as my formal response. But a disconcerting thought about whether Arabella might actually know Evenfall’s courier—like him, or gods forbid, care about him—stopped me. Apparently, I’d developed a streak of sentimentality.

I jerked my head in silent dismissal. The messenger boy bolted.

I turned back to Arabella, who was still staring at the letter. “No mention of my safety, or whether I’ve been tortured or killed. Just the money.”

“He didn’t even pretend to be concerned. Only demands and deadlines.”

“I’m not surprised. This is exactly who he is.” She pushed off the wall, forcing her chin high as she handed the letter back tome. Pride radiated from her, even when she looked about ready to collapse.

I offered a tight nod. “He’s a man who’d trade his own daughter for a handful of coins and call it diplomacy.”

Her lips twitched in a mirthless smile. “If you think this is insulting, you’ve never faced him in person. This is mild by his standards.”

The way her voice quavered at the edges told me that behind those barbed words lay a deep, old hurt. Despite myself, I felt a surge of anger so fierce it made the torchlight dance along the walls. Perhaps it was because I, too, had been used as a bargaining chip in my parents’ twisted schemes. Or maybe I simply hated the idea of someone else—anyone else—treating Arabella the wayIdid. Disrespecting her was my territory.

She sagged a little against the wall. I stepped forward instinctively, but she waved me off. “I’m fine.”

I recognized stubbornness well. I lived by it. “You need rest,” I said, not bothering to mask it as a suggestion.

“What Ineed,” she retorted, “is to not be treated like a commodity to be bartered between powerful men.”

I gave a pointed shrug. “For once, we agree.” I suspected my next words might sound contradictory, given I’d forced her into marriage for my own ends, but I said them anyway. “I have no intention of returning you.”

She looked up, eyes narrowing. “Because I’m more valuable to you here, right?”

“Yes. But I also gave you my word when I said your father would never touch you again, and I intend to keep it.”

I had no illusions about my own hypocrisy. Yes, she was critical to the Heirloom’s activation, but there was something else that made me bristle at the thought of giving her away.

Arabella drew in a sharp breath. “My father’s always playing a deeper game. I wonder who these ‘previously arranged negotiations’ are about.”

“He said he’d resort to ‘aggressive avenues’ if I refuse,” I said, the words coated in derision. “My fortress is more than a match for his meager resources.”

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