Page 68 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

We arrived at Arvoryn Manor about an hour later. Unlike my citadel, it was all sharp angles and fortress walls rooted in the mountainside—functional and intimidating. Arabella pulled her shoulders back.

“Nervous?” I couldn’t resist asking.

She squared her jaw. “I’m not afraid of Morana.”

“Good.” I nodded toward the gates. “Because here she comes, and she’s wearing her stabbing corset.”

Morana marched out to greet us, clad in practical black leathers that showed zero interest in subtlety. Two gleaming daggers hung at her hips. Her husband, Edmund, scurried in her wake, wide-eyed as usual.

“Kazimir,” Morana greeted me. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

“Morana,” I replied, dismounting. Then I turned to help Arabella, only to find her already sliding neatly from the saddle. Morana’s sharp gaze landed on Arabella, and I didn’t miss the way her mouth tightened at the sight of my wife in those leathers, which made her look distinctly more forbidding than she had at the wedding.

“Lady Blackrose,” Morana said, voice measured. “Welcome to Arvoryn Manor.”

Arabella gave a curtsy that managed to appear both graceful and defiant, which was quite a feat. “Viscountess. Thank you for hosting us.”

Morana narrowed her eyes but forced a smile. “Lunch awaits. Follow me, and we’ll see about getting you settled first.”

I leaned in toward Arabella, dropping my voice so no one else would hear. “Don’t eat or drink anything until I say it’s safe.” Then we trailed after Morana and her entourage. It would be a very interesting day indeed.

29

HOLD HANDS AND TWIST ARMS (ROMANCE BY WAY OF BORDER PATROLS)

ARABELLA

I tried not to stare at the mounted heads glaring down at me from every inch of the manor’s dining room. A three-headed serpent loomed above Morana’s seat, its unblinking glass eyes seeming to track my every move. I swallowed back a shiver, and channeled my best impression of polite curiosity.

“An interesting collection,” I said, inclining my head toward the walls. “Did you hunt all of these yourself?”

Viscountess Morana returned a thin, chilly smile. “Most of them. Edmund managed the chimera—though, of course, he needed help.” She flicked a dismissive glance toward her husband, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Lord Edmund was the soft polar opposite to his wife’s lethal elegance. Where Morana seemed carved from knives, Edmund appeared to be a bundle of nerves stuffed into noble attire. He hadn’t once met my eyes since we arrived. A pang of something—empathy, perhaps—stirred beneath my frustration.

“Lord Edmund,” I greeted. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He jumped, fiddling with a spoon the way others might clutch a lifeline. “Lady Blackrose,” he said, voice squeaking. “We, ah, rarely host visitors these days.”

Before I could respond, servants brought out platters of roasted meats and vegetables. Kazimir made a quick gesture over the table, and magic rippled across the dishes, illuminating two goblets—his and mine—in a brief blue shimmer.

Morana rolled her eyes. “Really, Kazimir? You think I’d poison my own guests?”

Although she tried to keep her posture relaxed, Morana leaned forward in a subtly provocative arc, her bodice all but inviting Kazimir’s attention. I reminded myself I had no reason to care. Still, I was sitting right beside my husband. The way she watched him sparked a heated annoyance in me I couldn’t fully bury.

I reached for my wine. It was apparently safe now, but that didn’t dampen my caution when I took a small sip. “The vintage is superb,” I offered, cutting through the quiet. “Your vineyards, Viscountess?”

Morana collected herself, her focus snapping away from Kazimir. “Yes. The southern slopes produce a particularly robust red.”

Edmund perked up a little. “You know wines, Lady Blackrose?”

I gave him a polite smile. “Father insisted. He believed a proper lady must select the right wine for any occasion.”

“And what sort of occasion is this?” Morana asked, tone barbed.

I let my gaze sweep around the table. “Hopefully, the sort where everyone leaves alive.”

Kazimir’s knee bumped mine under the table, a silent tap of approval that I allowed. “My wife has a refreshing directness, doesn’t she?” he drawled.

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