Page 77 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

“Thank you,” I managed, looking him in the eye. “I never thought…”

He shifted his weight. “It’s only natural you have an impressive mount. Part of the villainess starter kit, if you will.”

“Is that covered in your personal handbook?” I teased.

“A whole chapter,” he deadpanned.

Nyx snuffled at my shoulder, her impatience booming through our tenuous new bond. “She’s starving,” I said.

Kazimir nodded. “They’ve prepared a meal for her in the stables on Menagerie Island. Let me show you.”

We started across the courtyard, stepping over cracks in the stones that the fortress’s wards had fused long ago. I glanced at him. “Shadow dragons can slip through realms, right? If she grows big enough, she could carry me away. Past your wards. Past you.”

He held my gaze. “She won’t be large enough to carry you for a year at least. And then yes, you could leave.”

I studied his expression. “That’s a hell of a gamble.”

He tried for a cocky grin. “I imagine you’d appreciate some freedom eventually, if you wanted it.”

Something inside me twisted. The simplest possibility for bringing me such a gift was that he needed me to remain compliant. And yet, the look on his face said there might be more to it than a tactical bribe.

Nyx butted my side, projecting a hungry whine that fluttered in my mind with pictures of raw meat. “All right,” I said, offering her a scratch. “Dinner’s coming.”

Kazimir gestured toward the walkway, and we crossed over toward the stable area. But I paused before we reached the volatile lightning bridge. “You know, it’s strange—someone like you, giving a gift that literally hands me a way out. Almost like... trust.”

“Don’t read too deeply into it,” he said, but the façade of arrogance wavered.

I curled my fingers lightly around his forearm for just a moment. “She’s the most incredible present I’ve ever received,” I said. “Truly.”

He dipped his gaze, then gave a playful grin. “All right, don’t get sappy. We villains prefer ominous declarations and chaos.”

We crossed the bridge to the stables, where an attendant was already gaping at Nyx. Kazimir launched into a lecture aboutkeeping the dragon from demolishing the walls, directed mostly at the attendant, and maybe a little at me. I feigned attention while trying to figure out the contradictions of a man who would force me to marry him, then present me with an escape plan.

Nyx stretched and flexed her claws impatiently like a cat. Kazimir sighed at the fresh gouges in the stone, while I stifled a laugh. “Yes,” I said, “feeding time. Let’s get to it.”

33

GOLF WITH THE EYEBALLS OF YOUR ENEMIES (BONDING THROUGH SADISM)

KAZIMIR

The wind whipped around me as I stood at the edge of the western parapet, my grip so tight on the club that the leather handle creaked.

Six weeks. Six fucking weeks of lying beside Arabella every night with nothing but fabric and feathers between us. Six weeks of waking hard and aching, forced to slip away before she noticed the effect she had on me. I wanted her beneath me, above me, against every surface of my fortress. Yet every night, I honored our agreement like some honorable knight from a fairy tale.

The restraint was costing me—nights spent pacing the study rather than returning to our chambers, cold baths at ungodly hours, and the maddening awareness that she wanted me, as well, but was too stubborn to give in.

Behind me, Sims cleared his throat with practiced politeness. “Your turn, my lord,” he said, and I detected the faintest thread of impatience in his tone.

I didn’t bother looking at him. Instead, I swung my club a few times with slow deliberation, measuring the angle. In frontof me, perched on a little wooden tee, was a fresh eyeball from yesterday’s would-be assassin. Viscera still clung to it. It was repulsive—and utterly fitting for my mood.

“Anytime before the next solstice, perhaps,” Griffin muttered. He was loud enough to be heard, quiet enough that he was clearly testing my patience.

Shadows curled at my fingertips. I whirled. “Griffin, if you’d prefer a field trip to the dungeons, I can arrange that. I’m told the rats are feeling peckish.”

He paled, dipping his head. We’d sent three servants down there this week for trifling offenses. The rest of the staff had smartly adopted a strategy of cowering and tiptoeing. “Apologies, my lord,” Griffin said. “I’m simply... eager to see your legendary skill.”

I turned back to the eyeball, satisfied by his contrite tone. “Then watch,” I said.

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