Page 9 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

“And we’re currently... where?”

“The Skyspire Citadel.” She turned up a spiral staircase leading into a tower.

I bit off a groan. My body already throbbed from my earlier attempts at magic and the day’s chaos. By the time we stopped on a landing, my calves burned. Vex remained stoic, barely winded.

She led me to an impressive door of iron and dark wood, produced a key, and swung it open. Beyond lay a suite far more opulent than I had expected. Maybe I’d anticipated a dank cell or a windowless chamber, something more in line with Kazimir’s grim reputation. Instead, I stood in a circular room filled with lavish furniture, plush rugs, and a grand four-poster bed draped in burgundy silk.

My gaze snagged on the black roses. Vases brimming with them adorned nearly every surface. “Are those real?” I asked, stepping closer to one vivid cluster.

“Griffin’s pride and joy,” Vex answered with the faintest exasperation.

I reached out to brush a petal, only to jerk back at a sudden sting. A bead of blood welled up on my fingertip, and the flower’s petals appeared to shiver in response.

“They bite,” Vex warned me belatedly.

I sucked the drop of blood away and glowered at the malicious roses. “How... charming.”

“Griffin has enthusiastic notions about décor,” she remarked. “He thinks the future Dark Lady should be surrounded by intimidating symbols.”

I nearly laughed at the absurdity. “Should I start practicing my villainous cackle, or is there an orientation handbook?”

Vex crossed the room to open a second door. “The bathing chamber is through here. You’ll find fresh clothing waiting for you.” She turned to leave.

“My people,” I said, “what happened to them?”

Vex’s posture stiffened before she answered. “Your maid is home. Your guards and driver are too. Safe or not—that’s beyond my knowledge.”

Relief mingled with a stab of guilt that I couldn’t protect Agnes from whatever rumors would surely spread. At least she was free from this citadel.

Vex gestured at the main door. “I wouldn’t try to leave before Lord Blackrose arrives to set the wards. The stairs have protections. If you try them without permission, you’ll discover their defenses the hard way.”

“Wait,” I called as she made for the corridor. “Who are you?”

She paused, her expression unsettling in its perfect composure. “I’m the Steward of Skyspire.” Then she slipped into the hall and turned the key in the lock behind her.

Steward of Skyspire, I mused drily, finding the title painfully inadequate for the woman who’d manhandled me up endless flights of stairs with the efficiency of a seasoned soldier. Definitely more than just Kazimir’s glorified assistant.

I went to the nearest tall window, half expecting to see a courtyard or walls. Instead, I found whirling storm cloudsbelowme. The fortress hovered in midair, tethered to nothing but jagged rocks floating in the same swirling darkness. Occasionally, streaks of violet lightning illuminated other shards suspended in the storm. At least one of the rumors about the Dark Lord was true.

“Well,” I muttered, “that complicates things.”

I tore my gaze away and wandered deeper into my gilded prison. The bathing chamber was pure indulgence: a huge sunken tub, brass fixtures, and an array of soaps that smelled of lavender and spice. The dressing chamber next to it brimmed with dresses in rich jewel tones, nightgowns trimmed in delicate lace, and even some riding attire. All in my size. All far more extravagant than anything I owned back home.

Exhaustion dragged at my limbs, so I stripped and sank into the tub. The hot water was an undeniable comfort, but as I scrubbed away the grime of the day, the deeper worry settled in my mind.

Why me?

Kazimir Blackrose had chosen the daughter of a financially ruined noble house. Our estate was nearly worthless. My father’s favor was a joke among the gentry. But there was one thing in my family that still held value?—

My mother’s bloodline, traced back to the First Hero.

It was the only thing that made me valuable to someone like Kazimir Blackrose. But what could he want with heroic blood? I didn’t like the answers my mind supplied. Dread pooled in my stomach as I imagined vile rites, forced heirs warped by dark magic, or arcane bargains where my veins would be drained to fuel some monstrosity.

I let myself shiver at the thought instead of trying to banish it. Information was power, after all. Now that I knew Kazimir needed more than just my compliance, I could attempt to negotiate. If I held any leverage at all, it was that special lineage he required.

When I finished bathing, I selected a simple forest-green gown from the wardrobe. It slid over my skin as if tailored precisely to my measurements. I left my hair loose to dry in waves, then returned to the main room.

A timid knock drew me to the door. A young man—he couldn’t have been older than sixteen—stood there balancing a tray piled with food.

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