Page 20 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating
I blinked. “He personally oversaw the designs?”
Griffin bobbed his head. “Rejected three. The first was too revealing, the second too… traditional. The third one caught fire before we got his specific notes.”
I gripped Griffin’s scorched sleeve. “Does he always burn things when he’s angry?”
“Only things he can replace,” Griffin said, forcing a smile. “I’m… indispensable, or so I hope.”
Vex cleared her throat pointedly. “We’re late, Griffin.”
He stepped aside, and at a nod from Vex, two guards pulled the doors open, revealing the Great Hall.
I stepped into a spectacle of roses, candles, and eerie light. Black roses crawled up columns and draped across the ceiling, their metallic petals reflecting the flicker of countless black candles with cold, otherworldly flames. Through the towering windows, a blood-gold sunset slashed across distant storm clouds.
The hall flickered with life. Some guests looked human, others… not. I saw a pair of unnervingly beautiful vampires who stood too still to pass for mortal, a cluster of fae nobles whoseperfect features were offset by their chilling, hollow stares, and even a few delegates with horns and charcoal-gray skin.
Kazimir Blackrose waited on the dais. He wore a black velvet coat with silver embroidery mirroring the style of my gown, high-collared and refined. His hair was swept back, and his storm-gray eyes locked onto mine the instant I stepped inside. Energy seemed to crackle in the space between us.
Vex leaned in to whisper, “Last chance to run.”
I breathed out slowly. “And miss the chance to horrify all these fine people?”
She gave a curt nod and moved to stand among the other advisors. A low, throbbing music began. Not something melodic, but more like a vibration that sank into my bones. The crowd parted, leaving a wide aisle leading to the dais.
I strode forward, summoning every ounce of poise I’d once learned to impress highborn suitors. Chin up, steps steady, gaze forward. I wasn’t doing this as a trembling bride. No, I was here on my own twisted terms.
Kazimir watched me approach, his expression taut. Behind him, shadows flickered at his feet, writhing for a split second before he quelled them. When I reached the dais, I could feel waves of controlled tension rolling off him.
He inclined his head. “Lady Evenfall,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I heard him. “You look… suitable.”
I kept my own voice down. “High praise from the Dark Lord. You almost look civilized yourself.”
A fleeting spark of amusement lit his eyes, then he turned to the officiant, a dark cleric whose eyes absorbed rather than reflected light, lending him a deeply unsettling look.
“Esteemed allies, honored guests, fearsome minions,” the cleric intoned, his voice echoing oddly, “we gather to witness the binding of Lord Kazimir Blackrose, His Supreme Darkness, Scourge of Azroth, Terror of the Western Realms, to LadyArabella Evenfall, Descendant of the First Hero and Mistress of the Healing Arts.”
I shot Kazimir a sidelong glance at that last title. It was obviously a dramatic flourish he’d asked for.
The cleric continued, “We perform this ritual not by the insipid customs of lesser kingdoms, but by the ancient rites of conquest and alliance.”
He cleared his throat and opened a heavy tome with pages that creaked with age. “From the Codex of Dominion, hear these words: ‘When power seeks to multiply itself, let blood call to blood. When darkness seeks to expand its reach, let it find a worthy vessel. When conquest is achieved, let it be sealed in bonds that neither death nor betrayal may sever.’”
The cleric lifted a small blackwood reliquary. “Bone of the groom, strand of the bride. Let dominion bind what softer magics cannot.”
He opened the lid, revealing a polished sliver of bone twined with the single hair I’d surrendered in my chamber. If Kazimir had truly contributed a piece of himself… I almost gaped, wondering when and how he’d harvested it.
Kazimir took the reliquary, and I heard the soft sizzling of his flesh meeting some potent magic. With a murmured incantation, both bone and hair melted into a thin ivory ribbon streaked with silver light. He wound the molten strip around my ring finger; it cooled instantly, fitting snugly. He forged a second band for himself, letting leftover sparks drift to the ceiling. We exchanged a glance in which I caught the faintest gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
The cleric exhaled in awe. Then he produced a dark goblet of volcanic glass that shimmered crimson beneath the hall’s blue-white torches. “The Cup of Dominion,” he announced. “Forged in the Obsidian Mountain, tempered in the blood of a thousandwarriors. Drink, and let your essences mingle as your purposes align.”
Kazimir took the cup first, eyes fixed on me. He sipped, then handed it my way, his fingertips lingering on mine. I braced myself for blood, but tasted only a rich, smoky wine that somehow thrummed with raw power as it slid down my throat.
The cleric retrieved the cup and set it aside. “Lord Blackrose, do you take this woman as your consort, to share in your conquests, to amplify your power, and to stand as your equal in the eyes of your enemies?”
Kazimir’s voice rang out confidently. “I do.”
“Lady Evenfall,” the cleric said, turning to me, “do you take this man as your consort, to share in his dominion, to embrace the darkness he offers, and to honor his authority in all matters of state and war?”
“I do,” I replied firmly.
