Chapter 2 Collect Strays and Fugitives
(Your Wife Has a Soft Spot)
Kazimir
Sebastian was the only noble who was ever truly kind to me.” Arabella’s gaze tracked the bend where Thorne and his men had vanished.
My jaw tightened. “Kind.”
“Yes, Kaz. Kind. It’s this strange concept where someone treats you well without expecting anything in return.” She threw me a sidelong glance. “You might try it sometime.”
“I’m the Dark Lord. I don’t offer kindness. I offer a fortress of fear and shadow so impenetrable that you can afford to be kind within its walls.” I let my voice drop to a rumble. “You’re welcome.”
She let out a laugh that made several soldiers glance our way before hurrying to look busy. “Sebastian and I grew up together, in a sense. His father brought him to court every summer, and we’d escape the tedium of state dinners to explore the palace gardens.”
Nyx’s triumphant roar echoed from somewhere ahead, followed by a cluster of very human screams. “Ah. At last, the terror I’d been missing.”
Pity I wasn’t there to savor it firsthand, but my intervention wasn’t necessary. I refused to leave Arabella until we were certain this wasn’t some elaborate trap. Paranoid villains kept their wives alive.
“So you were childhood friends,” I pressed, unwilling to let the subject go.
“We were. Though as we grew older, we saw less of each other. His father sent him to the Academy when he was fourteen.” She shrugged. “After that, it was mostly formal events. The last time I saw him was three years ago at a midsummer ball. One dance, some polite conversation, nothing more.”
I measured her words. “Just pleasantries?”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re asking whether he tried to court me, the answer is no. Sebastian was always proper to a fault.” Mischief sparked in her expression. “Unlike some people who kidnap women from their carriages.”
“A remarkably efficient courtship method.”
“A tactical disaster that somehow worked out in your favor.”
I laughed and dismounted. “The best villainous schemes always are.”
I extended my hand—a gesture that was hers to refuse.
She never did. Arabella placed her hand in mine and descended with deliberate slowness, pressing against me until I could feel her heat through leather and linen.
I caught her waist, holding her suspended against my body.
I was acutely aware that we had an audience but absolutely refused to care.
I brushed my thumb against her hip. “We’ll never get to that outpost if you keep looking at me like that.”
Her answering smile quelled the jealous beast stirring in my gut. Whatever history she shared with Sebastian, her future was forged with me. “Try to behave, my lord.” Her lips brushed my ear. “It’d be a shame to incinerate him before the introductions.”
I snorted and set her down as Thorne’s party returned.
Thorne rode at the front, his scarred face grim. Behind him rode a man I recognized from description alone, though the reality was more… aesthetically irritating than I’d anticipated.
Lord Sebastian of the Northern Peaks rode a lathered white stallion, his fine riding clothes splattered with mud.
Even disheveled, he was annoyingly handsome—tall and broad-shouldered, with golden blond hair that fell to his shoulders, partially tied back.
His features were classically aristocratic—high cheekbones, strong jaw, and eyes of such startling violet that I immediately suspected magical enhancement.
I already hated him on principle.
Despite his finery, Sebastian looked ready to collapse. His face was ashen, and he swayed in the saddle like a drunk at closing time.
“Apologies, my lord.” Thorne dismounted. “We couldn’t take prisoners as instructed.”
“Why not?”
“The dragon got to them first.” A muscle twitched below Thorne’s left eye. “All of them.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Nyx—Arabella’s dragon, Arabella’s gift, Arabella’s chaos incarnate—had once again decided my orders were merely suggestions. Between the dragon and her mistress, I was beginning to wonder who truly ruled Skyspire.
It was definitely me. Probably. Mostly.
I scowled at Arabella. “Your dragon ate my prisoners.”
She shrugged with one shoulder. “Next time I’ll ask her to chew more slowly so you can at least get their names.”
Sebastian tried to dismount but slipped. Before he hit the ground, a thick vine burst from the undergrowth and coiled around his waist, lowering him gently.
“Thank you,” Sebastian murmured to the vine, patting it absently. “Very considerate.”
The vine swayed in what looked like acknowledgment before releasing him and wriggling back into the forest shadows.
I stared. “Did you just thank a plant?”
He brushed dirt off his sleeves. “It would be rude not to.” His eyes widened as he seemed to remember he stood in front of the Terror of the Western Realms, not hosting a garden party. “My lord.”
Arabella cleared her throat—hiding a laugh, most likely. “Someone fetch him water!”
Griffin scrambled to oblige. “I’ll do it!” His voice cracked. He tried a quick dismount but got his boot stuck in the stirrup. The mule, sensing weakness, shuffled sideways, dragging Griffin with it.
“Blessed fucking bollocks of the seven saints!” Griffin dangled halfway to the ground, contorted like a pretzel.
“Son of a plague-riddled whore’s unholy pustule!
” He yanked at his trapped foot. “May your entrails be used as skipping ropes for demon children, you rot-brained, shit-spewing, corpse-fucking cesspool of a—”
The stunned silence that fell over the company finally registered. Griffin froze, his face turning the color of a ripe tomato.
I leaned toward Arabella. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”
“I’m taking notes,” she whispered back.
Griffin continued his battle with the stirrup, though his curses had been reduced to mortified mumbling.
Meanwhile, a young soldier handed Sebastian a waterskin.
The nobleman accepted it with trembling hands, gulping greedily.
When he lowered it, his gaze met mine, and I was struck again by the uncanny color of his eyes—not a vain magical enhancement at all, but a marker of his heroic bloodline, just like Arabella’s abilities.
“Lord Sebastian!” Arabella approached him with outstretched hands. “It’s been too long.”
“Lady Eve—” He caught himself. “Lady Blackrose. You look well.” His tight smile flickered between us.
“And you look terrible.” Her tone was kind despite the blunt words. She gestured to me. “May I present my husband, Lord Kazimir Blackrose?”
I stepped forward, letting him see exactly what I was—a warlord who had claimed this woman and would soon claim all of Solandris. I let my dominion magic ripple outward. Shadows crawled along the ground, and a cold wind stirred the leaves overhead.
“Lord Sebastian,” I said, my voice threaded with power.
To his credit, the man didn’t flinch. After visible internal struggle, he squared his shoulders and bowed formally. “Dark Lord Blackrose. I’ve heard much about you.”
“All of it is true.”
Sebastian swallowed. I resisted the urge to glance at Arabella, already knowing the look I’d find on her face. She’d asked—quite reasonably—for me to behave. And I was, naturally, doing nothing of the sort.
But in my defense, I was being remarkably restrained.
Griffin finally freed himself with a triumphant “Aha!” He stumbled forward, hair wilder than usual, face flushed. He fidgeted with his spectacles while casting furtive glances at Sebastian.
“Griffin is our court enchanter,” Arabella said.
A strange, soft smile crossed Sebastian’s face. “We’ve met, actually.”
I blinked in surprise. “You have?”
Griffin looked like he might spontaneously combust. “At the Conclave of Arcane Tinkerers. Three years ago. Though I never imagined you would remember.”
Sebastian gave a polite nod. “To the contrary. Your demonstration of weather manipulation was quite memorable.”
“I thought you’d only heard about his scones,” I said, eyeing my enchanter suspiciously.
Griffin turned a shade of red I’d previously only seen on battlefield wounds. “I… that is… I should really go look for that glowing moss you mentioned, my lord. Vital research. Extremely time-sensitive.”
Before anyone could stop him, Griffin bolted into the forest.
I sighed. “Thorne, go after him before he gets lost or eaten by something.”
Thorne’s long-suffering nod conveyed his deep and abiding resignation to his fate. He followed Griffin into the trees. I made a mental note to give Thorne a raise. Or at least stop hitting him with eyeballs when he didn’t show up to meetings.
Arabella studied Sebastian’s pale complexion with concern. “Perhaps we should rest and have something to eat.”
I signaled the attendants, who hurried to set up a field tent. Sebastian watched with the dazed expression of someone who couldn’t quite believe where he’d ended up.
A shriek announced Nyx’s return. The dragon soared overhead, looking insufferably pleased with herself.
Fresh gore dripped from her scales and teeth, and something metallic dangled from one claw.
She landed with a flourish of wings that nearly toppled the half-erected tent.
Attendants scattered, cursing as they fought to hold the canvas.
The dragon pranced toward us and dropped a piece of Solandrian armor at Arabella’s feet like a cat presenting a dead mouse.
Nyx then turned her attention to the bloody mass between her teeth.
With a sickening crack, she bit down. The object snapped in two—a human femur, I noted with clinical detachment.
Nyx dropped the pieces and began gnawing one end. The sound of crunching bone echoed in the sudden silence.
Arabella winced.
Sebastian stared, color draining from his already pale face. “That’s—a dragon?”
“A shadow dragon.” Arabella’s voice was overly bright. “She’s still young.”
“Why is she pink?”
“We’re still figuring that out, actually.”
Sebastian couldn’t look away from the carnage. “Excellent source of calcium for the soil, I suppose. Just… a terrible way to procure it.”