Never Marry a Villain

Chapter 6: Dark Lords Don't Do Laundry

Three weeks later.

If anyone ever tells you that living in a dark, gothic fortress as a newlywed is all passionate romance and dramatic magic, they are lying. It’s also fifty percent domestic chaos.

Case in point: I was currently standing in the grand royal bedchamber, staring at the massive velvet armchair in the corner.

"Julian," I said, pointing at the chair.

Julian, who was sitting at his mahogany desk wearing a half-unbuttoned black shirt and reading through military reports, didn't look up. "Yes, my love?"

"Why is there a pile of black suits on the velvet chair?"

"Because that is where the suits go, Aurelia," he said smoothly, dipping his quill in black ink.

"No, Julian! That is where the decorative pillows go!" I stomped my foot, walking over to his desk. "You have a closet the size of a Solarian cathedral!

Why can't you put your clothes away?!"

Julian finally looked up, raising one dark eyebrow. "I am the Shadow King, Aurelia. I command the armies of the dark. I do not do laundry folding."

"Oh, really?" I smirked, leaning across his desk until our noses were almost touching. "Well, I am the Light Queen of Solaria. And if you don't pick up your dark, moody suits off my velvet chair in the next five seconds, I am going to use my light magic to bleach every single one of them neon pink."

Julian froze. His grey eyes went wide with genuine terror.

"You wouldn't," he whispered.

"Try me, Dark Lord," I challenged, golden sparks literally flying off my fingertips. "See how intimidating you look commanding the shadow army in a hot-pink velvet suit."

Julian stared at me for three agonizing seconds before letting out a defeated groan. He stood up, muttering under his breath in ancient shadow-tongue, and walked over to the chair to gather his suits.

"I fought off three armies," Julian grumbled, throwing the black coats into his wardrobe. "I conquered the Western Peaks. And now I’m being bullied in my own castle by a woman who wears fluffy slippers."

"They aren't fluffy slippers; they're strategic footwear!" I yelled from the bed, sinking back into the soft pillows and laughing hysterically.

Julian closed the wardrobe door, turned around, and slowly walked back toward the bed. The shadowy aura around him started to deepen, the floating candles in the room dimming to a soft, romantic violet glow.

"Strategic footwear, hm?" Julian murmured, climbing onto the bed and hovering over me, trapping me beneath his broad frame. His hands rested on either side of my head, his messy black hair falling around his face.

My heart instantly started doing its signature backflips. "Julian... we have a war meeting with the high lords in twenty minutes."

"The high lords can wait," Julian whispered, leaning down to trail a row of soft, scorching kisses down my jawline to the sensitive spot right beneath my ear. I gasped, my fingers instantly tangling into his hair.

"You're... you're abusing your power, Dark Lord," I breathed out, my light magic flickering softly around us like warm golden fireflies.

"I'm the villain, remember?" Julian smirked against my neck, his hands sliding around my waist to pull me impossibly close.

"Villains don't follow the rules."

A sudden knock on the heavy oak door shattered the moment.

"Your Majesties!" Sir Paws-a-Lot’s caretaker shouted through the wood. "I apologize for the intrusion, but the war council has gathered in the map room! Queen Frostine’s scouts have reported movement near the Eastern border!"

Julian stopped, closing his eyes and letting out a long, dramatic sigh against my collarbone.

"I’m going to throw the war council into the dungeon," Julian muttered softly.

I giggled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and pushing him up. "Come on, handsome. We have a kingdom to save."