The Dark Lady's Guide to Villainy [Book 1 Complete] [Dark Lord, School, Romance]

Mo pushed aside her "Mind Control Ethics" essay with a groan, reaching instead for the stack of newspapers that had accumulated on their common room table. Procrastination was preferable to explaining when mind control was "ethically justified according to villain hierarchical theory," or discussing the "non-voluntary consent of assigned participants"

She flipped through the latest issue of THE UMBRA OBSERVER, snorting at the headline blazing across the front page:

DARK LADY TURNS GOBLIN UNION REPRESENTATIVE?
Sources claim Nightshade has implemented "paid leave" and "retirement plans" at Blackthorn Keep. Is it a safe mind manipulation tactic? What's next? Healthcare?

"They make it sound like basic decency is some exotic villain strategy," Mo muttered, flipping to an older paper from the stack.

TOURNAMENT THEME PREDICTIONS: ICE AGE OR ELEMENTAL CHAOS?
Senior betting pools favor elemental challenges after last year's "disappointing" mortality rate

A smaller article beneath it caught her eye: "Frostbrook Heir's Arrival Raises Questions: Will Ice Demon Legacy Create Unfair Advantage? 'What's fair in villainy anyway?' says Tournament Committee Chair."

Mo rolled her eyes and moved to an even older issue of the newspaper. This one with a particularly lurid illustration of her with glowing eyes and dramatically oversized chest:

PROVISIONAL DARK LADY: VILLAIN OR REVOLUTIONARY MONSTER?
Academy stunned as first-year's field assignment yields zero traditional casualties but one celestial advisor reportedly "dimensionally displaced"

The subheading made her choke on her coffee: "Faculty Conspiracy? Former Ethics Professor Questions 'Unprecedented Assignment of Lethal Field Task to First-Year Student' – Administrative Council Denies Allegations."

"At least they got the 'dimensionally displaced' part right," Nyx said from across the common room.

"I can't believe this is an actual assignment," Mo complained to them, returning to her essay. "I have no other options than add more and more lines to a growing list of scenarios where apparently it is "ethically sound" to override someone's free will. Next, they'll have us write dissertations on 'Torture: Fun for the Whole Family.'"

"Already covered in third-year curriculum," Nyx said. "My cousin says it's surprisingly popular."

Mo glanced up from her essay to see Nyx preening in front of a mirror, shifting between increasingly feminine forms. Their obsidian skin shimmered as they settled on a silhouette with softened edges, curves accentuated in ways that seemed deliberately calculated.

"Hot date with Dorian?" Mo asked, recognizing the now-familiar pattern. Three weeks into their relationship, and Nyx's transformations had become more and more aligned with what clearly pleased Dorian the most.

"Just tea in the courtyard," Nyx said. "Though I might have mentioned something about showing him my latest shifting techniques. More... controlled ones."

Mo bit her tongue. It wasn't her place to comment on how Nyx presented themselves, but she couldn't help noticing how their previously fluid, unpredictable shifts had become increasingly predictable when Dorian was involved.

A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts. Opening the door revealed Julian, his arms laden with ancient texts, a gleam of excitement in his eyes that made Mo's heart perform an embarrassing little flutter.

"I found references to quantified magical measurements in the restricted archives," he announced without preamble, striding past her to dump the books onto their already crowded table.

Behind him glided Lucian. "Julian was quite persuasive with the archive guardian. Something about 'faculty-approved research into traditional progression methodologies.' I might have added a slight cooling influence to enhance his credibility."

Mo smiled at their growing camaraderie. In the weeks since their return from Blackthorn Keep, Julian had become a fixture in their study sessions. What began as theoretical discussions had evolved into practical experiments, pushing the boundaries of what each of them thought possible.

"Perfect timing," she said, gratefully abandoning her ethics essay. "I needed help with choosing what is more interesting: this 'Mind Control Ethics' essay, newspapers from the past few weeks, or the delicious," she intoned almost as Nyx, "fresh report I just got from Grimz."

She held up the leather-bound dossier that was dropped onto her desk by an obviously overburdened raven that morning. The unbroken Blackthorn Keep seal gleamed in the light, a reminder of her growing responsibilities.

"They grow larger every day!"

Julian's eyes lit up as he settled beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Any updates on the education initiative?"

"Better than expected," Mo said, not ignoring anymore the warmth spreading through her at his proximity. "Apparently, literacy rates have doubled among the younger goblins. And the bugbear collective has submitted a formal proposal for their own representation in resource management. It seems we'll have to have a parliament soon."

"Revolutionary," Julian said.

Nyx checked their reflection one final time. "Save the goblin liberation report for later. Some of us have important strategic alliances to cultivate."

"Just remember," Julian called after them, "even a chameleon that perfectly matches its surroundings eventually forgets its original color."

As they disappeared through the door in a dramatic swirl of shadows, Lucian settled into an armchair, ice crystals forming and melting thoughtfully between his fingers.

"So," Mo said, turning to the ancient texts Julian had brought, "you mentioned something about quantified magic? How can we improve our system this time?"

Julian nodded eagerly, flipping to a marked page. "These thirteenth-century manuscripts describe an attempt to establish measurable magical thresholds. Listen to this: 'The adept demonstrated capacity for influencing emotional states across a distance of thirteen paces, with diminishing effect beyond this range.'"

"Similar to what we've been tracking."

"Exactly! And look…" Julian pointed to a diagram that bore an uncanny resemblance to their own charting system. "They were measuring magical resonance patterns, power expenditure ratios, even recovery curves."

"What happened to their research?" Lucian asked.

Julian's expression darkened. "According to the archives, it was deemed 'dangerous to the established hierarchies' and suppressed. The researchers were... reassigned."

"Reassigned?"

"To the experimental necromancy division. As subjects."

The weight of that revelation settled over them like a shadow.

"So we're basically recreating forbidden research that got people killed," Mo said. "Perfect. Just what I needed to hear."

"But that doesn't mean we should stop," Julian said, leaning forward. "It means we're onto something powerful enough to frighten those in authority."

"The ice that threatens thrones must form in secret," Lucian said, "gathering strength beneath the surface until it can no longer be contained."

Mo's hand drifted to the leather-bound dossier from Blackthorn Keep. If it was anything like the previous few dozen reports, inside were not just stats and figures, but the evidence of real change. Beings who had been oppressed for generations now had voices. Structural reforms that seemed impossible months ago were taking shape.

"Fine," she said. "Let's push harder. But we need to be more careful. No more experiments during classes. And we keep our measurements in code."

Lucian nodded. "Winter hides its deepest secrets beneath serene surfaces."

"I'll bring more Earth novels," Mo agreed. "We'll use their terminology as cover."

Julian's hand brushed hers as he reached for a quill, and the contact sent a jolt of awareness through her. Their eyes met briefly, and Mo found herself wondering if her succubus nature was enhancing this attraction, or if it was simply human connection blossoming in this demonic setting.

"The thirteenth chamber tonight?" Julian asked.

"Definitely," Mo replied, ignoring Lucian's knowing look.

***

Professor Maleficarum's voice slithered through the classroom like oil on water. "The soul, when properly manipulated, becomes the ultimate resource—malleable, renewable, and infinitely exploitable."

Mo's pen hovered over her notebook, disgust warring with the necessity of recording every gruesome detail for her assignment. The professor had "invited" her to his advanced seminar for seniors after hearing about her portal work with Aldric.

The empty seats surrounding her formed a perfect circle of isolation—a phenomenon that had become increasingly common since her return from Blackthorn Keep. Some students edged away from her with thinly veiled terror, while others maintained a respectful distance, occasionally casting admiring glances when they thought she wasn't looking.

She'd learned to enjoy the buffer zone. At least it meant no one tried to copy her notes.

Professor Maleficarum paused his lecture, his gaze falling on the newspaper peeking from beneath Mo's textbook. With unsettling swiftness, he plucked it up, yellowed fingernails tapping against the headlines.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Ah, the morning entertainment," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Let's see: MIDNIGHT TRIAL TRADITION SUSPENDED INDEFINITELY — 'The tradition is very pedestrian,' senior students claim in shocking reversal. 'We've found more sophisticated pursuits.'"

His lipless mouth stretched into what might have been a smile. "How fascinating that a tradition lasting thirteen generations should suddenly be deemed 'pedestrian.'"

Several senior students shifted uncomfortably as Maleficarum continued reading: "HIGH COUNCIL INVOLVEMENT IN ACADEMY AFFAIRS QUESTIONED — 'Did Council members orchestrate impossible field assignment for Nightshade?' The Duchess of Eternal Midnight demands investigation into 'Council overreach' while faculty deny allegations."

The professor's eyes gleamed with something like approval. "Politics makes for strange bedfellows. Isn't that true, Lady Nightshade? The Duchess has been seeking leverage against the Council for decades."

His skeletal finger traced the final headline: "CELESTIAL ADVISOR'S FATE REVEALED: 'SHE HARVESTED HIS ESSENCE' — Eyewitness account details 'calculated dimensional displacement' that left observers 'terrified of her satisfaction.' High Council remains suspiciously silent."

He tossed the paper back onto Mo's desk. "Remarkable how quickly rumors crystalize into 'eyewitness accounts'."

"So," he said returning the newspaper, "perhaps you'd share your insights on living anchors for magical constructs? Your field work has provided such... fascinating case material."

Every head turned toward her. Mo straightened, channeling the confidence she'd been cultivating. "Portal anchoring represents an efficient allocation of resources," she said, borrowing the clinical language of their textbooks. "The subject's energy signature provides stable harmonic resonance for interdimensional transitions."

"Indeed," the professor's smile revealed too many teeth. "And the ethical considerations?"

"Minimal when applied to treasonous individuals," Mo said smoothly, feeling slightly ill at how easily the villain-speak flowed now. "The subject's prior actions created a natural reciprocity balance."

Professor Maleficarum's eyes gleamed with approval. "Excellent perspective. I'll expect your analysis of potential applications of less deserving subjects in next week's essay."

As class ended, Mo gathered her things quickly, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere. In the corridor, she leaned against the cool stone wall, breathing deeply.

"My lady," came a reverent whisper.

Mo turned to find Cassius Rookwood—one of Darian's former cronies—hovering nearby with the desperate expression of a moth drawn to dangerous flame. Since his dramatic genuflection in her dorm room, he'd been effectively demoted from Darian's inner circle, yet somehow secured permission to attend the advanced seminar through family connections.

"The way you described portal anchoring was... transcendent," he said, eyes wide with adoration. "Your clinical precision while discussing such power... I've been working on a treatise about ethical reconsideration of traditional villain methodologies that aligns perfectly with your approach."

Mo managed a neutral smile. "That's... fascinating, Cassius."

"Perhaps we could discuss it over…"

Julian appeared in the corridor out of nowhere and slipped between them with fluid grace Mo didn't notice from him just a few weeks before, catching Mo by the waist and pressing his lips firmly against hers. The kiss was brief but deliberate, a clear statement of a territorial claim that left Mo momentarily breathless.

"She's got plans," he said, his arm remaining possessively around her waist. "Advanced theoretical applications awaiting her attention."

Cassius' face contorted with indignation. "That's... that's completely inappropriate! Faculty assistants are expressly forbidden from fraternizing with students! I'll report this violation to the Ethics Office immediately!"

"Looking forward to it. I'm sure they'll be fascinated by your detailed observations of Lady Nightshade's personal affairs. Perhaps include your treatise on effective sycophancy while you're at it."

Cassius withered visibly, backing away with a formal bow. "Of course. Another time, perhaps," He feel to his knees in front of Mo. "My lady. I hope to hear the precise wording of your new essay next week!"

As he disappeared down the corridor, Julian turned to Mo with a raised eyebrow. "You're getting disturbingly good at that."

"Attracting psychos or using villainous academic vocabulary? It became scarily easy to translate 'I had no choice' into 'optimal resource allocation decision matrix.'"

Julian's hand brushed hers, a brief contact that nonetheless sent warmth coursing through her. "Just don't lose yourself in the translation."

Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. Before either could acknowledge it, a familiar voice interrupted.

"There you are!"

Nyx strode toward them, their chosen form reflecting weeks of careful refinement. Gone were the wild, unpredictable shifts that had once characterized their appearance. Instead, they moved with calculated grace, obsidian skin polished to a gleaming finish, curves accentuated in precisely the ways that had drawn admiring glances from Dorian. Even their hair—once an ever-changing cloud of shadow—now maintained elegant consistency, swept into an intricate arrangement that framed features that hadn't changed in days.

"Dorian's cousin," Nyx stopped and kissed their companion on the cheek, "just told him—they've announced the Villain Ball theme. It's 'Shadows and Sovereignty'."

"How original," Mo deadpanned. "What does that really mean?"

"The interesting part," Nyx said, "is that it's part of our 'Political Machination' curriculum. Professors will be circulating with 'Hidden Agenda' cards. You have to complete social challenges without revealing your true objectives."

"So it's an exam disguised as a party," Mo said. "Perfect. Just like that board game Secret Hitler where everyone gets secret roles and has to pretend they're not fascists while actively sabotaging everyone else." She glanced at their blank expressions. "No? Nothing? I guess dead-dictator-themed party games aren't big at the villain parties."

"An exam with dancing," Nyx corrected, their form briefly shifting to demonstrate an elaborate waltz step. "Speaking of which, Dorian mentioned he might ask you about something, Julian."

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Some research project," Nyx said vaguely. "He was being mysterious about it."

A flicker of unease passed through Mo. Dorian had been spending more time with Nyx, drawing them away from training sessions, and now he was interested in Julian's research?

"I'll keep that in mind," Julian said carefully.

As they headed toward their next class, Mo watched Nyx more closely. The changes weren't as drastic as they were in the first days of their relationship with Dorian. They were subtle. But every day, Nyx moved further and further away from what they were when they first met with Mo. Now, it was all about preference for stability over fluidity. Just not in the way Nyx's father would have probably preferred. Still, certain forms appeared more frequently than others, always leaning toward what pleased Dorian the most.

Lucian fell into step beside Mo, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "The river that abandons its natural course for another's design may forget the shape of its own banks."

"I've noticed."

"Like morning frost on autumn leaves," Lucian continued. "Almost invisible until the garden is already claimed, transformed while no one was watching."

Before Mo could respond, another voice called her name. She turned to see Darian Blackcrest approaching, his usual swagger replaced with careful deference.

"Lady Nightshade," he said, offering a formal bow that drew curious glances from passing students. "The Observer would like to request an exclusive interview regarding your revolutionary governance approach at Blackthorn Keep."

"Haven't you posted enough already?"

Mo's mind flashed to the stack of leather-bound reports from Grimz that had been arriving daily. Each one had expanded her understanding of what "Blackthorn Keep" truly meant. As a child, she'd known her family controlled the realm where the Keep stood, but she'd never fully comprehended the scale.

It wasn't just a fortress with some surrounding land. It was an empire.

Grimz's meticulous inventories had revealed hundreds of cities populated by dozens of intelligent species across multiple territories. Her sovereignty—and yes, that word Nyx just used had felt quite relatable since recently—extended into neighboring demonic realms through complex alliances and ancient pacts. There were border disputes, trade agreements, and diplomatic missions operating under her family seal.

And then there were the business interests. When she'd cited "Blackthorn Press" in her academic report, Julian had pointed out that she'd referenced her own publishing house. Nightshade Holdings controlled everything from enchanted textile mills to bunkhouses for "lesser" magical beings.

Most surreal was the revelation about her mother's Earth investments. 'Strategic contingencies,' Grimz had called them. Including, in an irony so perfect it could only be real, the very bookstore where Mo had fled to escape her legacy. Through a labyrinth of offshore companies and shell corporations, she'd been working for herself all along. Ot, at least, for her family.

The empire she'd run from had been patiently waiting for her return. Enveloping her in its folds.

She returned her gaze to Darian making a mental note to check with Grimz if they had any shares in The Umbra Observer. A few weeks ago, he had made a decision to spread vicious rumors about her because she wanted to protect a freshman. Now, he addressed her with the cautious respect one might offer a bomb with a faulty detonator.

"My schedule is rather full," Mo replied, enjoying his barely concealed nervousness. "But I suppose I could make time next week."

"Excellent," Darian said, relief evident in his tone. "We're particularly interested in your economic reforms. The goblin unionization has become quite the topic of debate. I've heard whispers that several other Dark Lords are exploring similar approaches to boost productivity among the lesser beings without the usual... decimation tactics."

Mo raised an eyebrow. "Have they now? Who'd have thought that would be possible!"

"Lord Abysscroft mentioned he'd pay 'considerable sums' to implement a similar system in his mining operations," Darian continued, eager to demonstrate his insider knowledge. "Something about 'unprecedented productivity metrics' from your territories."

"How fascinating," Mo said. She exchanged a quick glance with Julian, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

Grimz's most recent report had detailed their successful binding of the "Sustainable Worker Management and Morale Optimization Framework" to the Ethereal Codex, where the ritual contract now stood as inviolable soul-law. With the Seal of the Registry Archfiends affixed, their approach was now officially protected arcane knowledge recognized by the High Council, with a tribute extraction rate of just 3 nanoslivers per soul—roughly the cost of a mug of restorative brew in most demonic realms.

"Just to be clear—this will be an actual interview, no more creative fiction?" Mo asked.

Darian paled slightly. "Absolute factual reporting, I assure you. Though readers do enjoy... colorful details."

"Like when you described my 'ample bosom heaving dramatically with dark power' in last month's issue?" Mo asked. "Or that 'enhanced' illustration on the front page that made me look like some sort of succubus pinup calendar model? I appreciate the free publicity, but my fellow succubi and incubi are already giving me enough grief without you adding anatomically improbable depictions."

Darian's professional demeanor slipped, revealing a flash of the gossip-hungry socialite beneath. "The artistic renderings are a time-honored tradition! Lord Woemaker himself requested three additional copies after seeing…" He stopped abruptly, realizing too late what he was admitting.

"How fascinating. I'm sure we can find a balance that serves everyone's interests. Perhaps focusing on the innovative economic theories behind my workforce management rather than my... physical attributes?"

"Of course, my lady," Darian said, bowing slightly lower than protocol required. "The Observer prides itself on thoroughness in all areas of reportage."

"You may have one hour next Wednesday," Mo replied, ignoring his transparent attempt at flattery. Over the weeks, she'd strategically fed the rumor mill, sometimes through interactions with Darian or his cronies, sometimes through more vicarious channels. Each story more outlandish than the last, creating a smokescreen of contradictions that protected her actual plans. "And Darian? Let's truly ensure the story reflects reality this time. I'd hate to have to provide another... perspective adjustment."

As they moved away from Darian, whose complexion had darkened by several shades, Julian gave her an appraising look. "You're enjoying this."

Mo opened her mouth to deny it, then stopped. Was she enjoying it? The power, the respect, the way people who once dismissed her now treated her with caution?

"Maybe a little. Is that terrible?"

"It's human," Julian said. "Or well, succuban, I suppose. Or is it succubic?"

Their laughter echoed down the corridor, drawing curious glances from passing students who still couldn't figure out whether to be scared of the feared Dark Lady or join her in her moment of joy. Or laugh along only because they feared her so much.