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

Moonlight filtered through the leaded windows of the Umbra Academy gardens, casting intricate shadows across Nyx's obsidian skin. They had shifted into their most feminine form tonight—willowy and graceful, with starlight hair that floated as if underwater and eyes that glowed like distant nebulae. An elegant midnight-blue dress clung to their form, its fabric rippling subtly with their natural movements.

Dorian Blackwood stood silhouetted against the blood-red roses, his aristocratic features softened in the darkness. Unlike most Umbra students who performed their villainy with theatrical excess, Dorian's darkness was understated—refined taste, perfect manners, and eyes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

"You're especially beautiful tonight," he said, voice like velvet as he reached out to trace his fingers along Nyx's cheek. "This form suits you perfectly."

Nyx leaned into his touch, their form uncharacteristically unchanging. "You always say that. With every day, you compliment me more and more."

"Because it's always true. Though I confess, I prefer this particular presentation."

A small flicker of discomfort passed through Nyx's form—barely noticeable, quickly suppressed. "I have many forms," they said, voice carrying multiple harmonics, the only sign of their previous fluidity. "Each beautiful in its own way."

"Of course. But surely, even you must recognize the superior elegance of your feminine aspect. The grace, the symmetry..." Dorian pulled a small box from his pocket. "I have something for you."

Nyx's eyes widened as he opened it, revealing an exquisite obsidian hair clip shaped like a crescent moon. The stone seemed to hold stars within its depths, tiny points of light swimming in darkness.

"For the Ball. I've been thinking about our entrance. The two of us, descending the grand staircase—you in midnight blue to complement my black attire, this adorning your hair..." He leaned closer, lips brushing their ear. "We'll be the envy of every pair there."

"It's beautiful," Nyx said, studying the clip with genuine appreciation. Their form shifted subtly, hair lengthening to better accommodate the ornament. "You're sure you want to attend together? Most students use the Ball for political maneuvering."

"All the more reason to present a united front." Dorian's fingers traced along Nyx's arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "Your shapeshifting abilities paired with my family connections... we'd be formidable."

His voice lowered to a whisper. "Besides, I've commissioned something special from Madame Arachne. A gown that will showcase your... assets... perfectly."

Nyx smiled, though something flickered in their eyes—a moment of uncertainty quickly masked by pleasure. "You're too kind to me."

"Not kind. Appreciative. You're extraordinary, Nyxir. Especially when you embrace your true beauty." He touched the clip in their palm. "Wear this for me at the Ball?"

"Of course," Nyx agreed, their voice shifting to a higher, more melodious register that seemed to please Dorian immensely.

As they walked back toward the dormitories, Dorian's arm possessively around their waist, Nyx's form remained stable in its feminine configuration—a stillness that would have made their father proud, if only it had been fixed in a masculine form instead. If Dorian noticed how Nyx's eyes occasionally darted to their reflection in passing windows with a flicker of unrecognition, he said nothing.

***

Mo stared at the invitation, an ornate black parchment that pulsed with malevolent energy. Silver ink spelled out the details in elegant calligraphy that occasionally rearranged itself to form tiny screaming faces:

The Faculty of Umbra Academy requests the pleasure of your attendance at the Annual Villain Ball. Formal attire mandatory. Weapons discouraged but not prohibited. Dancing compulsory. Backstabbing expected.

Political Machination credit will be awarded based on:

Information extraction effectiveness

Strategic alliance formation

Convincing displays of duplicitous charm

Dramatic entrance and exit execution

"Another day, another assignment that would get you arrested in the human world," Mo said, tossing the invitation onto the common room table where it rolled right to the feet of Dorian. "Nothing says 'educational event' quite like mandatory backstabbing."

She rubbed her temples, surprised to find her fingers sparking with rose-gold energy—her powers responding to the thought of the Ball without her conscious permission. The part of her that had spent years perfecting latte art wanted to hide in her room with a paperback; the part that had turned Aldric into a portal anchor whispered how much she could accomplish with all of Umbra's elite gathered in one place. Both of them were integral parts of her being. The two sides of her nature that waged their silent war behind her carefully composed expression.

Nyx's form rippled with excitement as they snatched up the invitation even despite Dorian's presence, their skin shifting to a deeper midnight blue. "Oh, but this is the highlight of the first semester! The Villain Ball is practically legendary. It's where alliances are forged, reputations are cemented, and at least three students usually end up with mild to moderate curses." Their eyes gleamed. "This year, we'll absolutely dominate."

"We certainly will," Dorian agreed, his arm still draped possessively around Nyx's waist. "We've already started planning our coordinated entrance. Haven't we, dear?"

Nyx's form flickered slightly at the endearment. "Yes, Dorian has some wonderful ideas for how to make an impression."

"She'll look magnificent," Dorian said, squeezing Nyx closer. "I've commissioned the perfect gown to complement her natural elegance."

Mo watched as each "she" and "her" struck Nyx like tiny darts, their skin rippling in waves of midnight-blue and shadow that resembled bruises forming and healing in seconds. Tiny fissures appeared along their arms, leaking wisps of formless possibility that Nyx quickly reabsorbed with subtle movements that resembled flinches. Their eyes—normally shifting through countless colors—fixed on a single shade that matched Dorian's, as though some essential part of their magic was being slowly drained away. Yet Nyx said nothing, their silence more disturbing than any protest could have been.

"Her transformation skills truly are remarkable," Dorian continued, seemingly oblivious to Nyx's unease. "No one shifts quite as beautifully as she does, especially in her feminine form."

Lucian's fingertips frosted over, ice crystals forming and melting in rapid succession as he visibly bit back a correction. The temperature around him dropped several degrees.

"I just pictured a dance with actual domination masks and now I can't unsee it," Mo groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Please tell me this isn't some weird BDSM thing."

"Not officially," Nyx said with a grin that showed too many teeth. "Though I hear the faculty afterparty in the dungeons gets rather... experimental."

"Wonderful." Mo rubbed her temples. Between managing Blackthorn Keep remotely, their clandestine training sessions, and Julian's increasingly intense research collaborations, the last thing she needed was another performance evaluation. "So, what exactly does this ball entail? If we omit the dungeon part?"

"Only the most extravagant display of villainous social politics in the academic calendar," Nyx said. "Everyone dresses to intimidate. The professors circulate with 'Hidden Agenda' cards—secret objectives they assign to students. It's one massive game of manipulation disguised as a social event."

"So... just like every corporate function I was so lucky to avoid on Earth because I was too young and didn't know about my mother's investments."

"Except with actual curses instead of just metaphorical backstabbing," Lucian said. "Winter's social customs frozen in formality's chill—beautiful danger beneath polished surfaces."

As if on cue, a scroll materialized on the table beside the invitation. It unfurled itself with a faint hiss.

"Ah, the assignment scrolls," Dorian said, reaching for it. "These are meant to be private…"

Nyx gently intercepted, placing their hand over his. "Maybe we should give Mo some privacy with her tasks if they are so private as you just mentioned?"

Dorian's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "I thought we were planning our Ball strategy together."

"We will," Nyx assured him. "But first, we should each review our individual assignments."

"Of course," Dorian said after a moment, his perfect composure returning. "I have class preparations, anyway." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Nyx's cheek. "I'll see you later, my dark star. We'll discuss our entrance then."

Then he turned to Mo and Lucian and added: "I can't wait until you see her in the gown I've chosen! It will be spectacular!"

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Frost crystals formed a delicate latticework across Lucian's knuckles as his jaw tightened. The glare he shot Dorian could have frozen hellfire.

After Dorian left, Lucian's breath emerged in a visible cloud. "When rivers freeze," he said quietly, "they appear solid while fracturing beneath. The weight one allows upon one's surface determines the depth of the breaking."

Nyx's form rippled defensively. "I know what you're implying."

"Do you?" Lucian said, his voice gentle despite the ice spreading from his feet. "Or has the mirror you've chosen to see yourself through distorted your reflection beyond recognition?"

"Let's focus on the task at hand," Mo said, giving Lucian a warning look. The scroll unfurled fully, revealing Mo's specific assignment:

Lady Nightshade is tasked with extracting the following information:

Professor Malvolia's opinion on your field exercise (worth 10 points)

The Headmaster's knowledge of your ancestry (worth 25 points)

Determine Nyxir Obscuris's true gender identity preferences when not under observation (worth 40 points)

Note: Direct questioning results in automatic failure. Information must be obtained through proper villainous methodology.

"Brilliant," Mo said. "They're literally making me spy on faculty members who are probably the most suspicious of me already. And..." she faltered, looking uncomfortably at Nyx. "They want me to spy on you too."

"What? Let me see that," Nyx said, peering over at Mo's scroll. Their form rippled with indignation as they read the third task. "Wow, forty points? That's a lot for discovering something that literally doesn't exist."

The surrounding air suddenly chilled as Lady Thornheart materialized through the wall. "I believe," the ghost said primly, "that discussing assignment details constitutes 'direct questioning,' which your instructions specifically prohibit."

The trio froze, exchanging panicked glances.

Lady Thornheart's transparent lips curved into what might have been a smile. "However, as Head Dormitory Sentinel, I possess certain... discretionary powers regarding rule interpretation." She adjusted her spectral spectacles. "Subversion of regulations, when executed with sufficient creativity and subtlety, has always been an integral component of proper villain education."

She floated closer to Lucian. "Mr. Frostbrook, I must remind you that you don't have much time left before the curfew. Be careful."

With a final knowing look at the trio, she added, "I shall not document this particular discussion in my surveillance reports. Consider it... educational leniency."

After she dissolved through the opposite wall, Mo released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"What do you mean?" Mo asked, returning to Nyx's comment about their identity.

"Think of it this way," Nyx said, their form subtly shifting as they searched for the right explanation. "When I'm completely alone, with no mirrors, no expectations, no outside perspective—I'm not any one thing. I'm... everything, all at once. It's only when someone looks at me I settle into something specific."

"Oh!" Mo's eyes lit up. "It's exactly like the quantum observation effect in physics. We had a book about it in the science section of my bookstore."

"The what?"

"Quantum mechanics," Mo explained, slipping into that special voice she'd used when recommending complex books to curious customers. "In the human world, scientists discovered that subatomic particles—the tiniest building blocks of matter—don't behave like normal objects. When they're not being observed, they exist as probability waves, essentially being in multiple places or states simultaneously."

Lucian's frost patterns formed intricate question marks. "How can something be in multiple states at once?"

"That's the weird part. Until you actually measure or observe these particles, they exist in what's called a 'superposition' of all possible states. But the moment you look at them—the very act of observation—forces them to 'collapse' into just one definite state. The observer literally changes reality just by looking."

"So my identity is like these quantum particles. A superposition of possibilities until something forces me to collapse into one specific form." As Nyx spoke, their body subtly demonstrated the concept—edges blurring, colors shifting through spectrums visible and not, their very substance seeming to exist in multiple locations simultaneously until they deliberately solidified again.

"And until recently, the one who was doing that was you," Mo said quietly.

"Not anymore…" Lucian added even quieter.

Nyx's form rippled uncomfortably. "Let's not talk about that right now. Small mercies they're not making you seduce anyone," they added, forcing a cheerful tone. "They often assign that to succubi students. I'd count that as a win!"

"What did you get?" Mo asked, quickly changing the subject.

Nyx unfurled their scroll and read: "Obtain information about three students' greatest fears... Demonstrate shapeshifting abilities to create maximum psychological discomfort in a rival. Oh, and look at this!" Their form rippled with indignation. "Extract information about Lucian Frostbrook's true feelings regarding his family's ice-spiking traditions."

"Wait, they're making you spy on me?" Lucian asked, frost patterns forming concerned spirals around his collar.

"Apparently," Nyx said, flipping the scroll to show him.

Lucian's own scroll opened last, ice crystals forming along its edges. "Extract information about the High Council's current projects from Professor Darkthorne... Determine Lady Nightshade's actual intentions for Blackthorn Keep reforms."

All three stared at each other.

"They've assigned us to spy on each other," Mo realized. "A perfect circle of betrayal."

"Classic villain academy," Nyx said. "Friendship is prohibited, only sycophancy allowed. Break students into proper hierarchical pieces before reassembling them into the approved configuration."

"They're testing our loyalty," Lucian said. "To each other versus to the institution. Every tyrant's first lesson: divide potential allies before they recognize their collective power."

Mo leaned back, mind already racing through potential approaches. "So we need formal attire, entrance strategies, manipulation tactics, and a way to believably fake betraying each other. Just another day at villain school."

"Speaking of formal attire," Nyx said, their form suddenly shifting into something more recognizably feminine—curves accentuated, features softening, voice lifting to a higher register. "Dorian gave me this."

They held up a small box containing an exquisite obsidian hair clip shaped like a crescent moon. A note in elegant script read: "For my beautiful dark star. Wear this to the Ball."

Mo frowned, noticing how Nyx's normally fluid form had stabilized into that particular configuration—one that had become increasingly frequent whenever Dorian was mentioned. "That's... thoughtful."

"Isn't it?" Nyx twirled, their form maintaining a surprisingly stable feminine shape. "He's been absolutely attentive lately. Yesterday he told me my current form is 'transcendent' and that he's never seen anyone shift with such elegance."

Mo exchanged glances with Lucian, whose frost patterns had formed into concerned questionmarks. They'd both noticed the pattern over the past few weeks: Dorian's increasing presence in Nyx's life, always when they were in feminine form, always with those small "gifts" that somehow nudged Nyx toward presenting more consistently female.

They'd discussed it privately numerous times—Lucian worried about Nyx's increasing conformity, Mo concerned about the way Nyx seemed to shrink in on themselves whenever Dorian used "she" and "her." But they'd hesitated to confront their friend directly, afraid of overstepping or hurting Nyx's feelings. After all, who were they to dictate how Nyx should express their identity?

"I thought you were going for dramatic rebellion against your family's rigidity," Mo said carefully. "Doesn't staying in one form for Dorian kind of... defeat the purpose?"

The words hung in the air like a hex waiting to land.

Nyx's smile faltered, their perfect feminine facade momentarily glitching to reveal multiple conflicting forms struggling beneath—masculine angles, fluid curves, and shapes that defied categorization entirely—before they forcibly smoothed their appearance with a visible ripple of effort. Tiny beads of shadow-energy gathered at their temples, evidence of the energy required to maintain this single state.

"It's not all the time," they said, voice splitting into conflicting tones before harmonizing again. A collection of small objects around them—pens, books, a decorative skull—briefly levitated and orbited their form before crashing back down. "Besides, he appreciates my shifts. He calls them 'enchanting metamorphoses.' He recently said that I'm turning into a perfect butterfly." The words sounded rehearsed, borrowed from someone else's vocabulary.

"So, what you were before, an imperfect caterpillar?" Lucian said. "What's even more telling, he only seems to be around when you're... like this."

"That's not…" Nyx began defensively, then paused, their form flickering briefly with uncertainty. "I mean, he's busy with his research. Our schedules just happen to align when I'm feeling more feminine."

Mo took a deep breath. "Nyx, when was the last time Dorian called you 'they'?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Nyx went completely still—an unnerving sight for someone whose form was usually in constant, subtle motion. "He... prefers 'she.' He says it's more elegant."

"And that doesn't bother you? The Nyx I met on day one was proud of their fluid identity. The one who told Valerius to use 'they' and made him look like an idiot for not getting it."

"Identity is complicated," Nyx snapped, their skin darkening to almost pure black. "You wouldn't understand. You've always known exactly what you are, even if you tried to run from it."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken tension.

"When frost claims the river," Lucian finally said, his voice soft yet precise as always, "fish trapped beneath believe the narrowed world is all that exists. Choice becomes memory, freedom becomes myth."

"What my poetic friend is trying to say," Mo translated, "is that maybe this relationship is making your world smaller, not larger."

Nyx's form fluctuated, anger and uncertainty battling across their features. "You don't get to judge my choices. I'm not some project for you to fix."

"You're right," Mo said, raising her hands in surrender. "You're not. And I'm sorry if it came across that way."

She hesitated, then added more gently, "But the Ball is a chance for everyone to see you at your most powerful. To make an impression that will echo through the Academy. What if—and this is just a suggestion—you showed up in a form that would truly shock everyone? Including Dorian?"

"What do you mean?" Nyx asked, their voice guarded but curious.

"What if you went in your most masculine form? Or something completely beyond gender?" Mo suggested. "Make a statement about who you really are—someone who can't be contained by anyone's expectations, not even those of someone who claims to adore you."

"The most dramatic entrance," Lucian said, "is one that reveals truth, not performance."

Nyx stared at them both, their form still except for a subtle ripple at the edges, like disturbed water gradually settling. "And what would you wear to this grand event, oh wise Dark Lady? Your barista apron?"

"Actually," Mo said, a smile spreading across her face, "I was thinking we could coordinate. Create a visual statement that nobody would expect."

"Do tell." Nyx's interest was clearly piqued, despite their lingering frustration.

***

"Are you in?" Mo asked, when they drafted the preliminary plan of the attack of the Ball.

Nyx's form rippled once more before settling into a confident stance. "I'm in. But I'm not revealing my final form until the Ball itself. Maximum dramatic impact."

"Perfect." Mo said. "That's a glimpse of Nyx I've met all those weeks before. We'll coordinate colors but keep the details secret until the event. Though I think we should allow Lucian some freedom. Something to complete our visual statement."