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

Through the spinning couples, Mo caught glimpses of the grand staircase. Nyx stood at the top, completely shrouded in a misty cloak that concealed their form entirely. After Mo's striking white suit and even Lucian's elegant frost-blue ensemble, the shapeless gray seemed almost deliberately anticlimactic.

"That's it?" someone nearby muttered. "How disappointingly conventional."

A few scattered catcalls rose from the crowd as Nyx descended. At the foot of the stairs, Dorian rushed forward, his perfect features arranged in eager anticipation. Mo noticed the obsidian crescent moon hair clip he'd gifted Nyx gleaming against the mist—but positioned in a different way from how Dorian had probably intended, now resembling horns rather than a moon.

Mo was torn between craning her neck to see what was unfolding between Nyx and Dorian, and trying to angle her face away from her current partner's fetid breath. The dance forced her to spin, giving her only fragmented glimpses of the scene.

Dorian reached for Nyx, his fingers curling possessively around the edge of the misty cloak as if unveiling a prized acquisition. He said something Mo couldn't hear over the music, his expression a mixture of anticipation and ownership. The moment his fingers made contact, the cloak dissolved like morning fog under sunlight.

The dance forced Mo into another turn, her back to the staircase. She caught only glimpses through the whirling couples—a misty cloak, scattered catcalls, Dorian rushing forward. Then came a collective gasp so powerful it was audible even over the orchestra.

When Mo finally managed to maneuver herself for a better view, she saw Nyx standing at the bottom of the stairs. Where the feminine form Dorian had expected should have been, stood a powerfully masculine figure—broad-shouldered, sharp-angled, with obsidian skin polished to a mirror shine. Nyx had transformed into the most aggressively masculine version of themselves Mo had ever seen, dressed in a pristine white suit that perfectly coordinated with Mo's own ensemble. The outfit wasn't just similar, gender aspects put aside, it was deliberately, unmistakably paired, including a coffee-bean-pin, a visual statement of alliance that couldn't be misinterpreted.

Dorian's face contorted, shock transforming rapidly to betrayal and then to rage. He took a single step backward, his perfect composure shattering completely.

"You're making a mistake," he hissed, rising his hand as if to slap Nyx. But then took in their form once again and reconsidered. Without any more words, he turned and strode toward the exit, shoving demons aside.

"Well, that's reckless," remarked the horned demon still partnering with Mo. "Leaving before completing his Hidden Agenda. That's an automatic disqualification."

"And this comment makes you at least marginally helpful," Mo replied, spotting Valerius approaching as the dance pattern brought them back together. As the horned demon released her with a formal bow, Mo made up her mind.

"Dorian, and…" she added impulsively as Valerius's hands found hers again, the words spilling out before she could reconsider. Something had shifted in Mo tonight—Nyx's bold stand against Dorian's expectations, the blood on her pristine suit, the intoxicating feeling of power flowing freely through her veins after months of careful restraint. The bookstore barista would have hesitated, weighed consequences, sought the gentlest path. But she wasn't just that person anymore.

Before she could finish, the music's tempo changed, and they were suddenly swept apart by the surging crowd of dancers.

Mo found herself spun into Lucian's arms, his cool touch a welcome relief after the horned demon's clammy grip. Frost patterns spiraled elegantly across his collar as he guided her through a complicated turn, delicate crystalline tendrils gently rising up Mo's sleeves where his hands connected with hers.

"Darkthorne took the bait," he said, his silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I expressed an interest in your 'innovative energy production through soul transformation' technique. His academic ego couldn't resist correcting my 'misunderstandings' of proper application."

They separated briefly as the dance demanded, reconnecting three steps later.

"The Council is systematically creating conditions for rebellion in newly inherited domains," Lucian continued, voice barely audible above the music. "Destabilization followed by intervention—all perfectly legal under ancient statutes."

Another separation, another reconnection.

"When ancient powers shift like winter's tide, what appears as chaos serves hidden design."

Mo glimpsed the professor in question, observing them from the sidelines, his skeletal fingers tapping thoughtfully against his goblet.

"The full agenda remains unclear," Lucian concluded as the dance pulled them apart once more. "But the Nightshades aren't the only target."

Mo found herself swept through two more partners before reconnecting with Valerius. The moment his hands found hers again, she immediately guided him into a sharp turn, using her lead to position them away from eavesdroppers as she blurted: "Durian."

The floor had become a kaleidoscope of calculated betrayal, liquids of various colors spattering the once-pristine marble—emerald ichor, violet shadow essence, and crimson blood forming abstract patterns beneath the dancers' feet.

A young vampire countess extracted blood and secrets simultaneously from her partner, ruby droplets suspended momentarily in the air before landing on her silk gloves. A junior necromancer's shadow detached to trip a rival mid-pirouette, leaving the unfortunate victim sprawled in a puddle of bubbling blue potion.

Professor Malvolia watched from the sidelines, making notes on her clipboard with obvious relish as Ravencroft's blood was joined by numerous other stains on the floor, other dancers, and Mo's once-immaculate white suit.

As the dance forced another partner change, Mo found herself face-to-face with Cassius Rookwood—Darian's former crony, who had dropped to his knees before her in the dormitory. His eyes widened with reverent adoration.

"My Lady," he breathed, ignoring the dance entirely. "I've been waiting for this moment. Since your display of power, I've composed thirteen sonnets to your magnificence."

Before Mo could extract herself, Cassius dropped dramatically to one knee, causing a nearby couple to stumble into them. "I pledge my eternal devotion to your…"

"Get up. This isn't the time."

She tried to move away, but Cassius grabbed the waist of her jacket, nearly tearing the pristine fabric. "Please, let me demonstrate my loyalty…"

A flash of blue caught Mo's eye—Lucian spinning past with Valerius as his partner, frost patterns spiraling across his collar in obvious concern at her predicament. Without breaking his dance step, he flicked his wrist. A perfect ice spike materialized in Mo's hand.

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With a single fluid motion that felt disturbingly natural, Mo pinned Cassius's arm to the floor. The ice spike drove through expensive fabric, slicing cleanly through flesh before embedding in the wood beneath, leaving him secured in place and gasping in shock.

"Consider this a lesson in appropriate timing."

Blood welled from the wound, spattering upward as Cassius jerked reflexively against his impromptu restraint. Droplets arced through the air, landing in a delicate constellation across Mo's white trousers leg—another crimson pattern joining Ravenscroft's contribution and other colorful splatters.

But this time… this time she'd caused it deliberately.

This time, she was standing while her opponent was on the floor.

As the music shifted, Lucian smoothly guided Valerius toward Mo, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than necessary. The longing look that passed between the two young demons was subtle but unmistakable before Lucian was swept away by the dance's relentless pattern.

Valerius reached her, observing the scene with raised eyebrows.

"Impressive improvisation." His expression shifted to something more calculating. "I'll show my cards. Though I'm afraid information doesn't come free, even between old acquaintances. I've been assigned to extract information about your true plans for Blackthorn Keep reforms."

Mo nearly missed a step. "That's what Lucian has for me!"

"Of course it is," Valerius replied smoothly. "The professors always create interlocking webs of assignments. The style may change from year to year. But the main principle remains the same: make our tasks harder for us and easier for them to check and control. It's part of the test—navigating competing interests."

Mo considered him for a moment, then made a calculation. As they spiraled through a complex turn, bodies pressed close enough to share whispered secrets, she said, "What would you say to being an initial customer for our new management methodology? We're looking to expand beyond Blackthorn Keep, and the Crowe territories would make an excellent case study."

They separated briefly as the dance demanded, exchanging partners for three precise steps before reconnecting with practiced ease.

Valerius's eyebrows shot up as his hand found her waist again. "Making business deals during the Ball? That's perfect!" His eyes gleamed with a surprisingly enthusiastic spark as he guided her through a daring dip. "My father would approve of such opportunistic villainy."

They spun away from a couple whose argument had escalated to minor hexes, smoothly incorporating the evasion into their footwork.

"So?" Mo prompted, using their momentum to lead a tight spiral around a cluster of dancers.

"We can agree upon the exact terms later, right?" Valerius asked as they executed a series of quick, intricate steps that left a pursuing professor several beats behind.

Mo nodded, using the natural flow of the dance to transition into a more aggressive sequence that commanded space on the crowded floor.

"Right. So, the Keep. It's really simple. And sort of related to my question," Mo said, her voice steady despite their increasing pace. "My true intention for Blackthorn Keep is to create a functioning economic model that proves traditional villain methodology is inefficient. Maximum productivity through strategic benevolence—proving that fear-based systems waste resources."

A sudden crescendo inspired Mo to guide them into a dramatic lift, her hands firmly gripping Valerius's waist as she raised him above the crowd, giving him a momentary view over the entire dance floor before she set him down with surprising strength.

Valerius's eyebrows shot up as his feet touched the floor again. "Hiding your revolution in plain sight? Bold. Straightforward." His expression shifted to something approaching respect as he followed her lead through challenging steps. "No wonder they're threatened. And the High Council is just allowing this?"

"They're too busy trying to figure out what happened to Lord Aldric," Mo replied smoothly, using a quick pivot to narrowly avoid collision with the Headmaster. "Besides, we've already secured arcane certification with the Registry Archfiends. It's officially bound to the Ethereal Codex."

"Already?" Valerius looked genuinely impressed, maintaining perfect rhythm despite his surprise. "You aren't wasting any time. Ah yes, your 'dimensional displacement' technique. Quite innovative as well. I've read your paper. And I heard it caused quite a stir among the faculty."

They completed a tight turn that narrowly avoided a shower of poisoned rose petals released by a nearby couple's dramatic split.

"So, the licensing agreement?"

"I'll have the paperwork sent to your estate by morning. Provisional terms, of course."

"Of course." Valerius looked genuinely impressed, something shifting in his eyes—a warmth that reminded Mo disconcertingly of how Julian looked at her. "Pleasure doing business with you."

The dance forced them apart briefly, then back together. As they reconnected, Mo seized the opportunity.

"Now, about those student fears I asked about earlier," she said, guiding them through a complex sequence of steps.

"That's rather simple. Darian fears irrelevance. Dorian fears genuine connection beyond intellectual curiosity," Valerius answered without hesitation. "And Durian…" a hint of amusement touched his lips. "I know it was a joke. But, yes, there actually is one. Third-year necromancy specialist. Also a whatever-cousin of the first two. He fears being compared to the fruit. Childhood trauma involving overly creative bullies."

The music swelled, forcing another partner change. Mo found herself suddenly in Julian's arms, his familiar warmth replacing Valerius's calculated coolness.

"Mo," Julian whispered urgently, his eyes alight with excitement rather than the practiced charm of the dance. "Breakthrough in the Thirteenth Chamber… meet me after…" before the swirling patterns of dancers pulled them apart again.

When they reconnected moments later, Mo noticed the Headmaster watching them with unnerving intensity from nearby. An idea formed instantly.

"Create a distraction," she said to Julian, steering them toward the ancient figure.

Julian's brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could respond, his natural awkwardness worked in their favor. His foot caught on the edge of a tile, sending them both slightly off-balance. Mo used the momentum to execute a controlled stumble, her hand "accidentally" catching the Headmaster's ceremonial sash as Julian attempted to steady her with an ungraceful dip.

As their bodies collided with the ancient figure, Mo seized the opportunity. Her so familiar energy flowed subtly from fingertips into the Headmaster's aura—not enough to control, just enough to create a momentary connection, a fleeting bridge between minds.

"My dear Lady Nightshade," the Headmaster said, his voice like ancient parchment rustling. "Such enthusiasm in your dancing."

"My apologies, Headmaster Ashenfall," Mo replied, holding the contact a fraction longer than necessary. "I'm still learning to contain certain... aspects of my heritage."

His eyes—impossibly old, impossibly knowing—met hers. "Your mother faced similar challenges in her youth," he remarked with deliberate casualness. "The Nightshade women and the mates of the Nightshade men often do. An interesting pattern through the generations."

"My mother rarely spoke of her early years," Mo replied, seizing the opening. "I'd be fascinated to hear more about…"

"I believe that should be sufficient information for tonight's purposes," the Headmaster interrupted, his lips curving into a not unkind smile. "Twenty-five points for a simple ancestry question, wouldn't you agree, Lady Nightshade? Best not to be too greedy with one's Hidden Agenda and hidden knowledge."

The music pulled her and Julian back into the swirling patterns of dancers. At the next partner change, Mo found herself guided by invisible currents in the dance directly back to Valerius.

"This exchange never happened," Valerius said, his mask of aristocratic indifference sliding back into place, though a glint of respect lingered in his eyes.

"What exchange?" Mo replied with a slight smirk.

Before Valerius could respond, a strong hand caught Mo's waist, spinning her away. Nyx materialized in their perfectly tailored white suit, obsidian skin gleaming under the chandeliers.

"There you are!" they exclaimed, guiding Mo through the final measures with quite expected grace. "We were supposed to coordinate our entrances and now I have to catch up with you!" Their eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I must say, your suit has gained considerable character since we last spoke."

As they spun past Darian Blackcrest watching sullenly from the sidelines, Nyx's arm suddenly sprouted three perfect obsidian spikes from an unexpected angle beneath their sleeve. With a fluid twist, they slashed through a nearby student's elaborate cape, causing him to trip into Darian.

The student's goblet of crimson wine sailed upward in a perfect arc before splashing across Nyx's already ruined sleeve, creating an artful pattern of burgundy stains.

Nyx examined the splatters with a critical eye, comparing them to Mo's battle-earned markings. "Not the same, but will do... for now," they said with theatrical satisfaction. "One should never be underdressed at these events."

They tilted their head, studying the patterns critically. "Still, something's missing. Your homage to Jackson Pollock lacks that certain je ne sais quoi. Perhaps some emerald goo would complete the composition."

Mo surveyed her white suit, now splattered with various colors of blood and magical residue. The crimson droplets, amber ichor, and violet essence somehow transformed the pristine fabric into something more striking—a living canvas documenting her survival of the Ball's elegant battlefield.