Page 1 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

1 March into Enemy Territory

(It’s Not Conquest If You Don’t Enjoy It)

Kazimir

The first sign that things weren’t going to plan was the lack of screaming.

I surveyed the abandoned village with mounting irritation. This wasn’t how conquering was supposed to go. The buildings stood empty, doors creaking on their hinges, no livestock to scatter. Some structures had been torched down to blackened husks, while others had merely been toppled.

“Not exactly the glorious conquest I’d envisioned.” I guided my horse into the village square, where even the well had been destroyed. The ring of stones had been broken and tossed in, with a stench that suggested something had been left down there to rot. “Years of plotting my dramatic entrance into Solandris, and there’s no one here to tremble.”

Arabella rode up beside me, sunlight catching the golden braid draped over her shoulder and warming her fair, freckled complexion. She looked perfect, and far too amused for my liking.

“What did you expect?” she asked. “Peasants lining the streets to welcome their new overlord with confetti?”

“Not confetti. Terror, Arabella. Widespread, trembling terror.” I gestured at the empty windows. “I wanted shrieking, tears, maybe fainting. At minimum, some panicked fleeing would have been nice.”

The empty villages were a minor disappointment in an otherwise perfectly executed opening move. Auremar’s border defenses would tell me everything I needed to know. Response times. Magical capabilities. Weak points in their formations. And if I happened to claim a strategic foothold in the process, well, that was just efficient multitasking.

I surveyed the empty square one more time, as if willing villagers to materialize just so I could terrorize them properly.

“Poor villain.” Arabella’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. “All dressed up for conquest with no one to conquer.”

I tried to scowl, but she was the single person allowed to laugh at me without risking dismemberment.

I had gone disgustingly soft.

“They’ve robbed me of the full villainous experience.” I sighed. “I’ll have to put it in the official complaints ledger.”

Behind us, my army marched in formation. War-hardened mercenaries, elite guard, and local forces made up the bulk, with a smattering of new recruits called into service. Weapons gleamed under the autumn sun and banners snapped in the wind. Shadow warriors drifted among the trees that flanked the road.

Thanks to the Heirloom’s newly stabilized power, and my magical bond with Arabella, summoning them no longer left me exhausted. The region’s magic no longer sent jolts of agony through my runes.

The Heirloom was now a constant thrum of power even from its secure location back at Skyspire. My bond with Arabella hummed alongside the connection, her magic intertwined with mine in ways that made us both more powerful. The sensation was intoxicating, like standing at the edge of a cliff with wings spread, knowing I could soar or destroy with equal ease.

Some might call it premature to launch an invasion before mastering the Heirloom of Dominion. Those people were cowards who’d never held a kingdom by the throat.

Yes, the artifact’s full power remained frustratingly out of reach. Our attempts to channel the ley lines still ended in nosebleeds and unconsciousness more often than world-shaking displays of dominion. But that was Griffin’s problem to solve. Despite his tendency to accidentally animate furniture, the enchanter was brilliant when he focused.

Besides, I’d never been the type to sit idle while my weapons were being sharpened. The Heirloom would be ready when it was ready.

Four weeks had passed since the Hero’s Guild dared enter Skyspire’s walls. Since Sims fell and Arabella risked everything to mend the Heirloom. Four weeks of rebuilding, rearming, and preparing for the war that was no longer a distant threat but a certainty barreling toward us.

Now we were here on Solandris’s doorstep, claiming the Arvoryn Pass that cut through the mountains separating my lands from Auremar’s. Tomorrow, we would take his northernmost outpost. Tonight, we’d camp just beyond this village, giving the troops rest before battle.

Auremar was gathering his own forces, pulling in allies. Given enough time, he could amass an enormous army and try to intercept me before I reached the capital of Sunspire.

I was going to crush him before he got the chance.

“You’re smiling,” Arabella noted as we passed a scorched barn. “Care to share, Your Supreme Darkness?”

“I could, but it’s too filthy for a public setting.”

She snorted. “Since when has that stopped you?”

Before I could retort, Thorne rode up and addressed me in his gravelly voice. “My lord, the scouts say the next three villages are also deserted.”

Right. Scouts. Military strategy. I tried to focus on our next moves—pushing deeper into Solandris, forcing King Auremar’s hand. My runes hummed with power, hungry for conquest. “Any sign of the Hero’s Guild?”