Page 105 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Fitting, though, muttered that hateful whisper in my head. So weak. Why do we grovel? She should kneel.

“Shut. Up,” I whispered fiercely into the empty hallway. Excellent. Now I was scolding the voices in my head. My runes ached with the effort of fighting them.

After some frustrated wandering, I found myself in the small library, trying to lose myself in texts about agricultural magic and theoretical mathematics—anything unrelated to my current disaster of a life. But the words swam before my eyes, rearranging themselves into accusations.

Why are you with ME, Kaz?

Because you’re brilliant. Because you match me in ways no one else ever has. Because when you smile, it feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, and I don’t even care how cliche that sounds.

Because I would burn the world to keep you safe, but I have no idea how to repair what I’ve broken between us.

Three little words. Was it really so difficult?

Yes, it was. Because the last time I’d heard those words, they’d been followed by the bite of a knife against my skin, the searing pain of magic being carved into my bones.

I love you, my son. This will make you strong.

I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars. My mother’s voice—her exact cadence—echoing up from whatever pit I’d buried it in, dragged to the surface by the same restless thing clawing at my skull all evening. The smell of blood and burning flesh as she carved each rune. Her soft humming as she worked, as if mutilating her child was no different from embroidering a tapestry.

The night passed in a haze of restless pacing, failed attempts at reading, and the constant, maddening whispers. By the time dawn broke, I was exhausted, my temper frayed to the breaking point.

The smell of cooking food drew me to the kitchen. I was utterly unsurprised to see Sebastian standing at the stove, expertly flipping the most perfect pancakes I’d ever seen. Griffin sat at the table, watching with undisguised admiration. Thorne leaned against the counter, a mug of something steaming in his massive hands.

They all looked up when I entered, then quickly looked away again. It was painfully obvious they knew about the fight. They’d probably heard the shouting. Villains have excellent hearing.

“Good morning, Lord Blackrose,” Sebastian said, his voice carefully neutral. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d prepare breakfast to thank you for your assistance the other night.”

I grunted in acknowledgment, pouring myself a cup of tea. I’d almost forgotten about the incident outside the Gallows. It felt like a lifetime ago, not two nights past.

“These pancakes are incredible,” Griffin said around a mouthful. “How did you get them so light?”

Sebastian smiled. “Family secret.”

I tuned out their conversation, focusing on my tea. The kitchen door opened, and Arabella walked in, her hair damp from a bath. Our eyes met briefly before she looked away, her expression carefully blank.

“Morning,” she said to the room at large.

Sebastian’s face lit up. “I’ve made breakfast to thank your husband for saving my life the other night. Those ruffians would have done far worse if he hadn’t intervened.”

Arabella’s head snapped up. “What ruffians?”

Sebastian looked between us, suddenly uncertain. A hint of color rose in his cheeks. “Five of them cornered me outside the Gallows. Lord Blackrose intervened. Even spared their lives when I asked, though I think he broke most of their bones first. I would have told you when I returned, but you seemed preoccupied.”

The silence that followed could have been bottled and sold as a weapon.

I watched the information sink in—Arabella’s expression hardened, her eyes flashing with renewed anger. So I’d spared the thugs at Sebastian’s request, but had tried to compel her? The comparison wasn’t fair—the situations were entirely different—but I could see how it looked to her.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and swept out of the kitchen.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sebastian asked, frowning.

I ignored him and followed Arabella into the hallway, catching up to her in three long strides. “Arabella, wait.”

She kept walking.

“Would you just stop and listen?” I reached for her arm, then thought better of it, letting my hand fall back to my side. “I’m trying to apologize.”

She whirled to face me, her eyes blazing. “Are you? Because it sounds like you’re trying to justify what you did.”