Page 106 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“I’m not,” I insisted, though part of me—the part being needled by the whispers—wanted to do exactly that. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to compel you. It was a breach of trust, and I’m sorry.”

The words were right, but my tone was all wrong—stiff, formal, lacking the genuine remorse I actually felt beneath the whispers’ influence. Arabella could tell.

“You don’t mean that,” she said quietly. “Not really.”

Before I could respond, she turned and left.

I watched her go, frustration building in my chest. “Shouldn’t we be having angry hate sex right now?” I called after her, the words escaping before I could stop them.

Arabella raised her hand in a rude gesture before disappearing down the stairs.

A small squeak drew my attention to the corner, where Thorne stood frozen, a look of absolute horror on his face. He turned and practically ran in the opposite direction, no doubt wishing he’d never witnessed this particular marital spat.

Somewhere behind my temples, that gruesome voice rumbled: Let her go. Let them all go. You need no one.

I pressed both palms to my forehead. “Thorne!”

He stopped mid-flight, shoulders hunching. When he turned back, his expression was carefully neutral—the look of someone trying very hard not to think about what he’d just overheard.

“My lord?” His voice came out slightly strangled.

“The boy. Pip.” I stalked toward him. “Any sign of him?”

Thorne’s relief at the subject change was palpable. “Nothing yet, my lord. The shadow warriors are sweeping every level like you ordered, and Spire security is checking every room, closet, and crawlspace.” He paused, jaw tightening. “We’ve also been monitoring all departures, as per your command that no one leaves until their transports are thoroughly inspected.”

“And?” I could already tell from his expression that this hadn’t gone smoothly.

“There have been… grumbles, my lord. Complaints about overreach, delays in important business.” Thorne’s mouth twisted. “A few tried to leave anyway. The Merchant Prince of the Southern Isles was particularly vocal about his ‘diplomatic immunity.’ ”

“Was he now?” A cold smile curved my lips. “And how did that work out for him?”

“He’s currently enjoying the hospitality of the Spire’s holding cells while his ship is being very thoroughly searched.” Thorne’s own grim satisfaction showed through. “The shadow warriors found three separate smuggling compartments, though no sign of our missing servant.”

I nodded slowly, processing this. As Chair of Dominion, I had the authority to lock down the entire Spire—but that didn’t mean the other powerful entities here had to like it. Every hour that passed with no answers would erode my position further, give my enemies more ammunition.

I shoved the thought away. “Keep searching. If Pip is still in the Spire, I want him found.”

Thorne bowed and departed with considerably more haste than dignity, leaving me alone in the corridor with nothing but my spiraling thoughts and that damned voice in my head.

I let out a final, near-feral snarl, and stormed off in the opposite direction from Arabella, my cloak billowing behind me. At least I could always count on a good dramatic exit, even if everything else in my life was going to hell.

31 Make Decisions While Angry

(Your Best Ideas Happen This Way)

Arabella

I stormed out of the apartment, my feet carrying me faster than my thoughts could catch up. The God Spire’s corridors were mercifully empty at this hour. Most villains, it seemed, weren’t morning people. I passed a few bleary-eyed servants and one vampire who hissed at me before realizing who I was and scurrying away.

I slowed down. My fingers trailed along the smooth, polished bone of the walls as I walked, feeling the faint hum of ancient magic beneath my touch. I had no destination in mind. All I knew was that I needed to be away from Kazimir and his half-hearted apologies. Away from the memory of his voice asking if we should be having “angry hate sex” right now. Of all the idiotic, insensitive, completely Kazimir things to say.

Men. Dark lords. Whatever.

The worst part was that some traitorous piece of me had briefly considered it. Angry sex with Kazimir was… well, memorable, to say the least. But no. I had standards, and apparently, I needed to remind myself of them more often.

The Heirloom pushed against my skull. It seemed to sense my agitation, sending cool waves of energy down my spine. I paused at a window overlooking the impossible architecture of the Spire. Little creatures that resembled winged mice had built a nest on the outside window ledge, their tiny claws scratching against the bone as they wove together bits of stolen silk and parchment.

“Stupid, arrogant, emotionally stunted villain,” I muttered.