Page 115 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Mine. She’s mine. Take her. Make her understand she belongs to—

I dug my nails into my palm hard enough to draw blood, using the pain to anchor myself. The voice was finding new and creative ways to twist every thought about Arabella into something possessive and dangerous.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d finally figured out what I felt for her—this terrifying, all-consuming thing that had to be love because nothing else explained the way my chest constricted when she looked at me—and it was the worst possible timing. How could I tell her when I couldn’t trust that the words wouldn’t come out wrong? When every protective instinct was being amplified and corrupted by something that wanted to own her like a possession?

“ ‘Essence of Forgotten Dreams, lightly seared,’ ” Sebastian read aloud. “Is that meat?”

“Best not to ask,” Thorne advised, flagging down a server. “Just order something that was definitely dead before it got to the kitchen.”

We ordered—a process that took far longer than necessary thanks to Griffin’s need to understand the magical properties of every ingredient. And Sebastian spent five minutes interrogating the waitress about whether the vegetables in his salad were ethically sourced from willing plants.

“You know,” Griffin said, leaning back in his chair with a grin that made him look almost impish, “Sebastian and I have become quite the investigative team since that night at the Gallows.”

“Have you now?” I asked, grateful for the distraction from my own thoughts.

“Oh yes. We’ve been comparing notes on the various magical anomalies around the Spire. Sebastian has this fascinating theory about how the ley lines here interact with organic matter, and I’ve been developing a detection matrix that could—”

“Please don’t tell me you two are planning to experiment on the Spire’s infrastructure,” I interrupted.

“Not planning,” Sebastian said quickly. “Just… observing. Academically.”

“The same way you ‘academically observed’ the Bone Witches before inviting them to a ball?”

Sebastian’s cheeks colored. “That was different.”

“Speaking of academic pursuits,” Griffin said, his excitement bubbling over, “you’ll never guess who I ran into this afternoon!”

“The Bone Witches?” I suggested drily.

“No! Though that would have been fascinating. No, it was Emissary Pyrrha from the Ashen Wastes delegation. She’s an alumna of the Academia and apparently has quite a bit of influence there.” Griffin was practically vibrating in his seat. “She was at your wedding, saw my lightning bridges in action, and was so impressed that she wants me to give a lecture tomorrow! An actual lecture at the Academia of Malice!”

“Congratulations,” Arabella said warmly. “That’s quite an honor.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Griffin beamed. “I mean, the Academia is the most prestigious institution for advanced magical theory in the known world. To be invited to speak there—even just as a guest lecturer—it’s the kind of opportunity most enchanters only dream about.”

I watched Griffin’s enthusiasm with a mixture of amusement and concern. On one hand, it was good to see him recognized for his talents instead of his disasters. On the other hand, this was Griffin. Giving him a platform to demonstrate his innovations was like handing a pyromaniac a torch in a fireworks warehouse.

“What will you be lecturing on?” I asked carefully.

“The stabilization matrices I developed for the lightning bridges, of course! Emissary Pyrrha was particularly interested in how I managed to create a dynamic, self-adjusting network that responds to both physical and magical variables. She thinks it could have applications for—”

“Please tell me this lecture won’t involve live demonstrations,” Thorne interjected.

“Well, I was planning to bring a small-scale model…”

“No explosions,” I said firmly. “Charts only.”

“The bridges don’t explode!”

“Not intentionally,” Sebastian added helpfully.

Griffin shot him a betrayed look. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are. That’s why I’m trying to help you survive your own lecture.”

Their easy banter was distracting in a calming sort of way, if a reminder of how easily Sebastian fit in with our little family.

The fragment chose that moment to surge forward with a wave of paranoia so intense I had to grip the table edge to keep from lashing out. Traitors. They’re all traitors. The smiling ones are always the first. Remember what happened with—