Page 12 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

He stared at me as if I’d suggested we take up knitting. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not asking for permission.” I crossed my arms. “You’re not leaving me here with a lovesick enchanter and a scone-baking nobleman while you go have all the fun.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, sending a plume of white into the air. “It’ll be cold,” he said finally. “And there’s a steep climb at the end.”

“I’ll manage.”

His gaze turned stormy. The unspoken fear for my safety was so loud in our bond it was practically screaming. He was being ridiculous. And a little bit sweet, in a terrifying, Dark Lord sort of way.

I took a step closer. “Admit that you want me to go with you.”

His jaw tightened, but the reply, when it came, wasn’t the sarcastic retort I expected. It was quiet, the words cutting through the air with a raw conviction. “I always want you with me.”

Another awkward beat stretched between us. We’d been having a lot of those lately.

Kaz looked away first, his shoulders stiffening. The warmth in our bond shuttered as his walls slammed back into place. “Though a night of peace and quiet does have its appeal.”

Bastard. I decided to aim for his pride, a target I knew I could hit from a mile away. “Worried you can’t protect me as well as your army can?”

His head snapped back toward me, eyes flashing silver. “Our army. And the fuck I can’t.”

“Then it’s settled.”

He muttered a curse under his breath, but instead of calling for my horse, he swung himself onto his own black warhorse. Then with one smooth, powerful motion, he leaned down and lifted me onto the saddle in front of him.

The world tilted, then I was settled against the hard planes of his chest, his arms a cage of warmth and strength around me. He adjusted his cloak so it enveloped us both, a private world of shared heat and the familiar scent of winter storms and steel.

I leaned back against him. It felt right. Safe. I didn’t think I would ever get tired of being in his arms.

“I’ve commissioned proper armor for you,” he said as we left camp. “Not just leathers, either. Something more substantial for when you go into battle.”

“You mean the armor I have for tomorrow isn’t good enough?”

“It’s decent, but you deserve something befitting the Dark Lady, with better protection.”

I smiled into the darkness. “All right. Talk, Dark Lord.”

“About what?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” I shifted, turning my head to look at him. “Your sudden change of plans. Abruptly deciding to march us for hours in the dark. You said it was because the bodies would stink, but that’s not the real reason.”

He was silent for a long moment, the only sound the soft thud of hooves on the dirt path. “I don’t like surprises,” he finally said.

“You live for surprises,” I countered. “You thrive on chaos. You practically generate it as a byproduct of breathing.”

“Nyx ate my prisoners,” he grumbled.

“Try again.” I waited.

He sighed, the sound long and heavy. “Auremar has spies everywhere. Now soldiers. Even if they were only chasing Sebastian, I didn’t want you exposed.”

“I’m not a child, Kazimir. I can handle myself.”

“I know,” he said roughly. His arms tightened around me. “But it was what Sebastian said about finding you in that cellar. They hurt you. Over and over again. And I can’t do a damn thing to stop it because it already happened.”

His anger was a low-burning fire I could feel through our bond. It wasn’t just a warlord’s fury; it was something far more personal.

The conversation had turned, as I’d known it would, to my stolen memories. I hadn’t been ready to talk about them before, not since interrogating my father. The revelation had been too raw, the betrayal too vast. But now, after a few weeks, the shock had curdled into a cold, simmering rage. And a burning curiosity.