Page 130 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I scanned the room, noting the conspicuous absence of two members of our party. “Where are Griffin and the Scone Lord?”

Thorne cleared his throat. “The Academia of Malice, sir. Griffin’s lecture. Sebastian accompanied him.”

“Go retrieve them,” I said, then caught myself. Griffin’s lecture was probably the highlight of his year. Dragging him away early would result in weeks of sulking and “accidentally” explosive experiments. Despite the voice in my head urging anger and violence, I took a calming breath. “How much longer?”

“Another hour, perhaps two.” Thorne checked the elaborate timepiece on the wall—a grotesque thing made of bones. “The Academia’s afternoon sessions run long.”

Two hours. The voice in my head whispered that I should just leave Griffin and Sebastian behind, let them find their own way—

“I’ll go with Thorne.” Arabella moved toward the door, and Nyx rose to follow. “I’d like to see the Academia before we leave.”

I opened my mouth to object, then caught the look in her eyes. Not quite a challenge, but close. And really, what right did I have to tell her where she could or couldn’t go? I’d lost that particular privilege when I’d tried to compel her to stay in that booth, if I’d ever had it at all.

I turned back to my coffee, not trusting myself to say anything. But when I didn’t feel her leave, I faced her again.

“Kaz—” she began, then stopped herself. Something in her tone made me study her more closely. She seemed… quiet wasn’t quite the right word. Subdued, maybe.

“Yes?” I prompted, and my heart squeezed, hoping.

Finally, she shook her head and left with Nyx forcing herself impossibly through the kitchen door. As the dragon’s tail slipped out of view, I let out a breath.

Maybe Arabella was just relieved to be going home. Gods knew I was, even with the monumental task ahead of us. Gathering heroic bloodlines, performing another ritual to force the Shadow King out of the ley lines, preventing him from consuming all magic in existence—just another typical week in the life of a Dark Lord.

Thorne grabbed his weapons and followed, pausing only to give me a look that clearly said, Try not to destroy anything while we’re gone.

The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Dangerous company these days.

I moved to the window that Arabella had vacated, watching the writhing chaos of the Spire’s lower levels. Somewhere out there, Pip was hiding. Whoever had sent those assassins was planning their next move. And here I was, about to leave it all behind to play hero-wrangler.

I huffed out a laugh. Kidnapping heroes. Under different circumstances, it might have been fun. The kind of dark adventure Arabella and I would have enjoyed together, trading quips and stolen kisses between acts of villainy. There was something darkly amusing about the reversal—instead of heroes coming to rescue innocents from my clutches, I’d be the one doing the collecting.

I just hoped they weren’t all like Sebastian. One perpetually cheerful hero was more than enough for any self-respecting villain to handle.

38 Defend Your Friends

(with Extreme Prejudice and Broken Windows)

Arabella

The Academia of Malice lived up to its reputation as the premier (and only) institution for aspiring villains, teaching everything from demon summoning to tax evasion.

I looked up at the twisted spires and floating staircases that defied both logic and gravity. Signs pointed toward things like: Necromantic Studies—Third Spiral; Applied Torture Theory—Basement Level 7; and my personal favorite, Ethics of Unethical Magic—Location Variable.

“ ‘Lecture Hall of Catastrophic Consequences—Third Floor,’ ” Thorne read from a floating sign that helpfully pointed the way with a skeletal finger: Stabilization Matrices and Their Applications in Controlled Chaos.

“Sounds about right for Griffin.” I stepped over a puddle of ink that was attempting to spell out obscenities on the floor. Nyx padded beside me, her massive form somehow managing to avoid the various magical hazards littering the corridors. Students pressed themselves against walls as we passed, though whether from fear of the pink dragon or recognition of who I was, I couldn’t tell.

The doors to the lecture hall were carved from dark wood. I pushed them open as quietly as possible, not wanting to interrupt Griffin’s moment of academic glory.

The scene inside was not what I’d expected.

Griffin stood at the podium, his impossibly long frame hunched as he dodged a flying textbook. Then another. Then an enchanted scroll that was attempting to beat him over the head.

“—and that’s why the tertiary stabilization matrix must be calibrated to—” He ducked as a bottle of ink sailed past his head. “To account for the inherent chaos coefficient!”

The audience was a mixed bag of villains, apprentices, and students. Some took notes with genuine interest. Others seemed more invested in using Griffin for target practice. In the front row, the demon-adjacent delegation with horned features and flaky, charcoal-colored skin sat with their heads in their hands, looking mortified. They must have been the diplomats from the Ashen Wastes.

“Is this normal?” I whispered to Thorne.