Page 140 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Arabella picked up the report, scanning it quickly. “This is going to make Auremar desperate.”

I nodded and turned back to the map. “Two kingdoms to target,” I mused. “One ringed by mountains, the other an island. Both allied with our enemy. Both probably mobilizing their forces as we speak.”

“It’s a logistical nightmare,” Thorne said cheerfully. “I love it. How many teams are we talking?”

“That’s the problem.” I traced the distance between the two kingdoms with one finger. “Time and distance. We can’t hit both sequentially—by the time we finish with one, Auremar might have moved on the other. Or worse, they might have marched to reinforce Solandris.”

“So we split up,” Arabella said, as if it were obvious. “Two teams, simultaneous extraction. Kaz and I will each lead a team, since we’re the most powerful. It’s the only logical solution.”

Every instinct I had screamed against it. Splitting up meant vulnerability. It meant I couldn’t protect her if something went wrong. It meant—

It means she could act without you watching, the voice whispered. Without you controlling. Without you claiming what is yours by right of conquest.

I gritted my teeth. Between our unresolved fight, my status as a potential vessel for an ancient evil, and the way the Heirloom pulsed whenever we were too close, perhaps distance wasn’t the worst idea.

“Agreed,” I said, and watched shock ripple around the table.

Arabella stared at me. “Just like that? No argument? No declaration that I’m too precious to risk or too important to the mission?”

“Would you listen if I did?”

“No.”

“Then why waste the breath?” I turned back to the map, ignoring the way Thorne was grinning. “We’ll each take a scrying crystal so we can communicate. You’ll take Meridian Isle, which should be straightforward. Take Nyx and Vex with you. Both have proven capable of keeping you alive, which is a full-time occupation.” Arabella shot me a flat look. “I’ll handle Valmont with Thorne—”

“Actually,” Sebastian interrupted, then seemed surprised by his own boldness. “Has anyone considered looking for heroic bloodlines outside the nobility?”

The room went quiet. Even Griffin stopped trying to corral his escaped pancakes, which had led him on a chase around the room.

“Explain,” I said.

Sebastian fidgeted, and a small vine began creeping up the table leg. “Well, nobles aren’t exactly known for their fidelity. Bastards exist. Plenty of them, both acknowledged and not. The bloodline doesn’t care about legitimacy.”

“You’re suggesting we hunt for bastards,” Arabella said slowly. “Noble by-blows scattered across the kingdoms.”

“Not hunt.” Sebastian’s jaw firmed. “Find. Help. Before Auremar remembers they exist and starts expanding his search parameters. He’s arrogant enough to focus on ‘pure’ noble blood first.”

It was, annoyingly, an excellent point. I’d been thinking too narrowly. Of course there would be bastards. Nobles rutted like rabbits and had the morals of honey badgers.

“And you know how to find them?” I asked as Griffin returned to his seat with the escaped pancakes speared on his fork.

“I have connections.” Sebastian met my eyes. “People who trust me. People who definitely wouldn’t trust the Dark Lord of Skyspire showing up at their door.”

I scoffed. “It’s not about trust. They’ll be coming with me whether they want to or not.”

“That’s why it’s called a kidnapping,” Griffin said helpfully, spraying pancake crumbs over his plate in his haste. I glared at him.

I felt Arabella’s subtle shift beside me, the slight tilt of her head that meant she was using her truth-sense. After a moment, she gave me an almost imperceptible nod. Sebastian was being honest.

Which left me at a crossroads. Trust the man who’d been sprouting flowers at breakfast, or throw him in the dungeons for safekeeping?

Kill him, the Shadow King suggested helpfully. He knows too much. He wants what’s yours. End the threat before—

I cut off the thought.

“Interested in joining our merry band of kidnappers?” I asked Sebastian. “Fair warning: The hours are terrible, the moral compromises are constant, and there’s a significant chance of death or dismemberment.”

Sebastian considered this for longer than most would have. I could see the war in his expression—everything he’d been taught about right and wrong battling against the reality of what needed to be done. Small flowers bloomed and died around his feet as his nervousness peaked.