Page 146 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Lord Matthias Brightwater.” I pulled out the list Vex had provided, cross-referenced with Sebastian’s more eclectic additions. The flower lord had proven surprisingly useful, providing names of merchants, healers, and even a street performer who apparently juggled while accidentally channeling heroic light. “Owns a shipping company. Heroic bloodline through his grandmother. Should be at his warehouse office this time of day.”

“And we’re just going to walk in and kidnap him in broad daylight?”

“Preventative custody,” I corrected. “We’re saving his life. No time for stealth today. There are too many on the list here.”

Thorne’s expression suggested he found the distinction academic at best. “And he has confirmed heroic blood?”

“Trace bloodline,” I repeated, stepping over what appeared to be a taxidermic badger that had fallen from a shop display. “We’re reduced to kidnapping people whose great-aunt’s cousin once sneezed near the First Hero.”

“I prefer the old days when we just conquered things.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Thorne? Our other kidnappings went smoothly, and that one this summer worked out very well.” I suppressed a grin, remembering the way Arabella’s portals had only gotten better each time she tried. And her parting “gift” to me before we separated. “At least it did for me.”

Thorne grunted, which could have been acknowledgment or his version of an eye roll.

This was day three of what had become a grinding campaign across the kingdom. Kheldvar was just the latest city on our list. We’d already swept through the borderlands and the town of Goldmar, collected scattered bloodlines from minor holdings in Ironholt, and left a trail of confused nobility in our wake. The portal magic made it possible—I could deposit our rescued targets at Skyspire, grab a few hours of sleep, and be back before dawn—but it was taking its toll. The runes in my bones ached from constant use, and Thorne and I had consumed enough coffee to keep a small army awake.

Kheldvar was everything Solandris wasn’t—cramped, practical, and refreshingly lacking in Golden Roses. The mountain city had built itself into every available crevice, creating a vertical maze of stone bridges and precarious walkways. Perfect for hiding. Terrible for large-scale invasions.

Which was probably why no one had bothered with it yet. For me, Solandris was the bigger prize, but Valmont was on the list.

We kept to the shadows, hoods pulled low. The last thing I needed was some eager guard recognizing the Terror of the Western Realms and raising an alarm. Not because I couldn’t handle them—I could turn the entire city watch into decorative ice sculptures if needed—but because discretion was key. The moment word spread that I was collecting people with heroic bloodlines, Auremar would accelerate whatever he was planning.

We found Brightwater’s warehouse easily enough. The man himself was harder to locate, buried under shipping manifests in a cluttered office that reeked of pipe tobacco and disappointment.

“Lord Brightwater?” I didn’t bother knocking.

He looked up, squinting through wire spectacles. “Who the blazes—oh.” His face went pale as recognition dawned. “You’re him. The Dark Lord.”

“Guilty as charged.” I smiled, showing perhaps too many teeth. “I need you to come with us.”

“I… what? No! I have shipments due in—”

A knock at the door interrupted him. “Everything all right in there, Lord Brightwater?” A guard’s voice, concerned and professional.

Thorne and I exchanged glances.

“Fine, Terrance!” Brightwater called, his voice cracking. “Just discussing contracts!”

The door opened anyway. A young guard peered in, took one look at us, and reached for his sword. “Intrud—!”

My shadow spear took him through the throat before he could finish. He gurgled, slumping against the doorframe.

“Was that necessary?” Brightwater squeaked.

“He saw my face.” I stepped over the body, already weaving a disposal spell. The corpse dissolved into shadow mist that would dissipate within minutes. No evidence. “Where were we? Ah yes, your impending rescue.”

“Rescue? You just murdered Terrance!”

“To be fair, Terrance was about to complicate my day significantly.” I let shadows curl around my fingers, a not-so-subtle reminder of who he was dealing with. “King Auremar has developed an unhealthy interest in heroic bloodlines. Yours, specifically.”

“That’s preposterous. I’m nobody. I ship grain and occasional exotic birds.”

“Your grandmother was Lady Pennyweather,” Thorne said, consulting our list. “Third cousin to the First Hero’s line. It’s distant, but apparently close enough for Auremar’s purposes.”

Brightwater’s face went from pale to ashen. “How do you know about—”

“Because I make it my business to know.” I stepped closer, noting how he shrank back. Good. Fear made this easier.