Page 148 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Lord Blackrose,” they said together. Also creepy.

“You know who I am. Excellent. That saves time.” I gestured to Thorne, who was already moving toward them with sacks in hand. “I need you both to come with me.”

“We’re in the middle of—”

“Treating a curse, yes. Dragon pox, if I’m not mistaken.” I examined the boy briefly. “Third stage. You were going to use moonwort and silver-blessed water.”

The twins exchanged glances. “How did you—”

“I’m not completely ignorant of healing magic.” Thanks to Arabella’s influence, I’d been forced to expand my knowledge beyond mere destruction. “The treatment will work. The mother can administer it.” I turned to the terrified woman. “Three drops in warm water, once every six hours. The scales will start flaking off by tomorrow night.”

“But—”

“Ladies.” I let my patience fray, allowing a bit of dominion magic to enter my voice. “This is not a debate. King Auremar wants your blood for a ritual that will, and I cannot stress this enough, end very badly for everyone involved.”

They did that creepy synchronized head tilt again.

“Our blood?”

“For what purpose?”

“Nothing good.” The mother was still here, frozen in terror. No point in elaborating while she listened, even if I had been inclined to answer questions. “Suffice to say, you’re safer with me than here.”

“We can’t just abandon our patients—”

The door burst open. Three city guards rushed in, swords drawn. “We had reports of—”

I didn’t let them finish. Shadow tendrils erupted from the floor, wrapping around their throats. They had just enough time to look surprised before I tightened my grip.

“Honestly,” I said conversationally as the guards dropped, “doesn’t anyone knock anymore?”

The mother screamed. The twins stared. The boy with dragon pox whimpered.

“Right.” I turned back to the twins, who were now backing toward the rear exit. “Let’s skip the negotiations.”

The sleep spell took them both simultaneously. They crumpled in perfect unison. Still creepy.

“The mother?” Thorne asked, already bagging the twins with admirable efficiency.

I considered the terrified woman. “She didn’t see my face clearly. Leave her.” I placed a small bag of gold on the counter. “For your silence and your son’s treatment. If anyone asks, bandits took the healers.”

She nodded frantically, clutching her son.

By the time we’d collected our sixth target—a baker who made “exceptional” croissants and happened to have heroic blood—I was beginning to feel like a demented fairy-tale villain. There was something particularly absurd about kidnapping people for their own good.

“This is taking too long,” Thorne observed, dumping the unconscious baker next to the others. Our collection point was starting to look like the world’s most eclectic morgue. “At this rate, we’ll be here all week.”

“Agreed.” I consulted the list again. Two dozen names in Kheldvar alone, and we’d barely made a dent. Plus, I’d already killed—I did a quick count—thirteen guards. “We need a more efficient method.”

“Mass sleeping spell?”

“Too broad. We’d knock out half the district and someone would definitely notice.” I paused, an idea forming. “But what if we lured them somewhere first?”

Thorne’s expression grew calculating. “What did you have in mind?”

Twenty minutes later, we’d set up in Kheldvar’s town square. Thorne had procured a small platform from somewhere—I didn’t ask where—and I’d conjured enough banners to make it look official. The message was simple: Free Heroic Bloodline Testing. Generous Compensation for Qualified Individuals.

“This is ridiculous,” Thorne muttered, watching people pass. “No one’s going to believe—”