Page 171 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

49 Unpack Emotional Baggage

(So You Have Room for More Daggers)

Arabella

No, no, the pustules won’t appear until the third day.” I patted Lady Moonbay’s trembling hand as she clutched her youngest daughter. “And that’s only if you were exposed. Which you weren’t. Because we got you out in time.”

The Sky Serpent creaked in the wind, and half the rescued families whimpered. They’d been doing that for the past three hours.

“But the lesions—” Lord Tidehaven started.

“Also third day. Sometimes fourth.” I forced a bright smile. “Really, you’re all perfectly safe now.”

Note to self: Next time, skip the plague excuse. Pirates would have been simpler. Or dragons. Everyone understood dragons. I even had one to use, if they didn’t believe me.

I escaped to the upper deck, leaving the families to their hypochondriac panic. The salt wind whipped my hair around, still stiff in places from dried blood I hadn’t quite managed to wash out. Nyx circled lazily above, occasionally diving to snatch fish from the waves. At least someone was having a good time.

My fingers found the Heirloom beneath my skin, that constant presence that had become as familiar as my own heartbeat. Through our bond, I could feel Kazimir—distant, his emotions a muted hum of satisfaction tinged with something darker. Whatever had happened in Valmont, he’d handled it.

But Zaraiah’s words kept echoing: The Syndicate is done with him.

“Lord Pearlbridge is convinced he has early-stage boils.”

I didn’t turn at Sebastian’s voice. I’d been avoiding him since we left the God Spire, finding excuses to be elsewhere whenever he appeared. The ship wasn’t that big, but I’d managed it through sheer determination and creative hiding spots.

“They’re mosquito bites,” I said.

“I told him that.” He moved to stand beside me at the rail, careful to keep a respectful distance. “He asked for a second opinion from someone who’d actually seen plague boils.”

I smirked. “Turns out ‘the king wants to sacrifice you’ doesn’t motivate people quite like ‘your face might melt off.’ ”

Sebastian laughed—that same warm sound I’d heard in my recovered memory. The one from when we were children, before everything went to hell.

I finally turned to look at him properly—really look at him for the first time since we’d left the Spire.

The wind caught his long blond hair, pulling strands loose from where he’d tied it back. In the fading light, he looked like something out of a storybook—the kind of handsome that made court ladies fawn and write terrible poetry. Sharp jawline, violet eyes that seemed to glow in certain light, the sort of aristocratic features that belonged on coins or tapestries.

Objectively, I could acknowledge he was beautiful. The same way I could acknowledge a sunset was beautiful, or a well-crafted blade. It was a fact that existed independent of any personal feeling.

But when I looked at him, all I felt was… fond. The way you might feel about a favorite book from childhood, or a particularly comfortable pair of shoes. Warm, but utterly uncomplicated.

Nothing like the electric charge that ran through me when Kazimir so much as glanced my way.

“Sebastian.” I leaned on the railing. “We need to talk.”

His eyebrows rose. “That sounds ominous.”

“About the kiss.”

His face went through several interesting color changes before settling on a pink that clashed with his violet eyes.

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “You remember that.”

“Recently, yes. Along with you defending me from my father. And the time we tried to teach ourselves levitation and ended up stuck on the conservatory roof for six hours.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Your governess was furious.”

“She thought we’d been kidnapped.” I matched his smile despite myself. “We could hear her screaming about ransom notes while we were trying not to fall off.”