Page 172 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

The memory was warm, untainted by what came after. “We were idiots.”

“We were twelve.”

“Same thing.” I sobered, meeting his eyes. “Sebastian, I’m sorry. About forgetting. About… all of it.”

His expression shifted to something more serious. “Arabella—”

“My father had mages alter my memories.” The words tumbled out quickly. “After my mother died. After I started showing power. They took years from me, scrambled things, made me forget anyone who might have…” I swallowed. “Anyone who might have cared. And I remembered you, but not everything.”

Sebastian’s hands clenched on the rail, knuckles white. For a moment, I saw something in his gentle features that reminded me of Kazimir—a flash of genuine rage.

“I knew something was wrong.” He spoke roughly. “When you came back from that ‘illness,’ you looked right through me. Like we’d never spent every summer together. Like we hadn’t—”

He stopped abruptly, his jaw working as he visibly fought to control his anger. When he spoke again, his voice was low and bitter in a way I’d never heard from him.

“Someone had to have known.” The words came out clipped. “The court physicians. The servants who saw you locked in that tower. The nobles who watched a vibrant girl turn into a shadow of herself. They all just… pretended not to see.”

I felt my chest tighten. “I’m still working through that myself,” I admitted quietly. “The idea that people I smiled at, danced with, drank tea with… they might have known what was happening to me and just…” I trailed off, unable to finish.

“Decided it wasn’t their problem.” Sebastian’s laugh was harsh. “The great nobility of Solandris. So concerned with propriety and honor, unless it means actually doing something difficult.”

The bitterness in his voice surprised me. This wasn’t the gentle, diplomatic Sebastian I remembered.

“You sound like Kazimir,” I said without thinking.

He turned to look at me, and for a moment, I saw why he’d been willing to invite Bone Witches to a ball, why he’d fled rather than turn himself over to Auremar. There was steel under all that kindness.

“Maybe the Dark Lord has a point about some things,” he said quietly. “At least he’s honest about what he is.”

We stood in weighted silence for a moment before Sebastian seemed to shake himself, the anger draining from his features.

“I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not—I shouldn’t be angry at ghosts. It doesn’t help you now.”

“It helps to know someone else sees it,” I admitted. “That I’m not just being dramatic about how wrong it all was.”

He studied me for a long moment. “Do you remember everything now? From before?”

The question hung between us, loaded with meaning we both understood.

“Most of it, I think.” I turned back to the sea, needing the distance. “The important parts, anyway.”

“The Palace Garden?” His voice was carefully neutral.

I closed my eyes. “Near the topiaries with the pixies. You’d just had honey cakes.”

“You said you loved me.” The words were quiet, almost lost in the wind.

“I remember.”

“I said it back.”

“I remember that, too.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the past and present tangling uncomfortably between us.

I’d told Sebastian I loved him when we were children, when the word came as easily as breathing. Back then, I’d known what love was—my mother’s gentle hands braiding my hair, her soft songs at bedtime, the warmth of being cherished. I’d been loved, so loving in return felt natural.

But Kazimir? I wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced love—in any form. Not from his mother who carved runes into his bones. Certainly not from his father who saw him as a threat. Not from anyone, really. The thought made my heart ache for him. How could I expect him to say words he’d never heard? How could I blame him for not knowing the language of something he’d never received?