Page 176 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“And if I don’t feel like explaining myself?”

“Then you’ll do exactly what you’re doing now.” The Alchemist gestured to the cage surrounding them, but their tone held a note of approval. “I expected you to be pragmatic. You can’t afford to let this information spread. Not yet. Not until you’ve consolidated your power base and dealt with whatever’s happening inside your head.”

The Shadow King’s essence stirred within me. Interesting. They know what we are and came anyway.

I shoved the thought aside. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to be my guest for a while. A very comfortable, very secure guest.”

“I assumed as much.” The Alchemist’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I have conditions.”

“You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“On the contrary. I’m in the perfect position.” They nodded to the forest around us. “I came alone, yes. But I’m not foolish. My creations are extensions of my magic, Kazimir. There’s a vial sitting in every chair’s quarters right now, and in the courts of a dozen kingdoms besides—a vial that is perfectly invisible and inert, so long as I remain comfortable and connected to my craft. Sever that connection—kill me, suppress my magic, or neglect me long enough for my focus to slip—and those vials open themselves.” Their half smile sharpened. “You can imagine what a detailed account of your condition would do in the wrong hands.”

Another threat for the collection.

“What conditions?”

“You hold up your end of our agreement regarding the ley lines. We finish what we started at the God Spire—stop the Shadow King from spreading. And when you’re ready to deal with your situation, you allow me to help.” They paused. “I’m one of the Weavers, Kazimir. If anyone can help you separate yourself from the Shadow King without destroying you, it’s me.”

“Why help me at all?”

“Because the alternative is watching the Shadow King fully possess you and destroy everything I’ve worked to build.” Their voice held genuine concern. “And because despite everything, you’re the most interesting thing to happen to the Western Realms in centuries. It would be a shame to waste that potential.”

I stared at them for a long moment, weighing options, calculating risks. The Alchemist knew too much. But they were also offering something I desperately needed—expertise in the very magic that bound me to this ancient evil.

“Fine.” The shadows around them darkened and compressed until the Alchemist was bound with their hands at their sides. “But you’ll forgive me if I take precautions.”

“Of course. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. Though I should warn you,” they continued, “the other chairs are coming. When they move against you, it won’t be just a vote. It’ll be an execution.”

“I look forward to watching them try. Now then.” I conjured a portal back to Skyspire, and for good measure, gagged the Alchemist in case they decided to blurt out any inconvenient truths. “Let’s get you settled. I’m thinking one of our well-appointed dungeon suites.”

We emerged on the platform outside the Dungeons Complex just as Arabella appeared at the far end of the lightning bridge, which had just been restored.

Everything else ceased to matter.

She crossed to me immediately, her hands finding mine. The contact sent warmth through me, chasing back the cold that had been settling deeper into my bones over the past few days. I caught her face between my palms, needing the contact more than I wanted to admit. For just a heartbeat, I pressed my forehead to hers—a brief surrender before the mask had to go back on.

She placed her hands on my chest and breathed deeply, her fingers curling into the fabric of my coat. When I pulled back enough to see her face, her eyes were too bright, tears threatening to spill over lashes that trembled with the effort of holding them back.

Her gaze traced over my features with an intensity that made my chest tighten, as if she was trying to memorize every detail. Or perhaps seeing me differently than she had before.

One of her hands moved from my chest to my jaw, her thumb brushing across my beard with devastating gentleness. The touch carried weight I couldn’t quite name—not pity, thank the gods, but something that made the Shadow King’s presence recoil slightly, as if even that ancient evil recognized it had no place in this moment.

Her breath hitched, and a single tear escaped, tracking down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away. Neither did I. We just stood there, her hands on me like she could hold me together through sheer will, my forehead still pressed to hers while the world continued its chaos around us.

Whatever she was feeling, it was there in the trembling of her fingers, in the fierce protectiveness radiating from every line of her body. In the way she looked at me like I was precious and breakable, even as I held her face between palms that had killed more people than I could count.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Finally, she glanced between me and the bound Alchemist and cleared her throat.

“Why is the Alchemist here?” she whispered.

“A lot’s happened.” I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone, catching that stray tear. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but—” She frowned, clearly reading my emotional state. “We need to talk.”

“We do. After I get our guest settled.” I forced myself to step back, to remember we had an audience.

The Alchemist’s attention had sharpened, their masked gaze studying us with careful interest. But they remained silent, just watching.