Page 183 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I could breathe again. Barely. The shadows retreated as I descended to the training room, responding to my will instead of fighting it. Vex had given me clarity, at least. A direction.

Now I just had to not fuck it up.

“This is your fault.” I stormed in to find Arabella in the center of the space, magic crackling between her hands.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best opening, but I was still feeling raw and irritated.

She whirled on me, and the look in her eyes could have melted steel. “Excuse me?”

“We agreed to collect the bloodlines.” I gestured wildly back toward the chaos I’d escaped. “Just the bloodlines. Not their entire extended families, household staff, and rooster.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Light and shadow swirled around her fingers in a display that was both beautiful and terrifying. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, sweat glistening on her skin. “Should I have left the children behind? Maybe with a nice note for Auremar explaining where their parents or aunts and uncles went?”

The magic between her hands pulsed brighter, and I realized this might not be the ideal moment to discuss our houseguest situation. I’d save that particular argument for when my wife wasn’t actively channeling enough power to drop Skyspire into the swamp.

“What are you doing?” I asked instead, moving closer despite the danger.

“Practicing.” She turned back to the far wall, where a portal shimmered. The edges were ragged, unstable, but that she was creating them at all was impressive. “I barely formed that portal that saved me from Zaraiah.”

“And yet you did.” My voice was hoarse. Part pride, part fury that she’d been in that position at all.

I wanted to delay the moment I’d come down here for, so I leaned against the wall, content to watch Arabella work. Each failed attempt brought a furrow to her brow that I wanted to smooth away with my thumb. Each success made her eyes light up in a way that sent heat straight to my cock. Soon, most of the tightness in my chest had eased.

The air around her rippled as she gathered her magic. Light and shadow twined around her arms. She thrust her hands forward, tearing a hole in the fabric of space. The portal stabilized, edges smoothing into a perfect circle that revealed the gardens outside.

“Fuck me,” I breathed.

She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe later, if you ask nicely.”

Look at her, the Shadow King whispered, his presence sliding through my mind. All that power, just begging to be claimed. We could take her right here, bend her over that table and—

I slammed mental walls between us so hard my vision blacked out for a moment. When it cleared, Arabella was watching me with concern.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” I took a deep breath. “Just… the runes are acting up.”

She studied me for a long moment, and I wondered if she could sense the darkness coiling through my thoughts. If she knew how hard I fought every day to keep the Shadow King’s influence at bay. How much harder it had become since learning the truth.

“Take a break,” I said, grabbing a water flask from the supply shelf. “We need to talk.”

The concern in her eyes deepened, but she nodded, dismissing the magic with a gesture. We settled on a bench along the wall.

“What is it?” she asked, accepting the water I offered.

I’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times—first on the Sky Serpent when she’d described those robes, then every day since. None of the versions had gone well. I chose my words carefully, but there was no gentle way to deliver this particular blow.

“When you told me about the sorceress you remembered,” I began, “the one in gray robes with red stitching—I recognized the description.”

Arabella went very still. “You did? Who?”

“My mother,” I rasped. “Amaryska wore robes like that. It’s her signature—gray with red stitching that looks like veins of blood. I should have told you then, but I…” I trailed off.

I could see her mind working, processing. “I thought your mother disappeared after you killed your father.”

“So did I.”

“Then that means—” The flask slipped from Arabella’s fingers, clattering to the floor. Water spilled across the stone. Her face had gone pale, eyes wide with shock.