Page 187 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“At least you’re learning,” I said, straightening. “Continue.”

I moved toward the cart to retrieve a report I’d asked Griffin to compile on the heroic bloodlines’ magical signatures. My gaze snagged on the Doom Scroll instead, its surface rippling with fresh updates.

I picked it up, scanning the latest headlines and passing over fresh reports of magical catastrophes.

SOLANDRIAN FORCES MOBILIZE TO RETAKE NORTHERN OUTPOST

KING AUREMAR RALLIES ALLIES FOR DECISIVE BATTLE

BLACKROSE INVASION STALLS AS DEFENDERS REGROUP

My jaw clenched. I scrolled through the details, each one worse than the last. Auremar had summoned his scattered forces and was marching them toward the northern outpost we’d taken.

He was preparing for a full-scale counterattack.

Ten thousand soldiers, the Scroll reported. Allied reinforcements from Valmont and the coastal kingdoms. Mage battalions specializing in offensive magic.

I’d lost the element of surprise. The quick, brutal conquest I’d planned—sweeping through Solandris’s defenses and taking the capital before Auremar could organize—was no longer possible. Now it would be a grinding, bloody siege where I was outnumbered at least two to one.

Perfect, the Shadow King purred in my mind. A proper battlefield. Rivers of blood to consecrate our victory.

The thought sent a thrill through me—anticipation mixed with hunger. I could already see my shadow warriors tearing through enemy ranks, hear the screams of the dying, feel the satisfying crunch of bones beneath my magic—

I slammed the mental walls down so hard I saw stars.

When they cleared, my hands were shaking.

How much of that bloodlust was mine? How much had always been the Shadow King’s influence, whispering in the back of my mind since I was a child? I’d built my entire reputation on ruthless conquest, on the thrill of warfare. But was any of it real?

Does it matter? the voice laughed. We are the same now. Your desires, my desires—there’s no difference.

“Shut up,” I muttered.

“My lord?” Griffin looked up from his rune work, confused.

“Not you.” I forced my breathing to steady. I tossed the Doom Scroll back onto the cart. The damned thing had delivered news about my enemy before my own intelligence network. “Go find Thorne. Tell him to send scouts to confirm this report about Auremar’s army. I want numbers, positions, and an assessment of their defenses.”

Griffin scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his robes. “Right now, my lord? But the runes—”

“Can wait.” I turned toward the deeper cells where the Alchemist was being held. “This takes priority.”

“Of course, my lord.”

I needed to deal with the Alchemist first. Then I’d tell Arabella that our invasion had just become exponentially more complicated. That instead of a quick strike at the capital, we were looking at a prolonged campaign.

You’re going soft, the Shadow King whispered. Weak. All because of her.

I ignored him and continued down the corridor. The cells here were older. Reserved for prisoners who required special attention.

“Blackrose!” a voice roared from one of the cells. “You bastard! You can’t leave me down here to rot!”

Evenfall.

I paused outside his cell, considering. The man pressed against the bars in the door, his once-fine clothes filthy and torn. His eyes were wild, desperate.

“I’m a lord of Solandris.” His voice cracked. “I can—”

I leaned closer to the bars, forming shadows into wolves with glowing silver eyes. Evenfall backed into the wall of his cell. “I think about your death often. Every day, I imagine how creatively I can kill you—and how long I can make it last.”