Page 202 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I wasn’t entirely sure which he’d pick.

58 Pretend You’re Fine

(Everything’s Fine)

Kazimir

The Alchemist’s fingers twitched like a puppeteer testing strings as they examined Griffin’s latest contraption—a crystal matrix that hummed with unstable energy. The Alchemist had been delighted by Griffin’s laboratory, though they kept eyeing his “experimental mistakes” shelf with professional concern.

“Fascinating,” they murmured. “The resonance frequency is entirely wrong, of course, but the underlying theory…”

“Focus,” I said, massaging the bridge of my nose.

The voice in my head—the one that wasn’t mine—had been growing louder all morning. A constant, seductive tirade that promised power beyond imagination if I’d just let go.

They’re all traitors. The Alchemist will betray you. Arabella will abandon you. Kill them all and take what’s yours.

The Shadow King continued to alternate between urging me to murder my wife or assert my control over her so we could use her. I’d decided it was easier to ignore the why and focus on the what—which was that I’d do neither, no matter how loud the voice screamed.

I tightened my mental grip, forcing the voice back into its cage.

“The ritual preparations are nearly complete,” I said, deliberately focusing on the Alchemist. “Other than the site—which we won’t have access to until we defeat Auremar—we’re as ready as we can be. Griffin has managed to stabilize the crystal array for channeling the energy.”

Griffin, who’d been nervously hovering nearby, bobbed his head. “Mostly stable. Eighty-three percent stable. Which is really quite good considering the temporal fluctuations in the—”

“Griffin.”

He flinched. “Right. Yes. Stable enough. Probably won’t explode.”

The Alchemist’s eyebrows rose. “Probably?”

“Definitely,” Griffin amended, then immediately undermined himself by adding, “Unless someone sneezes too hard near the northwestern crystal. But what are the chances of that?”

I resisted the urge to throw something at him. “Lady Blackrose is speaking with the captives now. Attempting to secure their willing participation.”

“And if she fails?” the Alchemist asked, their tone deceptively casual.

I gritted my teeth. “If she fails, we’ll find another way.”

“Another way meaning…?” The Alchemist’s eyes fixed on mine, probing.

“Meaning whatever is necessary to stop Auremar and seal the prison.” I met their gaze unflinchingly. “I won’t pretend I’m above sacrificing a few nobles if it means saving the world. Or more importantly, saving my wife.”

Griffin made a small, distressed sound. “Lady Blackrose will convince them. She’s quite persuasive.”

“It’s not her abilities I doubt,” I said, turning away to examine a row of bubbling potions. “It’s the nobility of Solandris. Self-important, shortsighted fools who’d rather die with their principles intact than live pragmatically.”

The Alchemist’s gaze lingered on me a moment too long. “You should know, Lord Blackrose, that for some types of magic—particularly purification rituals like the one we’re planning—willing blood is significantly more powerful than unwilling.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that.”

“It’s a matter of magical resonance,” they continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Unwilling sacrifices create discordant energy. If you’re summoning a demon, for instance, that demon will want unwilling blood. Fear. Pain. These are the currencies of darker realms. But for restoring corrupted ley lines? You need harmony. Alignment. Willingness.”

I turned back to face them. “And yet, you told me the First Hero sacrificed his victims to seal the Shadow King the first time. Why wouldn’t that be the best approach now?”

The Alchemist went very still. “Did I say that?”

“You did.” My eyes narrowed. “In fact, you specifically mentioned that Soriven’s victory was built on ‘blood and suffering.’ Your exact words.”