Page 203 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

The Alchemist’s fingers twitched again, but this time I recognized it as nervousness, not enthusiasm. “Times change. Methods evolve. Perhaps you should consider your wife’s preferences in this matter.”

My hand slammed down on the workbench, rattling vials and sending Griffin scurrying backward with a yelp. “I AM considering her!” The shadows in the room darkened, and a cold wind whistled through the tower. Something on a shelf whimpered. “She may not forgive me if I make the sacrifices, but at least she’ll be alive. At least we won’t have the fucking Shadow King to contend with.”

But you do. I’m already here. Inside you. Part of you.

“Shut up,” I hissed.

The Alchemist took a careful step back. “Lord Blackrose?”

I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. The shadows receded. “Do you have an answer or not? Or have you been guessing about this ritual the whole time? Now is not the time to hedge.”

They studied me. “I’m as sure as anyone can be, more than you. And yes, I believe willing participants will mean we need fewer heroes in the end because they’ll be more powerful. But perhaps we should continue this discussion later. After Lady Blackrose has spoken with the nobles.”

“Perhaps.” I straightened my jacket, regaining composure. “I’ll personally escort you to new quarters. We’ve prepared more suitable accommodations than the dungeons, near the base of this tower.”

The Alchemist glanced around Griffin’s laboratory, taking in the bubbling potions, the half-assembled contraptions, and what appeared to be a miniature tornado contained in a glass jar. “I believe I’ll remain in the dungeons, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You prefer prison?”

“After seeing this tower?” They gestured to a shelf where a cloth seemed to be moving on its own. “The dungeons seem safer.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “Only marginally. We’ve had a problem with them expelling prisoners into the swamp recently.”

“I’ll take my chances with the swamp creatures over whatever that is.” They pointed to a corner where one of Griffin’s experiments was emitting an ominous hum.

“That’s just Herbert,” Griffin said defensively. “He’s harmless unless you feed him after midnight.”

The Alchemist stared at him.

“As you wish.” I gestured toward the door. “Griffin, continue the preparations. I want everything ready to test by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, my lord.” He was already distracted again, poking at something that sparked.

As the Alchemist and I descended the tower’s spiral staircase, they spoke quietly. “We’re running out of time. I can feel it, even here.”

“All the more reason to act quickly.”

“And the voice? The one you were telling to shut up? Is that accelerating too?”

I stopped mid-step, turning to face them. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Their expression remained neutral. “Of course, Lord Blackrose. My mistake.”

We continued down in silence, the only sound the tap of our footsteps on stone. When we reached the main corridor, I paused.

“If willing blood truly is more effective,” I said carefully, “then I hope my wife succeeds in her persuasion. But understand this—I will not risk Arabella or this world on the moral qualms of a few entitled nobles. If they won’t willingly give what’s needed, I’ll take it.”

“Even if it means becoming what you’re fighting against?”

I smiled, and there must have been something of the Shadow King in it, because the Alchemist took another step back. “I’ve never pretended to be anything other than what I am. A villain. A conqueror. A Dark Lord. The difference between Auremar and myself is that I’m honest about it.”

Yes. Embrace what you are. What WE are.

“And what about Lady Blackrose?” they asked. “Is she a villain too?”

The question caught me off guard. “Arabella is complicated.”

“Most people are.” They studied me with those unnerving eyes. “The Shadow King wasn’t always a monster, you know. Once, he was just a being with too much power and too little restraint.”