Page 205 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I yanked the last knife free. “I’ve been avoiding that particular decision.”

“I noticed.”

I returned to the table, laying the knives out in a neat row. Kazimir had been giving me space to make a decision about my father, and I appreciated that more than I could say. But he was right—it was time. Part of me wanted to storm down to the dungeons and force my father to look me in the eye while I demanded answers for every betrayal, every lie. But another part—a growing part—just felt tired of giving him space in my head, in my heart.

“I think,” I started slowly, “I’m ready to move on from him. From what he represents.” I met Kazimir’s gaze. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make use of him.”

A slow, appreciative smile spread across Kazimir’s face. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“You have an idea.”

“I always have ideas. It’s part of my villainous charm.” He moved closer, his voice dropping to that conspiratorial tone that never failed to send a shiver down my spine. Kazimir picked up one of my knives, testing its weight. “We could let him escape.”

I stared at him. “Um.”

He threw the knife without even looking at the target, landing a perfect shot in what would have been its left eye. Show-off.

“A carefully orchestrated escape this time,” he continued. “Or rather, make him believe he’s escaped because there’s no time for a real one. Feed him just enough information to make him valuable to Auremar—specifically, that I’ll be attacking east of the capital.”

Understanding dawned. “To make sure Auremar sends his remaining forces out to meet you before we get there.”

“Precisely.” Kazimir’s smile was all predator now. “Your father is desperate enough to curry favor with Auremar that he’ll deliver the information immediately, and prideful enough to believe he escaped on his own.”

I considered it, running a finger along the edge of one of the knives. I liked the idea of turning my father into nothing more than a pawn. “It could work. But what if he doesn’t go to Auremar?”

“Where else would he go? His estate is seized, his reputation in tatters. Auremar is his only potential ally now.” Kazimir moved closer, his fingers brushing mine as he picked up another knife. “Besides, we’ll have him followed.”

“By whom? Everyone’s coming with us.”

“Shadow warriors.” He threw the knife, hitting the target’s other eye.

I nodded slowly. “It’s a good plan. Better than letting him rot, which is what I was leaning toward.”

“Really? I thought you might want one last confrontation. To make him answer for your mother.”

A memory flickered through my mind—my mother’s laugh as she braided my hair. The sound was so clear, so real, I could almost believe she was in the room with us.

These fragments had been returning steadily since I took the potion, filling in gaps I hadn’t even known existed. Not the dramatic, painful memories of her death, but the quiet moments that had shaped me—her kindness, her strength, the way she’d loved me unconditionally.

The knowledge that I was loved, that I was worthy of love, had helped me understand my own heart better, including the feelings I’d been wrestling with regarding Kazimir. The hesitation I’d felt about loving him—really loving him, not just desiring or needing him—had begun to dissolve as I remembered what real love looked like through my mother’s example.

The words I’d been struggling to say to Kazimir felt less terrifying now.

“No,” I said finally. “I don’t need anything more from my father. I know what happened now, and no explanation he could offer would change it or make it better.”

Kazimir studied me, his expression unreadable. “You’ve changed.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“An observation.” He moved closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. “You seem lighter. Despite everything.”

I leaned into his touch. “The memories help. Not just the terrible ones, but the good ones too. Remembering who she was, who I was with her.”

“And who was that?”

I smiled. “Someone who wasn’t afraid to love.”

Something flickered in his eyes—uncertainty, perhaps, or longing. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual intensity.