Page 231 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

The third was Arabella.

She stood over me like an avenging angel, power crackling around her more intense than I’d ever seen before. The glamor had fallen from the Heirloom, and it blazed on her brow. But it was her eyes that caught me—fierce, protective, magnificent. She was commanding my behemoth. She was holding an entire battlefield at bay.

For me.

I tried to speak, to tell her I was back, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. Everything felt distant, disconnected, as if I was puppeteering my own flesh from a great height.

But she must have felt the change, because she looked down. Our eyes met.

Relief crashed across her features, followed immediately by that smirk I loved so much.

“There you are,” she said, sinking to her knees beside me. A shadow creature tried to flank us; she destroyed it without looking. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

And despite everything—despite the battle raging around us, despite my body’s refusal to move, despite the whisper of ancient hatred still echoing in my skull—I believed her.

She had me. She always had.

67 Defend What’s Yours

(Better Known as “Oops”)

Arabella

The tears wouldn’t stop coming.

I knelt in the blood-soaked earth, cradling Kazimir’s head in my lap once again as relief loosened all the tension in my body. He was back. The darkness that had consumed him, that ancient thing wearing his face—it was gone. I could feel him again through our bond, not the Shadow King’s cold hunger but Kazimir’s familiar presence, sharp and warm and mine.

“You absolute bastard,” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. “You scared me.”

His lips twitched, trying for his trademark smirk but not quite managing it. His body was still recovering from whatever internal battle he’d fought. I kept one hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady under my palm.

The Bone Behemoth swayed above us, awaiting new commands. Around us, the battlefield had gone eerily quiet. Solandrian forces were scattered or dead. Our own soldiers held their positions, uncertain what to do now that their Dark Lord lay unconscious.

“Can you stand?” I asked, already knowing the answer from the way his muscles trembled with each breath.

He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Give me… a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.” I shifted so his head rested more comfortably against my thigh. “I’ve got things handled.”

And I did. The Heirloom thrummed with power on my brow, connecting me to every shadow warrior on the field. The Bone Behemoth responded to my will as easily as my own limbs. Even Nyx circled overhead in perfect synchronization with my commands.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly powerful. Not just magically gifted or tactically clever, but powerful in the way Kazimir had always been. The kind of power that reshaped battlefields and—

Movement at the edge of my vision.

I turned, expecting another wave of soldiers or perhaps one of our generals approaching for orders. Instead, I saw two figures stumbling across the corpse-strewn ground.

Auremar.

The golden king looked like death walking. His robes were bloodied and torn, his crown askew, dark veins spreading across his skin. But he was alive, and the chains of light and shadow I’d wrapped around him were gone.

Behind him, barely visible in the smoke, a familiar figure in gray and red robes disappeared through a portal.

Amaryska.

That bitch had freed him but was now running.

“Kazimir Blackrose!” Auremar’s voice cracked as he stumbled closer, mad eyes fixed on my husband’s prone form. He raised his hands, corrupt magic gathering between his fingers—the Shadow King’s power in a vessel that couldn’t properly contain it.