Page 232 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Time slowed.

I saw Auremar’s intent written in every line of his body. He wasn’t trying to reclaim his kingdom or salvage his ritual. He just wanted Kazimir dead. A rival eliminated while vulnerable.

My hands moved without conscious thought.

The throwing knives Vex had given me for my birthday were perfectly balanced, their weight familiar from practice in the armory. I’d gotten quite good, actually. Good enough that I didn’t need to aim, didn’t need to think.

I just threw.

The first knife took Auremar through his left eye, punching through with enough force to crack the orbital bone. The second found his throat, severing his windpipe with a wet sound. He dropped to his knees, hands clutching at the blade in his neck. Blood poured between his fingers, mixing with the corruption already eating at his flesh.

“What’s mine stays mine,” I said.

Auremar’s remaining eye found mine. I saw confusion there, maybe even betrayal. Had he really thought I’d let him hurt Kazimir? That I’d hesitate?

The king toppled sideways, convulsing once before going still.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then I felt a vibration through the ley lines, like a too-tight string suddenly released. Auremar had been connected to the Shadow King’s prison, I realized with dawning horror. Not just siphoning power from the cocoon but tapping directly into it, a parasitic strand feeding on the web itself.

And when he died, that strand didn’t dissolve.

It snapped back.

The recoil blasted me off my feet. Through the Heirloom, I felt the ley lines beneath Solandris shudder as Auremar’s connection whipped back toward its source. Except he had no source—he’d had no First People heritage, no natural resonance with the ancient magic. He’d forced his way in through blood and sacrifice and stolen power.

When the strand snapped back, it had nowhere to go.

Except I was standing right there. Connected to the ley lines through my magic, wearing the Heirloom, my hybrid power still singing in the air from trying to save Kazimir.

The Heirloom blazed on my brow.

Not the golden warmth it usually produced but a terrifying cold fire of recognition. The artifact was made from the same essence as the web itself, First People magic wound around Shadow King power. It knew what was coming through the ley lines. It knew what was flowing toward us.

And it opened.

I tried to sever my connection, but it wouldn’t close. The Lifeweave Ritual had bound it to me, and now that binding became a trap. The artifact held me in place as it transformed from crown to gateway, creating a doorway between the metaphysical plane of the ley lines and my physical body.

There you are, a voice whispered through the opening. Not spoken aloud but felt through every nerve. I’ve been watching you, little hero.

The Shadow King didn’t crash into me. He flowed, deliberate and controlled, moving through the ley line network with the patience of something that had waited centuries for an opportunity. I could feel him in the web—not imprisoned anymore but distributed throughout it, his consciousness spread across the magical infrastructure of the world.

And now he was coming here. Into me.

Distantly, I registered Nyx’s roar split the air as she desperately dove toward me.

“Arabella?”

Kazimir’s voice, weak but urgent. He’d felt the change, was trying to sit up despite his body’s protests.

I wanted to answer him. Wanted to tell him to run, to get away, to—

My vision fractured. I saw the battlefield as it was—corpses and mud and dying light. But I also saw it as it could be, would be, should be under his dominion. A kingdom of shadow where the sun never rose, where the very air obeyed his will, where—

Perfect, the voice purred as his consciousness flooded into every corner of my mind. Strong enough to hold me. Clever enough to be useful. Bound to my fragment through that delicious little marriage bond. And the artifact remembers who it was made from. You’re everything I needed, Arabella Blackrose.

I distantly registered what was happening even as more images were forced into my mind. Of course. The Heirloom of Dominion had been forged from the Shadow King’s own essence, bound by Soriven’s magic. And now it was connecting with its source, opening pathways that should never have existed.