Page 234 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

I searched her face for any flicker of recognition, any hint of my wife beneath those hazel eyes. But where I’d built walls against the Shadow King’s whispers over weeks of constant battle, she’d had no warning, no defenses—just raw power singing through her veins when that ancient darkness came calling.

The only inkling I had that she was still in there somewhere was the steady warmth from the ring on my finger.

I should have told her about the Shadow King. I’d kept it from her out of fear, but if I’d just shared my struggle with her, she might know how I’d been fighting him. To make matters worse, she’d told me she loved me. It’s what saved me, and yet I hadn’t said those words back as soon as I opened my eyes.

For the first time in my villainous life, I wanted to weep with regret.

“My lord!”

Thorne’s voice cut through the fog in my head. My security chief emerged from the smoke, his armor splattered with blood and worse. His eyes went wide when he saw Arabella standing over me, the Heirloom visible and blazing with dark power on her brow.

“Stay back,” I warned, but Thorne was already moving closer. His sense of loyalty wouldn’t let him leave me on the ground.

“We’ve secured the captives,” he reported, his voice carefully neutral as he assessed the situation. “Lord Sebastian is preparing for the cleansing ritual to reseal the prison, to free the ley lines from—”

“It won’t work,” I interrupted.

Thorne’s scarred face hardened. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, do tell him,” the Shadow King purred through Arabella’s lips. Her head cocked to the side in that gesture that was so reminiscent of my mother it nearly made me sick. But of course the evil that had been living in my head would know that. “Explain how the Heirloom of Dominion is central to your plans. But you no longer have control of it.”

I ignored the taunting, focusing on Thorne. “The Heirloom is bound to Arabella. Without her…”

Thorne’s gaze tracked from the circlet blazing on Arabella’s brow to my face, then back again. His jaw worked silently as the pieces clicked together—the artifact we’d hidden, the malevolent power radiating from her, the implications of what I’d just admitted. He didn’t need to hear the whole story to know that something was very, very wrong with Lady Blackrose.

His hand clenched around his sword hilt until his knuckles went white. “Fuck.”

The Shadow King tsked. “Is this the quality of minion you’re keeping these days? Standards have really slipped since my time.”

Rage boiled through me, hot and useless. I wanted to tear the Shadow King apart, to rip him from Arabella’s body with my bare hands. But that wasn’t how possession worked, if that’s indeed what this was. Violence would only hurt her.

“There has to be a way,” Thorne said, his hand moving to his sword before he caught himself. “Some way to extract—”

“There isn’t,” I said, cutting him off. Not through any method we had access to here, not with my magic depleted and Arabella’s will being systematically crushed.

But there was one option. One person who might know something, anything, that could help. I forced myself to stand. My legs shook but sheer will kept me upright.

The Shadow King watched with Arabella’s face, amused by my struggle. “I suppose I should thank you for the assist. All those years of building your mental defenses, keeping me locked away, only to tear them down for love. How beautifully ironic.”

I stepped closer to Arabella—to the thing wearing her face. The Shadow King didn’t retreat, confident in his control. Her arm reached for me in stuttering movements, fingers alternating between clawed and relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The Shadow King’s laugh was cruel. “For which part? Letting me possess your wife? Failing to protect—”

I slammed my dominion magic into Arabella’s mind.

Not gently. There was no time for finesse or room for careful extraction. I drove my power deep, past the Shadow King’s presence, searching for Arabella’s consciousness. When I found it—that flickering flame—I wrapped it in layers of magical sleep.

Nyx’s roar split the air, but she didn’t interfere.

The Shadow King snarled and Arabella’s body convulsed as I forced her into unconsciousness. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t kind. But it might, might, preserve some part of her mind while I found a real solution.

Her body went limp. I caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her against my chest. The Heirloom still blazed on her brow, but at least the Shadow King couldn’t use her voice anymore.

Nyx spread her wings, bristling with threat. But when I cradled Arabella closer, the dragon’s aggression crumbled into a low, mournful crooning as she pressed her massive head against Arabella’s unconscious form.

“My lord,” Thorne began, “what are you—”