Page 239 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Griffin’s eyes widened. “But… how?”

“There’s something I haven’t told either of you,” I said, flatly. “I am the Shadow King. Or rather, I’m his vessel. I’ve carried a fragment of his consciousness inside me since birth. When the Heirloom activated, I had a vision of what I was, of him.…” My failure to protect Arabella made my voice crack. “I defeated him, but when Arabella killed Auremar to protect me on the battlefield, the Shadow King transferred to Arabella through our connection, possibly because the Heirloom is bound to her. Possibly because of what Auremar was doing with the magic.”

Griffin staggered back a step, his face draining of color. “That’s—that’s not possible. You can’t be—” His eyes darted between me and Arabella, scientific mind clearly struggling to reconcile this revelation with everything he thought he knew.

Vex had gone utterly still. I’d seen her in countless situations, facing every crisis Skyspire could offer, but I’d never seen that look on her face. What struck me most wasn’t just the fear in her eyes—it was the lack of surprise at my revelation. As if she’d already known, or at least suspected. But how? When I myself had only learned the truth weeks ago?

“The Old Keep,” she said slowly. Her gaze swept the chamber—the containment circles, the cursed artifacts stored in shadowed alcoves, the ancient magic thrumming through the stones. Then her eyes found Arabella’s possessed form, and genuine anguish crossed her features. “You brought us to the Old Keep.”

“Desperate times,” I said.

“Vex!” The Shadow King’s delight was nauseating coming from Arabella’s throat. “Oh, this is delicious. Should I tell him what you really are? The truth might break his little mind.”

Vex’s face twisted into a snarl. “You know nothing about me.”

“Don’t I?” The Shadow King leaned forward as much as the shadow bonds allowed. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall… who’s the most fragmented of them all?”

Griffin looked between them, confused and frightened. “What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing,” Vex said. “He’s trying to divide us.”

The Shadow King turned those dark-pooled eyes on Griffin. “Speaking of divisions, how’s that weather manipulation experiment going? Still having nightmares about the Frost incident? All those frozen corpses because you couldn’t control the thermal dynamics?”

Griffin went white. “That was—how do you—”

“I know everything she knows,” the Shadow King said simply. “Every memory, every secret, every shameful little moment she’s witnessed or been told. For instance, Kazimir, would you like to know what she really thinks when you—”

“Enough.” I cut him off, but not before catching the malicious glint in those possessed eyes. “Griffin, I need a containment matrix. The strongest you can create. Layer it with everything you have.”

Griffin nodded rapidly, eager for something to focus on besides the Shadow King’s taunts. “Yes, yes, I can do that. The foundation’s already here, I just need to—” He was already pulling components from his robes, hands shaking slightly.

“Vex,” I continued, “recall the Sky Serpent. Get everyone back to Skyspire immediately.”

She hesitated. “And the ritual?”

“Won’t work without her.” I gestured to Arabella. “She needs to help channel it through the Heirloom, and as you can see…”

“She’s indisposed,” the Shadow King finished cheerfully. “Though I do love what she’s done with her hair. The blood really brings out her eyes.”

Vex’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

As she left, Griffin worked frantically, chalking symbols around Arabella while muttering calculations under his breath. The Alchemist observed from the corner, occasionally offering corrections that made Griffin’s eyes widen.

The Shadow King settled onto the floor like someone relaxing into a favorite chair. “Don’t you want to know how I did it?”

I ignored him and fed more power into the shadows binding him.

“Oh, don’t be petulant. I’m about to give you the history lesson you so desperately need.” He settled Arabella’s body more comfortably on the floor, despite the restraints. “Let me tell you a story about prisons, and fragments, and the slow, agonizing death of a god.”

“You’re no god,” I said flatly.

The Shadow King’s smile was terrible on Arabella’s face. “Perhaps not anymore. But I was close enough that it took the First Hero’s blood magic and the power of the First People themselves to bind me in that prison made from the ley lines themselves.”

He paused, and Arabella’s fingers twitched. “Soriven, that half-breed bastard, made a mistake. Actually, several mistakes, though he never knew about the first one. When he imprisoned me, the trauma of that binding—the agony of being torn from the physical world and wrapped in pure magical essence—it shattered me. Seven pieces broke away during those first moments, fragments of my main consciousness that slipped through the forming weave before it could fully seal. Each one carried pieces of me—my drives, my instincts, my hunger for dominion. Fragments of memory, magical affinity, strategic brilliance. Not enough to be truly conscious, but enough to recognize power when they found it. They couldn’t escape entirely, of course. They were caught in the spaces between, neither free nor imprisoned.”

My runes began to ache, but I folded my arms over my chest. “And you’re telling me this because why? You’ve been lonely?”

Arabella’s body hitched in a weird chuckle. “The story’s very interesting, actually. I’ve only just myself pieced everything together since flowing into the ley lines. Before that, I didn’t even know about the fragments, only a vague sense of being incomplete.”