Page 240 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Griffin’s chalk snapped. He fumbled for another piece, not looking up from his work.

“For centuries, those fragments drifted in that liminal space. But prisons decay. Magic weakens. And as your precious heroic bloodlines grew corrupt, siphoning power from my prison for their own petty ambitions, the ley lines around me began to fray.” The Shadow King’s voice took on a quality of satisfaction. “One strand at a time, the web unraveled. And each time a strand broke, a fragment slipped through.”

“You had no control over it,” the Alchemist observed quietly.

“None whatsoever,” the Shadow King agreed. “Pure cosmic accident. The fragments sought hosts on their own, drawn to certain conditions. Children with natural darkness, ambition, magical talent. The fragment would integrate during those early, formative years. The child would grow up thinking those impulses—that hunger for power, that strategic brilliance, that need to dominate—were entirely their own.”

Griffin’s hands stilled for a moment before resuming their work with renewed urgency.

“Each one showed such promise,” the Shadow King continued. “Before being killed by heroes, by their own recklessness, by pure chance. And each time a fragment died, that piece of me died with it.” The Shadow King hurried on, as if even he sensed his time was running out. “And then along came you, Kazimir. Born under the darkest star in three centuries, to a mother who understood power and a father who embodied brutality. You were perfect.”

“But I didn’t awaken,” I said slowly. “Not naturally.”

“No,” he agreed. “You might have lived your entire life with that fragment dormant, just another brutal warlord in a world full of them. But then dear Amaryska carved those runes into your bones.” He gestured at my scarred arms with Arabella’s hand. “She thought she was creating a weapon. She had no idea she was creating a resonance. Those runes vibrated at the same frequency as my prison, because all dominion magic originates with me. Every spell she carved was like striking a tuning fork against my cage.”

The aching in my bones intensified. Everything made horrible sense.

Griffin made a strangled sound. “The runes… unlocked the fragment.”

“Broke the lock keeping it dormant,” the Shadow King confirmed. “Created a channel between you and my prison. Weak at first, barely a whisper. But it grew stronger as you grew stronger.” He paused, and when he spoke again, there was something almost wistful in his tone. “I’ve been with you your entire life, Kazimir. Every strategic insight that came to you like breathing. Every inexplicable draw toward conquest. Your obsession with Skyspire, with Solandris. That wasn’t just ambition. That was me, recognizing what was mine.”

“And the Heirloom?” I asked. If the Shadow King was offering information, I’d let him talk.

“Ah yes, Soriven’s great mistake.” The Shadow King’s glee was palpable. “He forged it from my own essence, bound with his First People magic. It was meant to control the ley lines, to maintain my prison. But he couldn’t bear to destroy it afterward—the power was too intoxicating. And when you and your lovely wife activated it with your combined magics, it touched the ley lines directly. My fragment woke and recognized what it was.”

The containment circle Griffin was working on flared suddenly, making him yelp and scramble backward.

I forced myself to speak. “Why didn’t you take control before today?”

“Because you were too well defended.” Arabella’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, but her left arm jerked violently mid-motion. “All that emotional detachment, that cynical armor you built around yourself. You thought it made you strong, made you safe from betrayal. But it also made you a fortress I couldn’t breach. Your refusal to feel, to connect, to love—it kept me locked away as surely as Soriven’s prison kept my body bound.”

The Alchemist’s expression shifted to something like understanding. “Lady Blackrose.”

“Arabella Blackrose,” the Shadow King said. “My fragment watched her for weeks after the activation. Watched every wall you’d built start to crumble. All those feelings you’d suppressed for decades came flooding back. And with them came cracks in your mental fortress. Cracks I could slip through. And then, when Auremar’s meddling allowed me to flow into the ley lines, I saw what the fragment was seeing. That’s when I truly woke. Not just the fragment in you, but my main consciousness in the prison. For the first time in seventeen centuries, I was aware. I could see through the fragment’s eyes, feel through your senses. And I could sense both you and your wife through the Heirloom.”

My hands clenched into fists.

“But I wasn’t truly free.” His frustration bled through Arabella’s voice. “I can inhabit the ley lines, yes. Move through them, influence them. But I can’t leave them. I can’t create a physical form from pure magical energy. I’m a consciousness without a body.”

He smiled with Arabella’s cracked lips. “I felt her power every time she touched the Heirloom. This beautiful, powerful creature, bonded to an artifact forged from my own essence. Heroic bloodline strong enough to contain me. Magic potent enough to channel me. And so deliciously connected to you—my last fragment, my final piece. She was perfect, and since you kept rejecting me, I kept looking for an opportunity.”

Arabella’s body convulsed, fighting against his words. I was breathing hard, and needed a moment to control myself. Griffin was working faster now, his movements frantic as he layered symbol over symbol.

Arabella’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “Did you know she’s known the truth since that day you activated the Heirloom? She’s been carrying that knowledge ever since, watching you hide it from her, wondering if you’d ever trust her enough to tell her.”

My blood went cold. “You’re lying.”

“Ask yourself—why do you think she’s been so careful around you lately?” The Shadow King laughed. “She saw everything in that vision, Kazimir. She knows exactly what monster sleeps inside you. Watching. Waiting. Planning her escape routes in case you lost control.”

“No.” The word came out flat, certain. Arabella didn’t plan escape routes. She planned attacks.

“No?” The Shadow King’s eyebrows rose. “You think she stayed out of love? She stayed because—”

“She stayed because she was waiting for me to trust her.” The realization hit like a physical blow. Arabella had known. Had chosen to bear that weight rather than add to mine.

“And here you were,” the Shadow King continued, “trying so desperately to keep the truth from her. All that guilt, all that secrecy, and she already knew.”

My throat tightened. She hadn’t told me because she couldn’t know if the knowledge would make my fight harder. If knowing the Shadow King was inside me would give him more power over me. So she’d stayed silent, watching, waiting to see which would help me more—truth or ignorance.