Page 241 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

The Shadow King’s lie had revealed more than he’d intended—he could mimic love’s cruelty but not its sacrifices. For all his centuries of existence, he still didn’t understand that love wasn’t about watching for weakness.

But I was beginning to understand.

Love was about guarding someone’s blind spots while they fought their demons.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “On the battlefield, I showed you what we could be together. The power we could wield. But you chose her. Again.” Arabella’s face twisted into something between admiration and disgust. “You actually rejected godhood for a woman.”

“So you took her instead,” I growled.

“I took the next best option.” The Shadow King’s smile was predatory. “Auremar’s death created the perfect opening. He’d made himself into a strand of the prison, you see, a parasite feeding on it. When he died, that connection snapped back like a broken strand. And there she was, standing at the nexus with the Heirloom fused to her head. A perfect anchor point. A perfect vessel. I simply… flowed through. Through the Heirloom, into her. Not a possession from outside, but an extension from within the very network of magic itself.” He spread Arabella’s arms wide. “I’m reaching through the ley lines, using her as my anchor in physical reality. My main consciousness remains distributed through the network, but now I can act. I can touch. I can destroy.”

“She’s stronger than you expected, though,” the Alchemist observed.

“Frustratingly so,” the Shadow King admitted. “I thought I could simply overwhelm her consciousness, but her will is remarkable. She keeps pushing back. It’s almost annoying.” Arabella’s entire body convulsed again before he regained control. “But it doesn’t matter. Time is on my side. Eventually, she’ll exhaust herself and break.”

“No, she won’t,” I said. “Because I’m going to free you.”

The Shadow King looked down at their bonds and laughed. “Then why bother with containment?”

The Alchemist snorted. “I suppose if we just let you wander Skyspire, you’ll sip tea harmlessly in front of a fire while we work?”

“I suppose I could behave. But then again, Arabella has such interesting muscle memory. Her hands know exactly how to hold a blade, where to strike for maximum damage. And so many people here trust her. They’d never see it coming until it was far too late.”

Arabella’s right hand jerked hard enough to crack her wrist against the floor.

“She didn’t like that—thinking about what I might do with her body. All the people she loves that I could hurt. You, obviously. But also that charming Lord Sebastian. Such a gentle soul. I bet he’d trust her right until the moment I slid a knife between his ribs.”

“Griffin,” I said, my voice flat and emotionless, “how much longer?”

“Almost done, my lord. Just need to—”

“Ignoring me won’t make me go away.” The Shadow King smiled with Arabella’s lips, which had cracked. “And once I’m loose in the world, who knows what mischief I might cause? Though I suppose you don’t care about that. The great Dark Lord, choosing love over the fate of millions. It’s pathetically human.”

Griffin’s array suddenly blazed to life, lines of power connecting in a complex geometric pattern. “Done,” he gasped.

The Shadow King glanced down at the glowing symbols with mild interest. “Impressive work. Won’t hold me, of course, but impressive nonetheless.”

“It’ll hold you long enough,” I said.

The Shadow King’s expression shifted to something unreadable. Then Arabella’s body went rigid, every muscle locking as she fought against his control with renewed fury. For a moment—just a moment—I saw her break through. Her eyes cleared, focused on mine with terrified urgency.

“Kaz—” she started.

Then the Shadow King slammed back into control, but not before Arabella’s right hand tore free from its shadow binding with sheer, furious will.

It happened in seconds. A bolt of raw magic erupted from her palm—that amazing hybrid of golden light and shadow that marked her unique power. It struck the wall near Griffin’s head. The explosion shook the entire keep. Stone shattered, dust and debris raining down as a section of ceiling groaned ominously. Griffin yelped and scrambled backward as chunks of masonry crashed where he’d been kneeling.

When the dust settled, we all stared at the devastation. A hole the size of a merchant’s cart had been blown in the wall, revealing the swirling clouds beyond.

“Oops,” the Shadow King said mildly.

But I understood what had just happened with perfect, horrible clarity. Arabella’s will was a weapon, yes. But the Shadow King could hijack it, turn her own power against us. She wasn’t just possessed—she was a tactical liability of world-ending proportions.

The Alchemist sighed heavily. “Do you understand now? Every moment she stays conscious, she’s a danger. To herself, to us, to everyone.”

I looked at Arabella—really looked at her. Past the Shadow King’s mockery, past the possessed puppet show, to the faint, terrified flicker I could still sense underneath. My wife. My equal. My everything.

And I made the hardest decision of my life.