Page 244 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Sebastian crossed his arms, and a ring of protective thorns sprouted around his feet. “With all due respect, Lord Blackrose, you look like you’re about to collapse. Whatever you’re planning, you might need help.”

“I don’t need—”

“Arabella,” he interrupted, looking worried. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Something’s happened to her.”

Damn him and his emotional intelligence. I missed the days when my problems could be solved by threatening to feed people to void beasts.

“Stay here,” I growled, and pushed through the door before he could argue further.

The workshop beyond was exactly what I’d expected from someone who’d carved runes into her own child’s bones. Tables covered in anatomical diagrams, jars of preserved organs, and tools that belonged in a torture chamber more than a mage’s laboratory. And at the center of it all, sitting calmly at a desk as if she’d been expecting me, was my mother.

The sight of Amaryska in a workshop should have triggered more memories and feelings of pain, but I only had one reason for being here. I had no strategies. I wasn’t here to kill her.

I was here to beg.

“Kazimir.” She didn’t look up from the book she was reading. “You always did have dramatic timing.”

“You were waiting for me.”

“I hoped you would come.” She closed the book carefully, marking her place with a ribbon. When she finally looked at me, I saw no fear in her eyes. Only a strange sort of satisfaction. “You look terrible. The burden of power, I suppose. Or is it the burden of love?”

“Don’t.” My voice held an edge I couldn’t quite control. My hands clenched into fists, and I felt the runes in my bones pulse with heat—not the Shadow King’s influence, just my own barely contained rage. Hours ago, she’d reduced me to a child counting footsteps. Now I needed her help. The humiliation burned almost as hot as the fury. “You don’t get to talk about her. Not after what you did.”

“What I did?” She stood, moving with the same coiled grace I remembered from childhood. “You mean freeing her from a life of heartache? Her mother was weak, clinging to fairy tales about redemption and hope. Arabella was better off remembering her mother as she was when the girl was younger, not as being the reason she died.”

“You murdered her.”

“I did what was necessary.” She circled me slowly, studying me like I was one of her experiments. “Just as I opened a door for you when I carved those runes into your bones. Pain is such an excellent teacher, don’t you think?”

“Is that what you told yourself when you sold me to a demon?” The words came easier each time I said them aloud.

She laughed—actually laughed. “Oh, my darling boy. You still don’t understand, do you? I didn’t sell you to just any demon. I sold you to Malphas, Prince of Ambition. I knew you’d either die or become something magnificent. And look at you now—the Dark Lord himself, Terror of the Western Realms.”

“I killed him,” I said flatly. “Tore him apart with his own shadows and used his bones to reinforce my rune carvings.”

“I know.” Her smile was proud, fond, even. “I’ve been following your career with great interest. Every conquest, every cruelty, every step closer to your true destiny. Though I’ll admit, I didn’t understand the full scope of it until recently.”

The thought of her cataloging my conquests like a proud parent made my skin crawl. But I didn’t have time for disgust. I needed answers, and she was the only one who had them.

She moved to a shelf, pulling down a black leather journal. “After you killed your father, I went looking for answers. How had my son become so powerful? What was the source of this incredible dominion magic that couldn’t be explained by runes? That’s when I found them.”

“Them?”

“The Cult of the Eternal Shadow.” She opened the journal, showing me pages covered in symbols I recognized from my own bones. “They’ve been preparing for the Shadow King’s return for centuries. Keeping the old knowledge alive, maintaining the weaknesses in his prison, waiting for the right vessel to be born.”

My blood ran cold. “You knew. You knew what I was.”

“I suspected.” She traced one of the symbols with her finger. “The signs were all there—born under a black star, natural affinity for dominion magic, the way shadows bent toward you even as an infant. But I couldn’t be certain until you survived Malphas. Only someone carrying the Shadow King’s essence could have consumed a demon prince and lived. It explained everything about you.”

“So you joined Auremar.” The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture I didn’t want to see. “Not to help him, but to help the Shadow King.”

“Auremar was a fool,” she said dismissively. “He thought he could control that kind of power, bind it to his will with blood and roses. But I knew better. The Shadow King cannot be controlled, only unleashed. So yes, I helped weaken the prison. I guided the rituals, selected the sacrifices, all to hasten his return.”

“Why?” The word came out raw, desperate. “What could you possibly gain from releasing that monster?”

Her eyes hardened. “Your father took everything from me. My freedom, my dignity, my soul. I traded it all for power—power I used to create you, to give you the tools for revenge. But it wasn’t enough. Watching you kill him wasn’t enough.” She closed the journal with a snap. “I want to watch the world that allowed him to exist burn. I want to see kingdoms fall and heroes weep. I want chaos and darkness and the complete unmaking of everything that let a man like him thrive.”

“You’re insane.”