Page 254 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Still stress-baking?” I asked from the doorway.

He didn’t startle. Just kept working the dough. “Couldn’t sleep.”

The kitchen was warm, almost stifling with the ovens running. I counted at least six different types of pastries cooling on the counters. How long had he been at this?

“Sebastian—”

“There’s fresh coffee.” He nodded toward a pot on the stove, still not meeting my eyes. “And those almond croissants you like. Third tray from the left.”

I wanted to push, to ask about the ritual, about his sacrifice, about what Kazimir had said. But Sebastian’s shoulders were rigid with tension, his movements too controlled. He wasn’t ready.

Instead, I poured myself coffee and selected a croissant, biting into it with probably indecent enthusiasm. “Oh, fuck. This is incredible.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Try the lemon tarts. I think I finally got the curd ratio right.”

I obliged, sampling my way through his stress-fueled production. Each bite was perfection, but I could taste the anxiety baked into every layer. Sebastian’s emotions were completely scrambled.

“You know,” I said carefully, licking custard from my thumb, “we probably have enough food here to feed half the fortress.”

“Good thing we have half the kingdom’s nobility as houseguests, then.” His voice was too light.

I set down the tart. “Sebastian—”

“How is he?” The question came out rushed. “Lord Blackrose. After everything.”

“He’s fine. Sleeping.” I studied Sebastian’s profile, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. “How are you?”

“Spectacular. Never better. Did you try the chocolate soufflé? I’m particularly proud of—”

“You gave your blood to free an ancient evil.” The warmth of the kitchen seemed to absorb those words and throw them back at me. “That’s not nothing.”

His hands stilled on the dough. For a moment, I thought he might actually talk to me. Then he resumed kneading with renewed vigor. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re free. The Shadow King is… wherever he is. Mission accomplished.”

My truth-sense didn’t ping exactly, but it rippled with the weight of things unsaid. Sebastian was very carefully not lying while also not telling the truth.

“Kaz said—” I stopped myself. Did I really want to open this door?

“Said what?” Now he did look at me, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes made my chest tight.

“Nothing. Just… thank you, Sebastian. For what you did. For being willing to—”

“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than I’d ever heard from him. He took a breath, visibly pulling himself together. “I mean, you’re welcome. But let’s not make it into something more than it was. A necessary sacrifice to save a lady. Very heroic. I’ll probably get a ballad out of it.”

The kitchen door burst open before I could respond, saving us both from a conversation neither of us was ready for.

“Can’t sleep,” Vex announced, shuffling in wearing black silk pajamas. “Too much adrenaline. Too many feelings. Need sugar.”

She stopped short at the sight of Sebastian’s bakery explosion. “Holy shit. Did you rob a pastry shop?”

“Help yourself,” Sebastian said, already pulling another ball of dough from somewhere. Where was he even getting all these ingredients?

Griffin appeared next, his hair sticking up in twelve different directions and his striped nightshirt inside out. It only fell to just above his knobby knees. “I smelled cinnamon rolls. Please tell me there are cinnamon rolls. I’ve been up all night trying to figure out how to track magical signatures through dimensional barriers and my brain needs sugar.”

“Second shelf, left side,” Sebastian directed without looking up.

Thorne was the last to arrive, somehow looking perfectly put together despite wearing simple sleep clothes. He surveyed the scene with his usual calm assessment.

He stared at Sebastian with a question on his scarred face.