Page 27 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

My gaze fell on the Heirloom again. “Then I came for Solandris.”

“Why?” she pressed. “Because it was next on the map?”

“Because it was wealthy and strategically vital. But it stopped me.” I clenched my jaw. “A kingdom of sanctimonious flower-worshippers and their vaunted heroes. I marched my forces to its borders, my magic at its peak, and I was thrown back. Not with armies. Not with steel. With its magic. Some inherent property of the land, of its ley lines, that blunted my own power. It made my runes ache. It weakened my shadows. It was the first time in years that something had not just resisted my will, but actively repelled it. And I…” I trailed off, searching for the word.

“You hated it,” Arabella supplied, her voice a soft whisper.

I nodded. “To lose is one thing. To be denied, to be told there’s a power I cannot have, a place I cannot conquer, is unacceptable. Solandris isn’t just a kingdom to me, Arabella. It’s an insult. It’s the one damn thing in this world that has ever said ‘no’ to me and made it stick. I want to remake it. I want to crack it open and own the power that denied me. I want to grind their Golden Roses and their self-righteous history into the dust. Because I can. Because I should have been able to years ago.”

The confession left me breathless. My heart hammered against my ribs hard enough to hurt. I’d never told anyone the whole story like that. The only other person who knew all of it was Vex. I’d laid out the ugliest parts of myself, the blood and betrayal and ambition that had forged me, and Arabella was just… watching me. I braced myself for the recoil, the judgment, the fear.

Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek against my chest, over my heart.

The unexpected affection sent a jolt through me. My entire body went rigid. Affection was a language I was not fluent in, even with her. My first instinct was to pull away, to reestablish the distance, the control.

But her arms were warm around me. She smelled of the intoxicating scents of battle and magic. I could feel the steady beat of her heart against my ribs, out of step with my own but somehow stronger. Beating out a slower tempo that reverberated through every part of me in an invitation, willing my heart to follow hers.

Something in my chest cracked open.

Slowly, I let my own arms come up to encircle her. I rested my chin on the top of her head, her golden hair soft against my skin, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I just breathed.

It was terrifying.

And the best thing I’d ever felt.

We stood like that for a long moment, the silent, warded room a world away from the battles and betrayals outside. Finally, she stirred, pulling back just enough to look up at me.

“All right,” she said. “My turn.”

I blinked. “For what?”

“To try the magic hat.”

9 Start with Brilliance, End with Screaming

(The Villain’s Journey)

Kazimir

Arabella made the suggestion as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She pulled away completely, turning to face the Heirloom. “You said it yourself, the land of Solandris resisted you. But it’s my land. My blood. The First Hero’s blood runs in my veins. He’s the one who forged it, if all accounts are true. Maybe it’s not just about amplification. Maybe it needs a specific key to turn the lock. And time is more critical now than ever, right? We need to return to Solandris.”

It was logical. It was brilliant. It was absolutely terrifying. The thought of that corrupted power touching Arabella—she was connected to it more than I was. If she wore the Heirloom now, what would happen?

“It’s too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than you going back in there alone and getting your mind scrambled?” Her perfect eyebrow arched in challenge. “You can guide me. I can be your eyes. We do it together. Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t worn it before.”

Her logic was infuriatingly sound. And the stubborn set of her jaw told me she wasn’t asking for permission. She was telling me what was going to happen. Godsdamn, I lov—cherished that about her.

I let out a long, slow breath. “Fine,” I ground out. “Try it. But if you feel anything wrong, you take it off immediately. Understood?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”

I scowled at her. “You don’t have a daddy kink.”

Her lips turned up wryly. “No, because my father is a bastard too, though not—” Arabella sighed and left the rest unsaid. She didn’t need to compare our fathers, though I felt much angrier at the way she’d been treated than any ill treatment I’d ever received at the hands of my mother.

She approached the pedestal, lifted the circlet, examined it briefly, took a deep breath, and settled it onto her head.