Page 39 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Vex shot him a look. “Lord Sebastian, you’ll have to forgive the roses. And Lord and Lady Blackrose. They’re still very much in their honeymoon phase.”

Sebastian blinked, clearly uncertain how to respond to that. “I… see. How lovely for them?”

Griffin nodded earnestly. “It’s been quite educational, actually. The structural reinforcement spells I’ve had to add to certain chambers—”

“Griffin,” I said dangerously.

“—are completely confidential and I’ll never speak of them again,” Griffin finished in a squeak.

I was ready to strangle him. How the hell did these roses know anything? Especially not activities in a bedroom they hadn’t even been inside. It wasn’t so much about the obvious—everyone already knew Arabella and I were insatiable. It was the principle.

Today, bedroom gossip. Tomorrow, war plans and weaknesses.

At least the only plant-whisperer I knew was a pacifist Scone Lord, and he wasn’t going anywhere without my permission.

“And that one”—Sebastian pointed to another rose as if desperate to latch on to another subject—“is critiquing everyone’s table manners. Rather harshly, I might add.”

“I can’t help with the dribbling,” Thorne rumbled. “You try eating after you’ve taken a boot to the face!”

“Did you lose a tooth in the battle?” Arabella asked with concern.

“Nearly,” Thorne said, touching his jaw gingerly. “A bit tender, too.”

“I can fix that,” Arabella said, already rising from her seat.

“Would be grateful, my lady. I didn’t have time to seek out a healer.” Thorne pushed back from the table with a scrape of his chair.

They excused themselves, Arabella’s hand already glowing faintly with healing magic.

I returned my attention to the roses. “This is absurd.”

“I do apologize,” Sebastian said. “I’ve been trying to ignore them, but they’re remarkably persistent. It’s like having a table full of maiden aunts who’ve had too much sherry.”

Griffin, apparently unable to contain himself any longer, burst out, “Lord Sebastian, do you remember my atmospheric harmonizer at the Conclave?”

Sebastian’s face lit up. “The snow machine! Of course I remember. Brilliant concept, even if the execution was a bit chilly.”

Griffin went scarlet. “You saved everyone with those mountain flowers. The way they just sprouted from the stone—”

“I sense a story,” Arabella said as she and Thorne returned to their seats. Thorne was working his jaw with satisfaction.

“I was presenting.” Griffin’s words tumbled over one another. “A device to create controlled weather patterns for agricultural purposes. But the third rune was misaligned, and instead of a gentle spring shower, it created a flash-freezing blizzard inside the conference hall.”

“Chaos everywhere,” Sebastian added with a fond smile. “Alchemists scrambling to protect their volatile concoctions, papers flying, half-finished automatons short-circuiting.”

“And you just walked toward it,” Griffin said, his voice full of awe. “Everyone else was running away, but you walked right up to my disaster and fixed it with flowers.”

“A simple biomantic cultivation,” Sebastian said. “Hardly worth mentioning.”

“Simple,” I repeated drily. Who did he think he was fooling? Creating life from stone wasn’t simple. It required significant power and precise control. Sebastian was deliberately downplaying his abilities.

“And then you gave me a scone,” Griffin continued, still staring at Sebastian like he’d hung the moon. “In the middle of all that chaos, you pulled out a scone and said my device was brilliant.”

“It was brilliant,” Sebastian insisted. “Just needed a bit of fine-tuning.”

Vex leaned forward slightly. “You carry scones to magical disasters?”

“I carry scones everywhere,” Sebastian said, studying her intently. “You never know when someone might need one.”