Page 5 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Apologies, my lord.” Thorne dismounted. “We couldn’t take prisoners as instructed.”

“Why not?”

“The dragon got to them first.” A muscle twitched below Thorne’s left eye. “All of them.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Nyx—Arabella’s dragon, Arabella’s gift, Arabella’s chaos incarnate—had once again decided my orders were merely suggestions. Between the dragon and her mistress, I was beginning to wonder who truly ruled Skyspire.

It was definitely me. Probably. Mostly.

I scowled at Arabella. “Your dragon ate my prisoners.”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “Next time I’ll ask her to chew more slowly so you can at least get their names.”

Sebastian tried to dismount but slipped. Before he hit the ground, a thick vine burst from the undergrowth and coiled around his waist, lowering him gently.

“Thank you,” Sebastian murmured to the vine, patting it absently. “Very considerate.”

The vine swayed in what looked like acknowledgment before releasing him and wriggling back into the forest shadows.

I stared. “Did you just thank a plant?”

He brushed dirt off his sleeves. “It would be rude not to.” His eyes widened as he seemed to remember he stood in front of the Terror of the Western Realms, not hosting a garden party. “My lord.”

Arabella cleared her throat—hiding a laugh, most likely. “Someone fetch him water!”

Griffin scrambled to oblige. “I’ll do it!” His voice cracked. He tried a quick dismount but got his boot stuck in the stirrup. The mule, sensing weakness, shuffled sideways, dragging Griffin with it.

“Blessed fucking bollocks of the seven saints!” Griffin dangled halfway to the ground, contorted like a pretzel. “Son of a plague-riddled whore’s unholy pustule!” He yanked at his trapped foot. “May your entrails be used as skipping ropes for demon children, you rot-brained, shit-spewing, corpse-fucking cesspool of a—”

The stunned silence that fell over the company finally registered. Griffin froze, his face turning the color of a ripe tomato.

I leaned toward Arabella. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”

“I’m taking notes,” she whispered back.

Griffin continued his battle with the stirrup, though his curses had been reduced to mortified mumbling. Meanwhile, a young soldier handed Sebastian a waterskin. The nobleman accepted it with trembling hands, gulping greedily. When he lowered it, his gaze met mine, and I was struck again by the uncanny color of his eyes—not a vain magical enhancement at all, but a marker of his heroic bloodline, just like Arabella’s abilities.

“Lord Sebastian!” Arabella approached him with outstretched hands. “It’s been too long.”

“Lady Eve—” He caught himself. “Lady Blackrose. You look well.” His tight smile flickered between us.

“And you look terrible.” Her tone was kind despite the blunt words. She gestured to me. “May I present my husband, Lord Kazimir Blackrose?”

I stepped forward, letting him see exactly what I was—a warlord who had claimed this woman and would soon claim all of Solandris. I let my dominion magic ripple outward. Shadows crawled along the ground, and a cold wind stirred the leaves overhead.

“Lord Sebastian,” I said, my voice threaded with power.

To his credit, the man didn’t flinch. After visible internal struggle, he squared his shoulders and bowed formally. “Dark Lord Blackrose. I’ve heard much about you.”

“All of it is true.”

Sebastian swallowed. I resisted the urge to glance at Arabella, already knowing the look I’d find on her face. She’d asked—quite reasonably—for me to behave. And I was, naturally, doing nothing of the sort.

But in my defense, I was being remarkably restrained.

Griffin finally freed himself with a triumphant “Aha!” He stumbled forward, hair wilder than usual, face flushed. He fidgeted with his spectacles while casting furtive glances at Sebastian.

“Griffin is our court enchanter,” Arabella said.