Page 62 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Arabella placed a kiss on my lips. “Just promise me that if this goes badly—and it probably will because our plans always go sideways—we handle it together. No heroic sacrifices. No sending me away for my own good.”

The thought of anyone trying to take her from me made my runes burn hot enough that she flinched.

“Sorry,” I said, forcing the rage down. “I promise.” I meant it with every rune carved into my bones. I sat in a chair and pulled her into my lap. “Anyone who tries to separate us will discover exactly why I’m called the Terror of the Western Realms.”

She smiled. “Your ego needs its own cabin on the ship.”

“Lord Blackrose?” Griffin’s voice drifted from the corridor. “Should I pack the emergency explosion containment kit? Just in case?”

I closed my eyes. “Are you planning to bring something that might explode?”

“Um—”

“Overboard, Griffin.”

His footsteps retreated, followed immediately by a crash and creative cursing.

“We’re all going to die,” I muttered.

“But at least it won’t be boring,” Arabella agreed cheerfully.

Nothing with her ever was.

By the time we’d finally finished the travel preparations late that night, I was ready to burn the whole citadel to the ground for a moment of peace. Griffin tried to smuggle three separate “definitely not explosive” devices into his luggage, Sebastian kept sprouting thorny vines and rhyming, and Thorne had threatened to tie them both to the outside of the ship.

The exhaustion hit me all at once as Arabella and I climbed the stairs to our chambers. Between the invasion attempt, rebuilding the dungeon wards, and now this impromptu journey, I’d had three days of almost no sleep. My runes ached with a deep, bone-weary pain that no amount of posturing could hide.

“I swear to every dark god that ever existed, I’m going to set something on fire,” I muttered, already unbuttoning my coat.

Arabella wrapped an arm around my waist. I wasn’t sure if the gesture was for her benefit or mine. “You already set three things on fire today.”

“Those were demonstrations of what happens when people won’t stop asking me stupid questions,” I growled, my hand landing on the heavy door to our rooms. “We have less than three days to prepare for what’s obviously a trap, and I’m fielding inquiries about whether we need to bring extra pillows.”

Arabella leaned against the door, a tired smile gracing her freckled face. “I need a bath.” She began pulling her hair from its braid. “And then I need you to do unspeakable things to me so I can stop thinking about tomorrow.”

“I can manage that.”

She glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised. “You look ready to collapse.”

“I’m never too tired for unspeakable things.”

She laughed, shaking her golden hair free. “Liar. But I’m up for a quickie if you are.”

“Quick can be good.” I was already loosening the laces of her dress. “Very good, if done right.”

Her hands moved to my belt. “Yeah?”

I unlocked the heavy door with renewed enthusiasm.

Only to be greeted with a blast of freezing air.

The large gothic window stood wide open, autumn wind howling through the room. The fire in the hearth guttered and sparked. Papers from the desk swirled in miniature cyclones across the floor.

But that wasn’t what made me reach for my magic.

Arabella wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell? Did the servants forget to collect our swamp clothes?”

“No,” I said, my gaze fixed on our bed. “That’s not it.”