Page 74 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“I hate all of you,” Griffin finally said, words slurring together. “You’ve ruined organsh and philoshphy for me.”

“We should do this more often,” I announced. “Spending time together without trying to conquer anything. Just being people. Weird people throwing organs around, but still.”

“To weird people,” Sebastian said, raising his cup.

“T’organ throw-wing,” Griffin added.

“To not dying at the God Spire,” Thorne contributed.

“To family,” I said, then immediately worried I’d overstepped.

But Kazimir raised his cup. “To family.”

We drank, and Sebastian immediately turned green.

“Side of the ship!” Brecca barked.

He made it, barely.

“Called it,” Thorne said.

“Thatsh cheatin’,” Griffin protested. “He vomitsh all the time.”

As they bickered and Sebastian groaned, I looked at our ridiculous group and felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the moonshine. We’d need to descend soon, according to Brecca, to avoid the night predators. And we needed food and rest.

“Last round,” I announced. “Winner takes all.”

“Takes all what?” Sebastian asked weakly, returning from the railing.

“Pride. Glory. The last pickled brain.”

We lined up for our final throws. The wind had picked up, adding an extra challenge. Or maybe we were all just too drunk to stand straight.

Griffin went first, his throw wild but enthusiastic. “For sh-ience!”

The organ arced high, sailing well past the target—and Nyx materialized from the clouds like a pink-scaled arrow. She snatched it midair with a triumphant screech, her jaws snapping shut around the pickled prize.

“Nyx, no!” I called, but she was already winging away. “You don’t even know what that is!”

She ignored me completely.

“Automatic disqualification,” Thorne said. He went next, landing another perfect throw because apparently being drunk didn’t affect his ability to hit things. “For professionalism.”

Sebastian somehow managed his first successful throw of the entire game. “For not embarrassing myself further!”

We all cheered.

Kazimir stepped up, the last brain in one hand, his other arm still holding me around the waist. “For my wife,” he said, then threw it with perfect accuracy.

I stood on my tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “How sweet, Lord Blackrose.” Kaz caught me as I lost my balance.

Captain Brecca tallied the final score. “Thorne wins, somehow, despite being a team of one.”

“D’mand a recount,” Griffin said, stumbling over to the target. “M’ lasht throw went through the hole. It jush… went through sho fasht you couldn’ see it.”

“The dragon ate it,” Thorne pointed out.

“Wellllll”—Griffin hiccuped—“thash a hole isn tit?”