Page 85 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“What’s happening there?” Arabella asked, leaning forward.

I opened my mouth to explain, then closed it. Studied the scene more carefully, watched as one witch paused to stroke the floating man’s cheek. He sighed in his trance, a smile ghosting across his lips.

“I—” An unfamiliar sensation crept over me. “I actually don’t know.”

She turned to me with exaggerated shock. “The great Lord Blackrose admits ignorance? Should I summon a scribe to document this historic moment?”

“Very funny,” I said drily. “There are still plenty of terrible things I know far too much about.”

She watched the scene with renewed interest. “He looks happy, though. Maybe it’s not sinister at all.”

“In a place called the Gilded Gallows, I’d bet against ‘not sinister,’ ” I replied. “But you’re right—he doesn’t appear to be suffering.”

Near the back of the club, a minor demon summoning was underway—probably someone trying to impress their date by calling up a lesser imp to mix cocktails. That rarely turned out well. Already the bouncers were moving in that direction with the weary efficiency of people who dealt with this sort of thing nightly.

The server returned with drinks that sparkled.

Arabella sipped hers cautiously, then smiled. “Sweet and refreshing. What is it?”

“Liquid moonlight with a touch of distilled rebellion,” the server explained proudly. “A house specialty to get you started.”

A commotion near the entrance drew our attention. A group of fae nobles swept in, their stances arrogant as they surveyed the club with predatory smiles. Their glamors flickered occasionally, revealing glimpses of needle-sharp teeth, hollow eyes, and bark-like skin.

Nearly every woman in the club turned to watch them, expressions ranging from curiosity to naked desire.

I huffed in disgust. “Fae.”

“Not a fan of them, either?” Arabella asked. We watched as one particularly tall fae with translucent wings caught the eye of a young human woman and beckoned her with a finger.

“They’ve cultivated a reputation as immortal sex gods,” I said, swirling my drink. “But all that fairy wine secretly does things to their bodies. That’s why they always target the younger humans. Easier to impress when you have no basis for comparison.”

Arabella’s lips quirked. “The wings are compensating for something, then?”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Let’s just say there’s a reason they rely so heavily on glamor and enchantment.”

“And here I thought they were just naturally irresistible,” she said, watching as the fae led their admirers to a private alcove.

“Nothing natural about it,” I muttered. “Just centuries of good marketing and magical coercion.”

“It works. When I was a teenager, I used to daydream about a fae lord rescuing me from my tower.” Arabella turned a wicked grin toward me. “But I’m happier with how things turned out.”

I gave her a flat stare and said in a low voice. “Please stop setting the bar so low, Arabella.”

She laughed and leaned forward to get a better view at a fight that had broken out near the bar. The combatants were using enchanted chairs as weapons, and the other patrons cheered them on.

I found myself relaxing slightly despite the chaos. Arabella’s delight was infectious, and her lack of moral outrage was refreshing. She wasn’t trying to change anything or save anyone—she was simply observing, learning, experiencing.

It occurred to me that this was what I’d been missing in my previous entanglements. Not just acceptance of who I was, but genuine enjoyment of the world I inhabited. Arabella didn’t just tolerate my darkness—she found it fascinating. And I found myself wanting to show her more of it, to watch her eyes light up with that particular blend of curiosity and wickedness that was becoming increasingly addictive.

“I still think we should have pressed Griffin and Sebastian to come tonight,” she said after a while. “Griffin especially. He seems like he could use some loosening up.”

“Sebastian would be clutching his pearls and Griffin can barely contain his chaos when he’s trying to be careful.”

“But that’s exactly why he needs this. He’s so worried about disappointing you that he’s tied himself in knots. A little debauchery might do him good.”

I snorted. “Considering his antics at our wedding, I’m guessing Griffin knows how to debauch himself just fine.”

As if summoned by my words, a familiar gangly figure appeared on the edge of the dance floor.