Page 86 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“Son of a—” I cut myself off, recognizing the distinctive silhouette. “Griffin.”

Arabella followed my gaze and burst into laughter. “Oh my gods, look at him go.”

Griffin was indeed going. His long limbs flailed in a dance style that reminded me of a scarecrow in a windstorm, his wild hair still caked in flour that shook out all over the floor. He’d shed his outer robe and was down to a shirt and trousers, both of which were clinging to his lean frame. But it was his partner that made the scene truly surreal.

He was dancing with an imp—about three feet tall, with purple skin and tiny horns. It was keeping pace with Griffin’s erratic movements with the kind of gleeful abandon that suggested either genuine enjoyment or complete insanity.

They were drawing considerable attention.

“I wonder what Griffin’s crime was,” Arabella mused with a grin.

“Oh, he has plenty, most of them accidental.”

I dropped the shadow barrier just enough to catch Griffin’s eye. When he saw us, he grinned and waved, then said something to his partner before making his way to our section. He climbed the stairs to the VIP area, giving the bone and metal construct a wary look, but the construct let him pass at my nod.

He arrived slightly out of breath, his hair sticking up and his shirt translucent with sweat. “Lord Blackrose! Lady Blackrose!”

“I thought you were baking with Sebastian,” I said, not bothering to hide my irritation.

“We finished!” Griffin’s grin was infectious—or would have been, if I were susceptible to such things. “The scones were amazing, if I do say so myself. We needed something to do, and Lady Blackrose was very convincing in her argument that we should experience the local culture.”

“And where is Sebastian?” I asked, scanning the crowd for the blond nobleman.

Griffin’s expression grew vague. “He’s… We got separated at the entrance.”

“Oh.” Arabella put a hand to her mouth. “I should have anticipated that.”

Griffin fidgeted with his sleeve. “Well, the bouncer asked for our names and crimes. I told him I was responsible for the Great Rust Spore incident. You know, when I released a magically engineered fungus that dissolved the ceremonial armor of the entire Royal Guard an hour before the King’s Jubilee Parade?”

“Griffin.” I remembered the incident. It had been an early, unauthorized test of a metal-eating agent meant for siege warfare. I’d been furious at his recklessness and secretly delighted by the chaos it caused in Auremar’s court.

“Right. So Sebastian actually surprised me by claiming he had a crime too! Something about ‘unauthorized diplomacy’ and the ‘Rhyming Curse incident.’ But the bouncer didn’t believe him at first. Then I told him we were with the Chair of Dominion, and we were allowed inside.” Griffin lowered his voice. “But then Sebastian couldn’t, um, he couldn’t bring himself to walk past the naked minotaur.”

Arabella pressed her lips together but shook with laughter.

A cold weight settled in my stomach. Sebastian, the man who couldn’t bring himself to harm a mutated swamp creature, loose in a place where murder was considered a recreational activity. “So you let him wander off alone?”

Griffin finally seemed to register my tone. His excitement dimmed. “He said he’d be fine. He’s very capable, my lord. Very resourceful.”

Griffin had the common sense of a lemming with a death wish, but at least he had some experience with the darker side of magic. Sebastian, however, had a complete inability to recognize danger until it was gnawing on his leg.

Although if Sebastian did get himself killed, it would solve several problems. I wouldn’t have to worry about taking him back to Skyspire or dealing with whatever political complications his presence might create. And Arabella would be sad, but she’d get over it eventually.

Before I could decide whether to send a shadow warrior to track down Sebastian or simply write him off as an acceptable loss, our server appeared again. This time she carried a tray with two goblets filled with wine so dark it was black.

“Compliments of the house,” she said, setting the goblets before us. “Twilight Wine, for the honored guests.”

The wine was a specialty of the Gallows—fermented with certain herbs that heightened sensation and lowered inhibitions. Not dangerous, exactly, but definitely potent.

Arabella reached for one of the goblets, but I caught her wrist. She shot me a withering look. “I was going to check it.”

“Apologies, my lady.” The corner of my mouth twitched, and I released her.

She passed her hand over both goblets. Her truth-sense was different from my ability to detect poison, but it would reveal any malicious intent behind the gift.

“No poison, no compulsions,” she said after a moment. “No hidden agendas. Just wine and enhancement.”

I felt a surge of pride. She was learning to think like a villain, to question gifts and check for traps. It was a necessary skill in our world, and one that might keep her alive.