Page 87 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

“What about Sebastian?” Arabella asked. “We can’t leave him to wander the Spire on his own. He stress-flowers.”

“He’s a grown man,” I said, though I already knew I’d lost this argument.

Arabella gave me that particular look that meant I was about to be forced into doing something decent. I sighed. She would never forgive me if something happened to him while we sat here drinking.

I turned to Griffin, who was still swaying slightly to the music. “You let him wander off, you get to retrieve him. And then you take him straight back to the apartment, where you’re going to resume your research.”

Griffin’s face cycled through three distinct emotions in rapid succession—resigned acceptance, visible dismay, and then a peculiar brightness that made his amber eyes go wide behind his spectacles. “Yes, my lord—oh! I love this song!”

It didn’t sound like the music had changed at all, but Griffin pushed out onto the dance floor and moved toward the door with a series of enthusiastic twitches that made more flour puff out from his hair and settle on the people near him like a dusting of snow.

Arabella settled back against me. “Griffin wasn’t even that disappointed. I think he has a crush on Sebastian.” She lifted her goblet of Twilight Wine.

I tried to picture Griffin attempting courtship through a series of catastrophically failed magical demonstrations, each one more disastrous than the last. Sebastian would probably find it charming.

Shaking my head, I took my goblet and pulled her closer. “Be careful with this.”

Arabella raised an eyebrow.

“My runes burn through most poisons and spirits before they can affect me,” I explained. “But this stuff is enchanted to bypass physical resilience and interact directly with your magic. It’s intense.”

“Good intense or bad intense?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“That depends entirely on your company.”

She smiled and raised her goblet in a toast. “To new experiences.”

“To new experiences,” I agreed, and we drank.

25 Recognize an Old Enemy

(and Become a New One to Your Wife)

Kazimir

The Twilight Wine hit my tongue like ice and turned it numb before warming into a fiery burn as it slid down my throat. The effect was immediate. Every nerve ending seemed to come alive, making me hyperaware of Arabella’s presence beside me. The silk of her dress against my hand, the subtle scent of her perfume, the way her lips glistened where the wine had touched them.

I watched Arabella’s eyes widen as it hit her, her pupils dilating. “Oh,” she breathed. “That’s… that’s… fuck.”

I knew exactly what she was feeling. The wine amplified everything—especially desire. Even the brush of fabric against skin became an erotic experience. I shifted in my seat, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of my clothes, the texture of the couch beneath me, and most of all, the heat radiating from Arabella.

She turned to me, her eyes dark with want. “Is it always like this?”

“Yes.” My voice was rough. “That’s why it’s so popular.”

She moved closer, her hand finding my thigh. “No wonder.”

The touch sent a jolt through me, far more powerful than it should have been. I caught her wrist, but instead of pulling her hand away, I guided it higher. “You said you wanted to try something different,” I murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response. “The shadows are still partially down.”

Her voice was husky, filled with want and excitement. “Here?”

“If you want.” I let my hand trail down her side, feeling the way she arched into the touch.

Take her, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. Show them all who she belongs to.

The thought sent a spike of arousal through me, followed immediately by an inexplicable flash of anger. The voice felt foreign and intrusive, but the wine made it difficult to focus on why.

I pushed the stray thought aside. I was a villain. I didn’t see anything wrong with claiming my bride in front of an audience, especially one that appreciated such displays. And if the way Arabella was pressing against me was any indication, she was amenable to the idea.