Page 90 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

What have I done?

26 Recognize You’re Not Yourself

(But Have No Idea Who You Are)

Kazimir

The closed alley outside the Gilded Gallows reeked of piss and sulfur, a charming combination that perfectly matched my mood. I stalked through the narrow passages between buildings, shadows rippling at my command as they searched every corner, every hidden doorway, every possible escape route.

Nothing. Not a trace of that traitorous little weasel.

“Find him,” I snarled at more shadow constructs, and they dispersed to search the God Spire’s labyrinthine underbelly. The rational part of my mind—what little remained through the haze of rage—knew this was futile. If Pip had been here at all, he’d have a dozen escape routes planned. The boy might have been nervous and twitchy, but he wasn’t stupid.

I stood there, breathing hard, trying to master the rage still burning through me. Pip. The little weasel had been right there, practically under my nose, and I’d let him slip away.

Because of her. Because she distracted you.

No. That wasn’t fair. Arabella had spotted him in the first place. If not for her, I wouldn’t have known he was here at all.

The whisper slithered through my thoughts again, and I shook my head. These intrusive thoughts were getting worse. They felt like mine but… not. Like looking at my reflection in warped glass.

A man’s panicked yelling cut through my thoughts. I froze, listening. It came again, followed by the sound of something crashing.

Not my problem. I had a traitor to find.

But the yelling had come from nearby—just around the corner. And it was followed by a very familiar voice saying, “I really must insist.” A pause. “That you cease and desist.”

Sebastian. What the hell was he doing in a dark corner of the Spire by himself? Spending time with Griffin was clearly having a detrimental effect on his survival instincts.

For that matter, where was my chaotic enchanter?

I rounded the corner to find the pretty lordling backed against a wall, surrounded by five thugs who looked like they’d graduated from the Generic Henchman Academy with honors in Looking Menacing and minors in Poor Life Choices. Three goblins with rusty knives, a half ogre whose breath I could smell from twenty feet away, and judging by the way he was swaying, a very drunk necromancer.

They weren’t particularly intimidating as far as villains went—more the type to pick pockets than slit throats—but they had Sebastian outnumbered and cornered.

The interesting part was the plants. Massive, thorny vines had erupted from every crack in the alley floor, creating a verdant cage around Sebastian. They twisted and writhed with his fear, some as thick as my arm, all radiating a distinctive golden-green glow of magic.

“Look at the pretty magic,” one of the goblins cackled, poking at a vine with his knife. “Bet his coin purse is as pretty as he is.”

My already foul mood darkened further.

Sebastian, to his credit, maintained his insufferably polite demeanor even as more vines sprouted around his feet. “I’m certain this is all a misunderstanding. Perhaps we could discuss this over tea? It’ll be nicer, I guarantee.”

“We don’t want your tea, princeling,” the necromancer slurred. “Your purse and whatever else you’re carrying, for starters. And then maybe we’ll see what else you’ve got to offer.”

The implication was clear, and Sebastian’s face went pale. “There’s been a mistake—I’m not a prince, you see.” The vines grew thicker, thornier. Any competent magic user would have sent them lashing out, turned the alley into a killing field of nature’s fury. Instead, Sebastian just stood there looking mildly distressed.

I could have walked away. Should have, probably. Let natural selection take its course. Sebastian had chosen to wander off alone in one of the most dangerous districts in the known realms. These were the consequences.

But Arabella would never forgive me if I let her childhood friend get murdered.

Besides, a more rational voice pointed out, you need something to hit, and these idiots are volunteering.

“Villains,” I said, stepping out of the shadows. All five would-be muggers spun toward me, and I had the satisfaction of watching the color drain from their faces.

“That,” I gestured lazily toward Sebastian, “is my wife’s pet. And while I personally find him about as useful as a chocolate teapot, she’s rather fond of him.”

“Lord Blackrose,” the half ogre stammered. “We didn’t—this isn’t—”