The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (Guides to Villainy and Love #2)

Chapter 1 March into Enemy Territory

(It’s Not Conquest If You Don’t Enjoy It)

Kazimir

The first sign that things weren’t going to plan was the lack of screaming.

I surveyed the abandoned village with mounting irritation. This wasn’t how conquering was supposed to go. The buildings stood empty, doors creaking on their hinges, no livestock to scatter. Some structures had been torched down to blackened husks, while others had merely been toppled.

“Not exactly the glorious conquest I’d envisioned.

” I guided my horse into the village square, where even the well had been destroyed.

The ring of stones had been broken and tossed in, with a stench that suggested something had been left down there to rot.

“Years of plotting my dramatic entrance into Solandris, and there’s no one here to tremble. ”

Arabella rode up beside me, sunlight catching the golden braid draped over her shoulder and warming her fair, freckled complexion. She looked perfect, and far too amused for my liking.

“What did you expect?” she asked. “Peasants lining the streets to welcome their new overlord with confetti?”

“Not confetti. Terror, Arabella. Widespread, trembling terror.” I gestured at the empty windows. “I wanted shrieking, tears, maybe fainting. At minimum, some panicked fleeing would have been nice.”

The empty villages were a minor disappointment in an otherwise perfectly executed opening move.

Auremar’s border defenses would tell me everything I needed to know.

Response times. Magical capabilities. Weak points in their formations.

And if I happened to claim a strategic foothold in the process, well, that was just efficient multitasking.

I surveyed the empty square one more time, as if willing villagers to materialize just so I could terrorize them properly.

“Poor villain.” Arabella’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. “All dressed up for conquest with no one to conquer.”

I tried to scowl, but she was the single person allowed to laugh at me without risking dismemberment.

I had gone disgustingly soft.

“They’ve robbed me of the full villainous experience.” I sighed. “I’ll have to put it in the official complaints ledger.”

Behind us, my army marched in formation.

War-hardened mercenaries, elite guard, and local forces made up the bulk, with a smattering of new recruits called into service.

Weapons gleamed under the autumn sun and banners snapped in the wind.

Shadow warriors drifted among the trees that flanked the road.

Thanks to the Heirloom’s newly stabilized power, and my magical bond with Arabella, summoning them no longer left me exhausted. The region’s magic no longer sent jolts of agony through my runes.

The Heirloom was now a constant thrum of power even from its secure location back at Skyspire.

My bond with Arabella hummed alongside the connection, her magic intertwined with mine in ways that made us both more powerful.

The sensation was intoxicating, like standing at the edge of a cliff with wings spread, knowing I could soar or destroy with equal ease.

Some might call it premature to launch an invasion before mastering the Heirloom of Dominion. Those people were cowards who’d never held a kingdom by the throat.

Yes, the artifact’s full power remained frustratingly out of reach.

Our attempts to channel the ley lines still ended in nosebleeds and unconsciousness more often than world-shaking displays of dominion.

But that was Griffin’s problem to solve.

Despite his tendency to accidentally animate furniture, the enchanter was brilliant when he focused.

Besides, I’d never been the type to sit idle while my weapons were being sharpened. The Heirloom would be ready when it was ready.

Four weeks had passed since the Hero’s Guild dared enter Skyspire’s walls. Since Sims fell and Arabella risked everything to mend the Heirloom. Four weeks of rebuilding, rearming, and preparing for the war that was no longer a distant threat but a certainty barreling toward us.

Now we were here on Solandris’s doorstep, claiming the Arvoryn Pass that cut through the mountains separating my lands from Auremar’s. Tomorrow, we would take his northernmost outpost. Tonight, we’d camp just beyond this village, giving the troops rest before battle.

Auremar was gathering his own forces, pulling in allies. Given enough time, he could amass an enormous army and try to intercept me before I reached the capital of Sunspire.

I was going to crush him before he got the chance.

“You’re smiling,” Arabella noted as we passed a scorched barn. “Care to share, Your Supreme Darkness?”

“I could, but it’s too filthy for a public setting.”

She snorted. “Since when has that stopped you?”

Before I could retort, Thorne rode up and addressed me in his gravelly voice. “My lord, the scouts say the next three villages are also deserted.”

Right. Scouts. Military strategy. I tried to focus on our next moves—pushing deeper into Solandris, forcing King Auremar’s hand. My runes hummed with power, hungry for conquest. “Any sign of the Hero’s Guild?”

“None.”

That didn’t shock me. After Arabella and I crushed their invasion, the remaining Hero’s Guild had retreated with their tails between their legs and Auremar’s forces on their heels.

“This feels too convenient,” Arabella said, studying the empty buildings with narrowed eyes. “All these villages, abandoned? No resistance at all?”

“It’s not a trap.” I gestured to the shadow warriors gliding through the ruins, double-checking everything. “It’s a strategic retreat. Auremar doesn’t want to leave us any resources. No food, no shelter, no civilians to conscript. He’s pulling everything back to defend what matters.”

“The Golden Rose Fields,” she murmured.

“And the palace.” I nodded. “He’s starting to believe he can’t stop us in open terrain, not with the magic at our disposal.

He knows something’s changed and his borders no longer hinder me.

So he’s concentrating his forces where his own magic is strongest. Classic defensive strategy when you’re outmatched. He won’t sit there for long, though.”

“Still.” She frowned at a collapsed storefront. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it. You just have to trust that I know what I’m doing.” I flashed her a grin. “Besides, when have I ever led you astray?”

“Do you want the list chronologically or by severity?”

A strangled yelp made me twist in the saddle.

Griffin, my jittery yet brilliant enchanter, was locked in a battle of wills with his mount.

A sturdy mule that seemed determined to walk sideways rather than forward.

Griffin’s unnaturally long limbs flailed wildly, his straw-like hair sticking up in a permanent state of electrocution that no amount of combing could tame.

“Griffin,” I called, unable to hide my exasperation. “Did you never learn basic horsemanship?”

“My lord,” he gasped, adjusting his new spectacles. “I’m convinced it’s possessed by a minor demon.”

“If that were true, it would be more cooperative.” I eyed the stone tablet clutched to his chest. “And why did you bring that blasted thing out here?”

Since Sims’s death, Griffin had appointed himself keeper of the Doom Scroll—a misnomer, as it was actually a stone tablet roughly the size of a dinner platter, covered in shifting lines of glowing text.

“I thought it might be useful,” Griffin insisted, nearly dropping it as the mule lurched. “The tablet shows troop movements, magical disturbances, weather patterns.”

“No weather reports. Tell me something useful or put it away.”

A shadow passed overhead. Massive, dark wings that made my chest seize unpleasantly. But when I looked up, it was only Nyx soaring above the village. Her scales caught the light in a way that made her look…

“Is it my imagination, or is your dragon pink?”

Arabella raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, though I caught her glance at me from the corner of her eye. “It’s more of a rosy shimmer over her black scales. I think she’s going through a phase. She’s been very moody lately, and yesterday she refused to eat unless I hand-fed her.”

I snorted. “And you indulged this behavior?”

“Says the warlord who changed our route because his wife mentioned she’d never seen Dead Man’s Falls.”

“That was tactical.” I lied. “The Falls offered superior vantage points.”

Arabella’s knowing smile made heat rise to my face. I cleared my throat. “How much longer until she’s large enough to carry you?”

The thought that Arabella might use the dragon to flee had long since evaporated. She was bound to me, in magic and in heart.

“A few more weeks, perhaps?” Arabella looked up at Nyx with unmistakable affection. “Her wingspan has nearly doubled since the Guild attack. The beast master thinks the exposure to all the magic at Skyspire has accelerated her growth.”

Arabella began using a ridiculous baby voice to praise Nyx as “the best, cleverest dragon.” Nyx preened at the flattery, executing a showy spiral that made several soldiers duck.

I couldn’t look away.

I was besotted, completely and utterly obsessed with my wife, and I no longer bothered to hide it. Even a minor hint of her attention had me feeling like the most powerful man in the world. Not because of the armies at my back, but because she was at my side.

And soon, she’d be able to fly into battle. The vision of my brilliant, ruthless wife swooping down to obliterate our foes sent such an immediate surge of desire through me that I shifted in my saddle.

Arabella was still fussing over Nyx, who was now turning somersaults in midair.

A savage chill ran down my spine like shards of ice sliding between my vertebrae. I stifled a gasp, clenching my fists until my leather gloves creaked under the pressure. Rage followed the pain, so vicious and foreign it made me dizzy.

For an instant, I had the insane impulse to make Nyx drop from the sky. This wasn’t the familiar possessive jealousy I’d felt before. This was darker. Hungry. Wrong.

The fury vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me feeling odd. What the hell was that?

Thorne’s voice broke through my confusion. “My lord, are you well?”

“Fine.” I unclenched my hands. “Just deciding which one of Auremar’s nobles to hang first.”

Thorne nodded, accepting this as perfectly reasonable.

Moments later, a rider galloped toward us from the road ahead. Thorne moved to intercept, exchanging brief words before returning. “Scouts report Lord Sebastian of the Northern Peaks is fleeing this way, pursued by about thirty Solandrian soldiers.”

Griffin let out a squeak and promptly toppled off his mule. He wheezed from the ground, the Doom Scroll clutched to his chest. “Lord Sebastian? Here?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You know him personally?”

Griffin coughed and then grimaced in pain. “His scones are legendary, and his treatise on nonviolent conflict resolution was quite revolutionary. Though I heard his poetry is dreadful.”

I turned back to Thorne. “The name is familiar.”

“He was on the list,” Thorne said simply.

Ah, yes. The man who’d invited the Bone Witches to a solstice ball.

“I wonder why they’re chasing Sebastian,” Arabella said.

I turned to her, brow furrowed. “You know him?”

She looked equally surprised by my question. “Of course I do. But how do you know him?”

An awkward silence fell, broken only by Griffin’s pained groans as he tried to untangle his long legs. Thorne waited patiently, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as if the fate of this scone-loving lord was just another Tuesday.

“He was… considered,” I said carefully. “As a prospect.”

“What prospect?” Arabella’s eyes widened before a slow, wicked smile crossed her face. “Sebastian was on your kidnapping shortlist?”

“Griffin suggested him,” I said quickly. “When we were exploring options.”

The enchanter was now attempting to haul himself back onto his mule, trembling with what seemed to be a mixture of hero worship and a craving for baked goods. “I merely pointed out his qualifications! Heroic bloodline, significant magical potential, excellent culinary skills.”

“Griffin,” I snapped. He flinched. “I believe the local forest is brimming with giant spiders and glowing moss. Perhaps you should inspect those phenomena firsthand.”

The enchanter’s face went from pale to a sickly green. “No, my lord. The safety of the group is… highly preferable.”

Arabella looked from Griffin to me, fighting a smile. “You would have hated Sebastian.” She lowered her voice. “He snores.”

I made a strangled sound of surprise. How did she know such an intimate detail? Red hazed my vision, my mood twisting from warm contentment to murderous craving. I’d have Thorne save Lord Sebastian from the soldiers just so I could kill him myself.

I was silently listing creative means of execution when I caught the glimmer of mischief in Arabella’s eyes.

I shot her the darkest scowl I could muster. “Not funny. A joke like that could get someone killed.”

“But your murder face is my favorite face.” She leaned in closer and gave me a heated look. “Well, second favorite.”

Thorne cleared his throat, reminding me we still had a choice to make. Still smiling, Arabella turned to him. “Bring Lord Sebastian here safely.”

I glowered at them both for good measure. “And deal with the soldiers pursuing him. I want the commanding officer brought back for a chat.”

Thorne issued a quick salute and led several riders ahead. Nyx screeched as she dove after them.

“Nyx, come back!” Arabella yelled, but the dragon only flicked her tail at us and kept going.

I watched them vanish around a bend. “That dragon has about as much respect for authority as you do. Maybe she’ll learn to follow orders before she has to carry you into battle.”

Arabella arched a brow. “Having second thoughts, my lord? I hear Sebastian is wonderfully obedient.” She nudged her mare closer, sliding a gloved hand up my thigh. “But where’s the fun in a partner who never argues back?”

I placed my hand over hers. “So,” I asked, voice low. “How do you know Lord Sebastian of the Northern Peaks?”