Chapter 19 Plan a Honeymoon
(to a Stronghold of Villains)
Kazimir
Absolutely not.”
Sebastian stood in my war room with flour still dusting his nose, looking far too comfortable for someone who’d been in my fortress less than a week. His guard hovered outside the door, wisely keeping his distance.
“My lord, I understand the journey is necessary for you and Lady Blackrose,” Sebastian said, his tone measured and polite. “But surely my presence isn’t required? I could remain here, assist Vex with—”
“You’re coming with us to the God Spire or you’re leaving altogether. Through a window if necessary.”
“That seems unnecessarily dramatic,” he muttered. “Though I suppose defenestration is rather traditional for Dark Lords.”
It was the first hint of sass I’d detected from Sebastian. Either he’d already been spending too much time with Arabella, or he was unnecessarily comfortable here.
I stepped closer, letting shadows gather around my feet. “I have other options at my disposal, if you don’t like either of those.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. A tiny crack appeared in the floorboards near his feet, and a single thorny vine pushed through, twisting anxiously before he stepped on it.
“Sebastian.” Arabella sat on the war table, legs swinging. Her hazel eyes were concerned. “What’s really going on?”
He was silent for a moment, and another hairline crack appeared in the stone, this time sprouting a nervous cluster of white flowers that bloomed and died in the span of a breath.
“Nothing changed,” he said finally, clasping his hands behind his back. “I simply thought I might be more useful here. The kitchens, the gardens—”
Arabella’s expression shifted, that subtle tightening around her eyes that told me her truth-sense had just activated. But instead of calling him out on the lie, she simply studied him.
“What’s it going to be, Scone Lord?” I growled. “Leave our protection or go with us to the God Spire?”
I did have a third option—the dungeons. But they were still chaotic, and Arabella would never agree.
Sebastian exhaled slowly, violet eyes meeting mine. “I’ll accompany you to the God Spire.”
Damn it.
“Let me be crystal clear. We’re going to a place where your particular brand of well-intentioned chaos will be a catastrophic liability.
Therefore, you will remain in whatever quarters you are assigned unless you have been given permission to leave, and you will touch nothing.
If you so much as step a toe out of line, I will have you chained to your bedpost for the duration of the trip.
” I leaned in, crowding his space until he had to crane his neck to look at me.
“Or I’ll kill you. It will very much depend on my mood. ”
To Sebastian’s credit, he didn’t flinch. He just held my gaze and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
The door burst open before I could elaborate on the various ways I could make his life miserable. Griffin stumbled in, his burnt-straw hair even more disheveled than usual, carrying an armload of scrolls that immediately scattered across the floor.
“My lord! Terrible news! Well, not terrible exactly, more inconvenient, though I suppose it depends on your perspective—”
“Griffin.” My voice could have frozen fire. “You have five seconds to explain why you’re not working.”
“The research!” He scrambled to collect his scrolls, knocking over an ink pot in the process. Black liquid spread across my battle maps. “I’ve been analyzing the data from your last… collaborative session, and I believe we’re on the verge of a breakthrough, but—”
He paused, his face doing something complicated. His eyes darted to Sebastian, then away, then back to me with an expression that screamed, “Please don’t ask me to elaborate in front of company.”
“But?” I prompted, my patience thinning.
“But we can’t afford delays in communication. Not now.” He fumbled with the Doom Scroll, nearly dropping it as he tried to pick up his papers. “The magical disturbances near Sunspire are escalating. Three more incidents just this evening.”
I saw where he was going with his babbling but decided to hear him out.
“And,” Griffin continued, gaining momentum now, “if you’ll recall, on the way to the northern outpost, we needed to conduct experiments in the field.
Real-time adjustments based on your combined magical output.
The God Spire trip could take weeks. If something happens while you’re there, and I’m here—”
“You’d be unable to provide support,” I finished.
“Precisely!” He brightened, then immediately looked nervous again.
Sebastian, who’d been watching this exchange with obvious curiosity, opened his mouth as if to ask a question. No one bothered to enlighten him.
“So you’re telling me,” I said, each word dripping with irritation, “that you have to come with us to the God Spire.”
Griffin’s face lit up. “Oh, can I? That would be wonderful! I’ve never been across the Shattered Sea before. Well, there was that time with the exploding portal, but that doesn’t really count since we ended up in that cave with the sentient mushrooms—”
“Griffin.”
“Yes, my lord?”
The urge to strangle him was so strong I had to clench my fists.
Griffin, my disaster-prone enchanter, at the Syndicate’s headquarters, where a single misplaced spell could start a war.
“Pack light. If you bring anything that explodes, combusts, or develops sentience during the journey, I’m throwing you overboard. ”
“Oh, but—”
“Overboard, Griffin.”
He gulped. “Got it. And don’t worry, my lord, I’ve already delegated the ward carving to my third assistant. He’s terribly slow, but very meticulous. It will only set us back a few more weeks.”
“You’re finishing those ward anchors when we get back. All of them.”
His face fell slightly, but the excitement of the trip clearly outweighed his disappointment. “Yes, my lord. I’ll just… go pack my travel-sized alchemical kit!” He backed toward the door, tripped over his own feet, caught himself on the doorframe, and disappeared down the corridor.
I was beginning to feel less like a Dark Lord and more like a beleaguered chaperone on a field trip from hell. “He’s a disaster waiting to happen.” I turned to Thorne, who’d been standing silently in the corner. “You’re coming, obviously.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” His gravelly voice held dark amusement. “Someone needs to keep you from murdering the entire Syndicate.”
“That’s what Arabella’s for.”
“I’m more likely to help,” she said cheerfully.
I rubbed my temples. The headache from reconstructing the dungeon wards hadn’t fully faded.
The final and most crucial preparation was ensuring I could maintain control of Skyspire from afar.
Auremar was quiet, but that only made him more dangerous.
Vex would remain in charge, the only one I trusted to execute my will without question.
“We need communication with Skyspire while we’re gone. If Auremar makes a move—”
“Already handled.” Vex entered the war room carrying a small ebony box. “I found the shadow-linked scrying crystals.”
She opened the box, revealing two crystals that absorbed the light and pulsed with a darkness that made my runes ache pleasantly.
Arabella peered into the box. “How do they work?”
“Messages travel through the shadow realm,” I said. “Undetectable, unblockable.”
Vex nodded and handed me one of the paired crystals. “If there’s a crisis, you’ll know about it within a few seconds.”
“Define ‘crisis,’ ” Arabella said.
“Full-scale invasion, magical catastrophe level seven or higher, or an unfortunate or untimely death.”
I nodded and tucked the crystal into an inside pocket of my jacket.
“I’m leaving three constructs of myself, in the off chance we’ve picked up another spy or assassins try to get in.
Two will be doing my usual brooding routine in my study or walking the battlements here, and the third will go to the army at the outpost. Auremar won’t know I’m gone unless he’s bold enough to attack directly—and if he is, we’ll know about it in under an hour. ”
Vex’s expression was perfectly neutral. “Yes, my lord.” She paused. “Lord Sebastian provided some surprisingly useful defensive formations. Purely protective, but nearly impregnable for short-term sieges.”
I looked at Sebastian with new suspicion. “You gave my steward military advice?”
“Defensive only,” he said quickly. “I don’t do offensive strategy. But I’m very good at not dying.”
“That remains to be seen.”
As Vex left, Arabella hopped off the table, her boots hitting the floor with a decisive thud. “You know what this is?”
“A clusterfuck?”
“A honeymoon.” Her smile was wicked as she moved closer. “You never did take me on one.”
“Most honeymoons don’t involve potentially hostile magical entities and binding debts… or so many people.”
“Most honeymoons are boring.” She traced a finger along my chest, right over where my runes were carved. “Unless you’re saying you can’t handle a little excitement?”
Sebastian made a strangled noise. “My lord?”
“You’re still here,” I said without looking at him. “Why?”
He practically ran from the room, his escort hurrying to catch up.
I stared at Arabella for a long moment, feeling something shift in my chest as her words sank in. Not just lust—though there was plenty of that—but deep admiration.
“A honeymoon,” I repeated slowly, the idea taking shape in my mind. “Arabella, that’s brilliant.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“No, listen.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice even though we were alone. “If we present this as a honeymoon trip, we control the narrative. We’re not responding to a summons—we’re simply taking our overdue wedding tour. A short getaway after a decisive victory in northern Solandris.”
She smiled. I began pacing. “In the Syndicate, debt is leverage. If it becomes common knowledge that I’m beholden to the Alchemist—”
“The other chairs would use it against you,” she finished. “They’d start speculating what information was valuable enough for the mighty Chair of Dominion to go into debt.”