Page 56 of The Dark Lord's Guide to Dating

Arabella drew a slow breath. “Who’s actually responsible for defending these villages, then?”

“Exactly the question,” Sims said, sliding a fresh map across the table. “These red zones show territory historically claimed by both Arvoryn and Solandris. King Auremar pulled back his patrols from that region three months ago.”

Arabella’s brow furrowed as she studied the map. “And Morana doesn’t have enough soldiers stationed there?”

“She claims she does,” I told her, slicing a piece of roasted meat. “But the raids keep happening. If she’s truly protecting them, she’s doing a piss-poor job.”

My wife looked unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Auremar. He’s always portrayed as the Peacemaker King, champion of his people.”

“Propaganda,” I said, my voice flat.

Dinner continued, and I took advantage of the lull to watch Arabella’s reaction: the crease in her brow, the set of her shoulders. It suggested she cared more than she let on.

“All right,” she said finally. “What proof do you have that these raids are more planned than random?”

That was the opening I’d been waiting for. “I arrived at Thornwick village this morning and found it burning. The bandits were in the midst of slaughtering farmers who couldn’t escape. A survivor claimed they’d sent messengers to Auremar, pleading for help, yet no reply came.”

Griffin’s contraption clattered again. This time, a small spring shot across the table and landed in Thorne’s wine. He fished it out with a long-suffering sigh.

“Sorry, sorry,” Griffin murmured, accepting the dripping component.

“I questioned one of the bandits before executing him,” I continued. “He confessed that a well-dressed man from Solandris had been feeding them information—patrol timings, best targets, even paying in Solandrian gold.”

Arabella’s gaze darted over to me, her face grave. “You think King Auremar ordered it?”

“Maybe not directly,” I said, “but he didn’t stop it. Failing to protect his subjects while funneling resources elsewhere is almost the same thing.”

Vex added in a soft voice, “The Golden Roses. It always comes back to them.”

A collective hush spread across the table. Griffin even paused in his tinkering.

“What do the Golden Rose fields have to do with border villages?” Arabella asked.

I put my knife down and measured my words carefully. “Have you witnessed the rose harvest ceremonies?”

She shook her head. “They’re restricted to those close to the crown.”

“I’m surprised your mother never took you, since she was of heroic blood herself,” I probed.

A flicker of hurt crossed Arabella’s face so quickly, I almost missed it. “She died when I was eight. If she participated in any royal ceremonies, I was too young to remember.”

Quiet settled over us. The fire’s crackle sounded too loud, as if breaking some unspoken taboo.

“My condolences,” I said, surprising myself with the sincerity behind it.

She seemed just as surprised. “Thank you,” she replied softly.

Clearing my throat, I steered us back on track. “The Golden Roses aren’t just ornamental as you know. They hold ancient power that Solandris harvests, but in a flawed way.”

Arabella’s eyes narrowed. “Flawed?”

Griffin jumped at the chance to elaborate. “If done properly, the roses can heal mortal wounds and bolster wards. But for years, their potency’s been on the decline. And King Auremar, being the shrewd merchant he is, keeps raising prices.”

“Years ago,” I explained, “rose essence could save a man half-dead. Now it’s hardly enough to soothe a mild fever. Meanwhile, Auremar diverts protection from remote villages to the rose fields, leaving many outlying areas vulnerable to bandit raids.”

Arabella pressed her lips into a thin line. “That still contradicts the stories I’ve heard about Auremar.”

I suppressed a chuckle. “Stories, indeed. They’re worth less than the paper they’re inked on.”

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