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HANDLE UNEXPECTED PLOT TWISTS (THE QUIET ONES ARE ALWAYS TROUBLE)

KAZIMIR

The corpse at my feet still twitched, the last vestiges of life fleeing Edmund’s body where it sprawled on Arvoryn Manor’s wooden floor.

I hadn’t been the one to kill him. That honor belonged to my wife, who stood beside me with her palm still glowing from the concentrated burst of death magic she’d channeled through it.

Her expression was stone, but her eyes blazed with satisfaction.

“That was for Sims,” she said, her voice unnervingly calm, almost like she was commenting on the weather.

I studied her for a moment, more intrigued than surprised.

The ruthlessness with which she’d executed Edmund had been swift, efficient, almost beautiful in its economy of movement.

One moment he’d been babbling his pathetic confession, the next his heart had simply stopped.

No mess, no drawn-out torture, just the clean finality of judgment rendered.

As executions went, I’d give it a solid ten out of ten.

“I will never lie to you again,” I promised, unable to keep the appreciation from my voice.

Arabella flexed her fingers, the golden light fading as she absorbed the residual energy back into herself. “I actually felt sorry for him before all this,” she said, her voice tinged with genuine regret. “He seemed so oppressed, and then you had to go and sleep with his wife.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you blaming me for his treachery? Surely I can’t be held responsible for every one of her affairs.”

“No.” She looked down at Edmund’s body, her expression hardening. “I’m saying he had my sympathy until he revealed himself as the architect of an attack that killed our people and nearly destroyed everything we’ve worked for.”

Our people . We’ve worked for . The casual ownership in her words sent an unexpected thrill through me, almost like I’d just taken a swig of the finest brandy instead of confronting the aftermath of a murder.

It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been my unwilling bride, unleashing a torrent of venom while holding a dagger to my throat.

Now she stood beside me as a true partner, executing my enemies as if they were her own. Which, in this case, they were.

I nudged Edmund’s body with the toe of my boot, confirming what I already knew—he was thoroughly, irrevocably dead. “I didn’t expect this particular twist,” I admitted. “The henpecked husband revealing himself as the mastermind.”

We’d arrived at Arvoryn Manor expecting to find Morana cowering or plotting her next move.

Instead, we’d been greeted by Edmund in widow’s black, spinning a tale of betrayal and abandonment—how Morana had fled the moment news of the Guild’s failed attack reached her, leaving him to face our wrath alone.

He’d played the part well—the grieving, abandoned husband, throwing his treacherous wife to the wolves to save his own skin. I might even have believed him if not for Arabella’s truth-sense.

“What do you think happened to Morana?” Arabella asked, breaking into my thoughts.

I surveyed the grand hall of Arvoryn Manor, noting the absence of any signs of struggle. “Two possibilities,” I said. “Either Edmund eliminated her to tie up loose ends, or she discovered his betrayal and fled before we arrived.”

“Which do you think it is?”

I shrugged. “Edmund would have gloated if he’d killed her. It’s more likely she realized what was happening and ran. After all, Morana has always had a keen sense of self-preservation.”

Arabella nodded, stepping away from the body. “What now?”

“Now?” I smiled grimly. “We leave this mess for one of my minions to clean up, and return to Skyspire. There’s a crown waiting for us… and possibly some overdue paperwork.”

The journey back through the portal was swift, but my mind was racing faster than our travel. The king was moving his pieces across the board with increasing desperation.

And according to Edmund’s final confession, one of those pieces remained hidden within Skyspire itself—a spy with access to our most sensitive areas.

The description he’d provided matched no one in our ranks, suggesting whoever it was used a magical disguise.

We’d neutralized one threat only to confirm another lurked much closer to home.

Arabella’s hand found mine as we emerged onto Portal Isle, her grip tight as if she thought I might bolt. “How much did the Alchemist know?” she asked, voicing the question that had been nagging at me since we’d discovered Edmund’s treachery.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” I admitted. “Was their warning about your father a genuine attempt to elicit a favor, or a calculated move to draw us away from Skyspire at a critical moment?”

Arabella’s expression darkened. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone, especially not someone from the Syndicate.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed. “And debts to the Alchemist have a way of coming due at the most inconvenient times. We’ll need to be prepared when they call it in.”

Vex was waiting for us on the other side of the lightning bridge, her expression grim. “Morana?”

“Gone,” I replied. “Edmund, however, won’t be a problem any longer.”

Vex’s eyes flicked to Arabella, noting something in her posture or expression that gave away her role in Edmund’s demise. “I see,” she said simply. “And what of Auremar’s forces?”

“Retreated back through the pass,” I said. “The Guild’s failure at Skyspire has forced him to reconsider his strategy. It buys us time, but not much.”

Vex’s expression shifted slightly. “And the Heirloom?”

I exchanged a glance with Arabella. Vex didn’t know where it was, only that it was safe. “Waiting for us to take full control.”

“You think it’s ready?” my wife asked.

“I think we’re ready,” I corrected. “The Lifeweave ritual repaired the damage, and our bond has only strengthened since then. It’s time to wield its power.”

Vex looked between us, her expression carefully neutral. “And then what?”

“Then it won’t matter what Auremar or anyone else is plotting,” I said with grim satisfaction.