Page 100 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“No.” Markus shook his head. “Take leave, Mister Gard. Your position in the army will be reevaluated by the Council at a later date.”

“My Lord—”

“Your behavior tonight has been appalling,” Markus continued, “and not fit for your position. I recall you serving punishment to inebriated soldiers not too long ago, and the General is never truly off duty. Do not make this worse for yourself.”

Loren’s nostrils flared, and his mouth smoothed to a thin line. Without another word, he bowed to the Princeps and turned to exit. The crowd parted quickly, sensing the fury bubbling from him.

As he disappeared, Damen and Giselle watched. The former silently calculated his own power on the Council, while the latter did not hide her tears. Whether they were of shame or sorrow, Azriel could not tell.

Nor did he care.

Markus turned to speak with the Gards while Azriel pivoted to Ariadne. She dragged her gaze from the guests still staring and looked up at him with silver-rimmed eyes. Her free hand twisted in her skirt, the other still clinging to his arm.

“Are you alright?” He brushed a curl back from her face, his fingers sliding across her cheek.

Ariadne swallowed hard, nodded, and said on a breath, “Yes.”

She spoke the lie so easily, he almost believed her. But he knew the truth. Nothing about this—confronting the Gards nor Loren’s outburst—was alright. He certainly couldn’t claim to be, and he’d faced off with far worse. His only highlight remained Markus’s praise.

“Although,” she continued, glancing around them and lowering her voice even further, “I am far from ready to no longer be the center of attention.”

Azriel nodded in agreement. He could use time away from the constant scrutiny as well. After catching Markus’s eye and nodding in thanks, he led Ariadne away in search of Emillie, Camilla, Revelie, and Madan. A turn about the garden with friends was what they both needed most.

Chapter 22

Laeton Park stretched out before Emillie as she exited the carriage with her new guard, Sul’s, assistance a week after the Teaglow’s ball. The pale, thin redhead, a sullen and silent shadow in the wake of Azriel and Madan’s departure, insisted on escorting her sister any time she wished to travel into town. Gracen, on the other hand, a stalky man with dark skin and a shaved head, accompanied Emillie more often than not, and for that, she was thankful.

When the more enjoyable guard appeared from behind the carriage, she breathed a sigh of relief. Let Sul observe from afar as he was wont to do.

“How are you this evening, Miss Harlow?” Gracen asked, his black eyes shimmering in the light of the small lanterns on the outside of the carriage.

Emillie smiled back at him. “I am quite well, thank you.”

Behind her, Ariadne exited the carriage and thanked Sul quietly. Her long-sleeved cerulean dress blended in with the darkness around them, the subtle floral pattern shimmering in and out of sight. For the first time in many nights, her sister’s eyes shone with excitement. She began searching the moment her feet touched the grass, not to avoid others as she once had, but to seek out.

“Miss Harlow,” Gracen said with a bow to Ariadne. “How do you fair this evening?”

Ariadne smiled back. “Quite well, thank you.”

“Are you excited for the coming nights?” He closed the carriage door and stepped around them both.

Emillie bit her lip. The wedding. After suffering through the loss of Darien and the humiliation of Loren, at last, her sister was bound for the altar. How she felt about it all, Emillie could only guess. She had yet to ask her sister herself for fear of dredging up unwanted anxieties.

“Yes.”

The simple answer sent a jolt of anticipation through Emillie. Of anything Ariadne could have said, she did not expect that.

“Well, I’m pleased to hear it.” Azriel appeared from the far side of the carriage with his sword strapped to his back. If it were not for the casual Caersan clothes he wore, he would look as he did prior to his ascension.

And never in all her life had Emillie seen her sister’s face alight the way it did at the sight of him. Ariadne’s lips split into a wide smile, and she hurried to her fiancé. Azriel’s usual cold, hard expression softened as he bowed, scooping her hand up to his lips.

Emillie turned away to give them a moment of privacy to speak. She focused on the park sprawling before her and could not help the pit which opened in her stomach.

She and the woman from the Bistro, Kyra, had discussed meeting here before they had been forced apart. As much as she knew it to be for the best—she could never pursue her interest in women amongst the Society, and dragging Kyra down with her would be unacceptable—she still wished it to be possible.

Though there were ways. Revelie, after all, managed to straddle the line between the Society and freedom. Camilla, too, openly pursued her interests. Perhaps Emillie merely needed to find her path to achieve the same.

A gust of warm wind crept by, lazy and filled with the sweet scent of summer. The perfume of flowers, fresh-cut grass, and the hint of humidity leftover from the day’s sun. It brushed against her bare arms like a gentle reminder of what life used to be like, and for a moment, Emillie saw Laeton Park as she once did at midday.

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