Page 102 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“So the two of you grew up together?” Ariadne asked. “Were you not raised by your father?”

Azriel nodded once. “Yes. It’s part of the reason why his pure Caersan blood’s been ignored by the Society.”

“What is the other part?”

“He was too young to make himself known before his mother died.”

Ariadne frowned. “Were your mothers sisters?”

“Yes.”

Emillie slowed her pace, letting the betrothed couple go on ahead of her. One night the pair of vampires may very well be her. With whom would she walk through Laeton Park? A Lord Governor? A merchant lord? A military officer?

No matter what route her mind journeyed down, she knew it would not end with her marrying someone like Kyra. In none of the scenarios would she be with a woman. Her father would never allow such a thing.

So better to imagine herself with the most likely outcome: a rich, Caersan man with political power. Perhaps she would find joy in it somewhere—somehow.

They rounded a corner, the trail leading them through a dense crop of trees. Her eyes adjusted to the lower light, and she sensed more than saw the tension in the guards behind her. Azriel shifted closer to Ariadne, his chest expanding with a deep inhale.

Once a guard, always a guard.

Picking up on the subtle change of mood as well, Ariadne glanced back at her. No one spoke for a long moment.

“Should we turn around?” Emillie looked back at Gracen.

Azriel slowed to a halt. “Perhaps it would be wise—“

The massive, horned shadow came out of nowhere. It barreled into Azriel, ripping him away from Ariadne in one fell swoop and sending him to the ground on his back. He rolled, heels over head, to his feet, where he wrenched the sword from the sheath on his back.

As if he knew he would need to use it on the stroll through the park.

A scream tore through the darkness as two more dhemons hurdled out from between the trees. Their midnight blue skin allowed them to blend in with the night—all but their vivid red eyes.

“Run!” Azriel glanced at Ariadne. “Run!”

She did no such thing. The sight of the monsters from her nightmares froze her to the spot, and as Emillie’s heart hammered hard in her chest, she lurched forward to grab her sister’s wrist. Behind her, both guards rushed in to engage the newcomers. Their swords flashed in the low light.

“Ariadne—“

A dhemon snarled something in his guttural language, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His vicious rows of sharp teeth—not as long as a vampire’s but just as sharp and far more numerous—glinted in the moonlight. He crooked a finger at Ariadne as though taunting her.

“Ariadne, please!” Emillie yanked at her arm.

The tug pulled her sister out of her daze, and Ariadne stumbled back, mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.

Azriel’s blade flashed against the dhemon’s twin short swords, and though he held his own, even his strength did not hold up against such a huge adversary. Beside him, Sul’s thinner frame buckled under the force of a blow while Gracen pushed back with everything he had. It would not be enough.

“Come,” Emillie hissed and turned to find two more dhemons stalking down the path. No exit. “Fuck.”

In a whirlwind, Azriel twisted one, then the other short sword from the dhemon’s grips. He kicked the blades aside, one spinning dangerously close to Emillie’s ankle, and shoved his sword through the monster’s chest. Blood rained down, soaking his hands and arms.

To Emillie’s shock, Ariadne stooped and picked up the short sword in a shaking hand. Her wide eyes turned from the dhemons in front to those behind as though calculating what to do next.

A dhemon behind them chuckled, then said with a thick accent in the common tongue, “What you do with that, princess?”

Her sister paled. “Do not call me that.”

“Found your tongue, I see.”

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