Page 111 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“I hope so.” He gripped her shoulders, and they, too, pressed their foreheads together.

Despite the gesture lasting a mere breath, it cut deep as the moment that would change her life forever. Everything he had done throughout her life had led to this. Each decision—stepping up from General to Princeps after her mother’s death, pushing her into her first Season to meet Darien, and piecing her back together in his own way after the abduction—paved the way for her to stand before him, about to leave him of her own accord.

“I love you,” she whispered as he pulled away.

Her father did not smile. He did not cry, though his throat bobbed. Instead, he pushed back a curl, tucking it behind her ear as he did when she was a child, and kissed her forehead. Then he placed the circlet back on her hair.

Without a word, he took her hand and placed it in Azriel’s. He patted it twice, nodded to her husband, and stood aside.

Before them sprawled a garden of night-blooming flowers, lush fruit trees, and stately shrubs with winding paths and tables speckled amongst small clearings. At its center lay a stone dance floor with a string quartet playing soft melodies. Tall lamp posts flared with life along each path, and small oil lanterns hung from the trees and bushes, sparkling like faerie magic. Decor of dusty rose and deep green adorned the chairs, tables, and benches.

Azriel huffed, drawing her attention up, and his brows creased. “The color you chose—”

“I chose it before everything happened.” She laughed airily and shook her head. “I loved that fabric, you know, back at Revelie’s.”

His lips parted at the memory. “Why’d you choose it for your wedding?”

Your wedding—not our wedding. A clear distinction between what would have been and what came to be. Ariadne shrugged it off. “I suppose it made me happy after that night. I needed something to make me happy again.”

At the edge of the garden dance floor, Azriel paused and stroked his thumb across her cheek. How he made her forget about the crowd watching them, Ariadne had no idea. But the way he looked at her in that moment made the very night turn to day, such warmth flooded her veins.

Perhaps she would make it through the day with him after all.

The first song to play had not been chosen by Ariadne. She stilled, knowing full well it was to be their first dance as a married couple. Traditions from the days as mages were hard for long-living Caersans to relinquish. Nonetheless, her instructions for the dance had been clear.

“What song is this?” She looked to the quartet.

Azriel smiled and pulled her to the dance floor. “It’s what played the first time I ever saw you.”

She could not recall the music from Vertium. Everything blended together, from the breathing exercises to the irritation at being assigned a new guard to the attack of the dhemons. The entire event had become a blur in her memories.

“How did you remember?”

His arm curled around her waist, bringing her body closer than she had ever danced with anyone before. Not so long ago, she had pulled away from any man attempting to hold her the way Azriel did as they moved through the steps.

“For the sake of honesty,” he said quietly as a handful of dancers joined them, “I must confess that I’ve loved you, Ariadne, since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Ariadne gaped at him, her mind racing as a flutter in her stomach gave way to that rush of warmth. All the romantic tales of the fae described a single, unyielding connection between true lovers—something she never imagined to be real. Fae bonds were said to be unbreakable, immediate, and soul-deep. For one to form, however, could take centuries of searching for the correct individual, who were not always of fae descent.

“Can half-fae bond?” she whispered, feeling almost conspiratorial.

He swallowed hard and, seeming at a loss for words, nodded.

She twirled out, her stomach knotting again at the thought. Did he love her—choose and fight for her—only because of some uncontrollable force within himself? If he had had the choice, would he still choose her?

As she twisted back in, Ariadne forced herself to inhale deeply and clear her thoughts. Even if the bond had started it all, fae could reject them, though usually to their detriment. While fae females could stand their ground and break a bond without much harm to themselves, males often went mad at an unreciprocated bond. Had that been what caused him to want to leave so suddenly?

“Be honest with me,” she said, chest searing at the possibilities of his answer. “Do you love me, or are you merely bonded to me?”

Azriel’s face twisted with pain. “I love you, Ariadne, more than the breath in my lungs.”

Tension eased from her, and she moved her hand from his shoulder to his face. He leaned his cheek into her palm as she asked, “Until the very end?”

“Until the very end.”

Those four simple words held more weight than any vow spoken by the High Priestess. They sang through Ariadne like a melody, lighting her up from inside.

Ariadne leaned her cheek on Azriel’s chest for the remainder of the dance, listening to his heart. Each steady beat synced with her own as though they had become one without her knowledge. Perhaps they had the moment they met. She found she did not mind it as much as she first thought. After all, it had been almost as long since she had chosen him, and even that had occurred without her realizing.

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