Page 112 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

When the song ended, they wandered off the dance floor, hand in hand, to greet their guests. Caersans from all across the provinces made an appearance to give their congratulations. To Ariadne, none of them mattered. For Azriel’s sake, she pressed on. He needed as many of the lords on his side as possible, particularly those from Eastwood.

Every event turned into a political spectacle, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it.

The next dance began. On the stone floor, Madan twirled Camilla, their eyes bright and jovial. Emillie watched from the sidelines, her gaze following Hyacinth Hooke as the young beauty swayed with Lord Moone.

If Ariadne could stop time, it would be on this night. This night, when everyone she loved appeared so happy and carefree and together. She wanted nothing more for them all, for as soon as morning came, everything would change.

Chapter 25

While summer remained the prime season for weddings, short nights meant the reception did not last as long as Ariadne had hoped. For once, she enjoyed the party, the people, and the attention. Those who whispered as she passed spoke of the classic style of dress and beautiful circlet—not backhanded compliments and guesswork.

Before she knew it, she took Azriel’s hand and returned to the carriage. She settled into her seat, stomach growling. After speaking with so many people, she had been left with no time to enjoy the food. She rested her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.

The door shut behind Azriel, cutting off his final goodbyes. Their knees brushed as he adjusted his long legs in the space built for a Caersan man much smaller than he.

Then the scent of roasted chicken, herbs, butter, and fresh bread filled her nostrils.

Ariadne sat up, eyes flying open again to find Azriel cradling a plate towered with food. Her mouth watered, and her stomach rumbled again.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said and held out the plate, two forks stuck beneath the stacks of meat and vegetables. “I’m ravenous.”

“Thank you.” She eased the fork closest to her out and gathered up a scrap of everything. After several bites, she paused. Azriel had not moved except to balance the plate. “Are you not eating, too?”

Azriel scanned her face. “When you’re finished.”

She frowned. The last time someone scrutinized her eating had been after returning thin and weak from the mountains. She had refused food at first. It became easier to avoid it altogether after the dhemons used it against her—a reward for doing as they demanded during those daylight hours. Though she still ate much less than prior to the abduction, those negative connections did not hold the same weight in her life.

“Eat with me.” She pulled the second fork from beneath the pile and held it out to him. “I want us to have our first meal as husband and wife together.”

A light sparked in his gaze, and he took the fork after readjusting the plate to balance on his knees. “As you wish.”

He dug into the food with her then. The carriage ride grew silent as they ate. For once, Ariadne did not feel the need to fill the reticence. His contentment at sitting with her as she was with him was worth every uncomfortable decision leading to that moment.

When the carriage slowed outside the Caldwell family’s Laeton manor, Ariadne pursed her lips at the plate. “Did you eat the chicken?”

Azriel raised a brow. “Some. I prefer the vegetables.”

“Do you not eat meat?”

“I do.” He set the plate aside, forks resting on its near-empty surface. “I just don’t eat much of it, I suppose.”

Odd for a man of his size, whether half-fae or not. Though many high fae that she had met were, in fact, vegetarians, most were not. The lycans and dhemons, on the other hand, subsisted almost entirely on raw meat. Though it made no sense in her mind how it worked, any cooked meats made those fae ill.

Before she could inquire any more—had his father been vegetarian? Did Madan eat less meat, too?—the carriage door opened, and Azriel leapt out. He turned on his heel and held out a hand. “Welcome home.”

Ariadne stepped down from the carriage, eyes glued to the manor before her. Though it towered over her, the size did not compare to the Harlow Estate. Once upon a time, she would have been bothered by its lack of grandeur. Her materialism used to rival other Caersan women; now she swept a discerning eye over it. This would be her first home with Azriel—the estate in Monsumbra would be her last.

“My Lord and Lady,” called a red haired Rusan man as he flung the front doors open, “we are delighted to see you both!”

“Thank you, Petre.” Azriel held out his arm, then led her up the steps and into the foyer.

Petre—whom Ariadne assumed to be the butler—bowed to them both. “The curtains are drawn around the house, and your things, my Lady, have been unpacked into your closet. Shall I—”

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Azriel smiled at the Rusan, who bowed again and disappeared down a hall.

“He seems lively.”

With a snort, Azriel grinned at her. “He was quite reserved when we first met. Much has changed.”

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