Page 113 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“It would seem that way.”

“Would you like tea?” He nodded to the sitting room with a small, popping fire. “Or anything else to eat?”

Ariadne shook her head. “I would like to wash up before bed.”

His eyes dipped down her body, and in an instant, she felt naked before him. At once, it sent a heated thrill through her and chilled her blood. She craved his touch, just as she had when they had kissed in the Harlow drawing room, when they had exchanged blood at the Temple of Keon, and during their heated exchange on the way to the reception. Many nights had passed since the duel when she thought of what it would be like to run her hands down his bare chest. It warmed her core, and she even relieved the mounting pressure herself alone in bed at times.

This morning, however, was different. It no longer remained a story in her mind, playing through every moment with idyllic precision. Now reality approached, and she ran toward it while simultaneously screaming to have a little more time to prepare.

But nothing prepared her for what happened with the dhemons. The moment meant to be shared with her husband—with Darien and now Azriel—had been stolen from her.

“Take your time,” Azriel said after a breath, her racing thoughts nearly drowning out his words. His brows furrowed slightly. “Bella!”

A moment later, a Rusan woman with striking dark eyes, thick black twists, and dark skin strode in from the hall Petre had disappeared down. She curtsied, surveying Ariadne with a mixture of interest and reservation. “Yes, my Lord?”

Azriel’s hand brushed Ariadne’s low back. “Will you show Ariadne where she can wash up?”

“Of course.” Bella smiled and gestured to the stairs. “Right this way, my Lady.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said to Bella, then turned to Ariadne and continued, “I’ll be up in a moment.”

Ariadne followed Bella up the sweeping staircase in silence. She frowned at the portraits on the walls. Some bore the images of the former Lord Governor Caldwell, while most depicted the same two Caersan women, both with dark hair and brilliant, peridot eyes. The elder, she guessed, was the Dowager Lady Caldwell per the wedding portrait at the landing. The younger woman, however, looked strangely familiar. Their daughter, most likely—killed, if Ariadne recalled correctly, by dhemons.

“What is her name?” She stopped abruptly at a portrait of the young Caersan woman, this time with a round belly, holding the hand of a small boy, his face neutral and pale green eyes almost solemn.

Bella paused. “Mariana. The late Lord Governor’s daughter.”

With a nod, Ariadne stepped a little closer. “And her son?”

“Yes.” Bella moved a little closer. “I never met them.”

“Why not?”

“They died before I was born, my Lady.” Bella smiled grimly. “Many of these portraits were completed post-mortem and hung in memory of her.”

“The Lord Governor must have been heartbroken.” Ariadne’s stomach sank, and she brushed a gentle finger over where the woman clasped the boy’s hand. “For them all to die like that.”

Bella hummed her soft agreement. “Unfortunately, he was no stranger to such tragedies. They plagued the Caldwell line for quite some time.”

The price of being the first family to settle in the Keonis Valley. Without them, Valenul would never have been established. It put a target on their backs, though, which none of them could outrun. Except the elder Lady Caldwell, it would seem. A five-thousand-year-old Original vampire. Most were fortunate to live half as long, and yet somehow, she had been the sole Caersan to oversee the development of an entire kingdom.

“My apologies,” Ariadne said and gave herself a quick shake.

The Rusan woman smiled. “Not a problem, my Lady. Shall we continue?”

“Please.” She gestured to Bella, and they continued down the corridor. The long emerald runners, speckled with six-petaled white and red flowers, stretched out ahead of them. She studied the flowers as they walked, grappling with why they looked so familiar. “What flowers are these on the rug?”

Bella glanced down and said without looking back, “Gladiolus tristis. They’re the Caldwell’s family flower.”

“The moonlight flower.” Ariadne’s breath caught. The single flower sent the night after Vertium. She had assumed it had been delivered from Alek, and the entire time, it had been Azriel.

“Yes, that.” Bella stopped before a set of double doors and opened them with a flourish. “Would you like us to draw you a full bath?”

Ariadne shook her head. “That will not be necessary. Just a washing basin, please.”

Without another word, Bella led her into the grand room beyond. From the high ceiling, painted with a mural of the heavens, hung a crystal chandelier. Massive curtains lined the far wall where, Ariadne guessed, they covered a large bay of windows. A set of plush chairs and a chaise sat before a welcoming fireplace with a gilded mantle. On either side of the hearth were closed doors, and across the room was another pair, this time open, leading to what appeared to be a washroom on one side and a closet on the other. What impressed her most were the bookshelves covering almost every inch of spare wall.

“This is magnificent,” Ariadne breathed, staring at the vase of moonlight flowers on the thin table behind the couch. So it had been Azriel who sent that single flower after the Vertium ball.

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