Page 114 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“You will find all you need just over there, my Lady.” Bella pointed to the washroom. “A basin has been prepared for you already.”

“Thank you, Bella.”

The Rusan woman curtsied again, then left.

The doors closed with a snap behind her, leaving Ariadne alone in the foreign room. She ignored the closed doors beside the fireplace and instead began a slow walk of the room, running her fingers along the spines of books as she went. The closet was, as she suspected, just that—though twice the size she was accustomed to. On one side hung her dresses, the traveling trunks set aside. Along the other, trousers and shirts and vests and jackets hung in moderation. At the far end, a gold-framed full-length mirror reflected back her uncertain expression.

She retreated from the closet and swept into the washroom, where she poured a splash of water into a wide silver basin. Scooping some of the cool liquid into her cupped hands, Ariadne splashed it on her cheeks and ignored the thundering of her heart.

In a few brief moments, Azriel would arrive, and she needed to center herself. Although he did not appear to be a man who expected anything from her, it remained their wedding morning. Certain expectations came along with such unions, and she had, once upon a time, ached for this night.

Gods, up until now, she had looked forward to it.

With the time upon her, however, Ariadne did not know what to do. She should tell him what happened with the dhemons—be open and honest about everything they did to her, for not all the damage was written on her skin. No, it remained engraved on her heart and mind and in the most intimate of places.

He would know soon enough whether she wanted him to or not.

Ariadne patted her face dry and leaned heavily on the wash basin’s table. She stared at her distorted reflection in the water and took a long, deep breath.

Ten…

On and on, she counted her inhales and exhales. She made it to three before the doors of the suite opened again to jolt her from the breathing exercise. Swallowing hard, she looked up and into the mirror hanging before her instead. There she saw her husband pause at the washroom door and lean a shoulder against the threshold.

“What’s wrong?” Not an accusatory question, nor did his rumbling voice sound demanding. Rather, his mossy eyes appeared sad and searching. Was the bond he claimed to have with her capable of feeling her emotions?

She smiled and turned to him. “Nothing.”

Azriel shook his head, standing straight again and taking a single step closer. “You are not being entirely truthful.”

“All is well,” she said and, before her mind could hold her back, she closed the distance between them to press her lips to his. His scent filled her nose, so even when she could not see him, she knew who she touched.

At first, he melted into the kiss. He drew a hand across her jaw to cradle her head and deepen it, their tongues exploring one another’s mouths. Then, as though remembering himself, Azriel froze and drew back just enough to say, “Please tell me what bothers you.”

Ariadne tried to kiss him again, to make him and herself forget about it all as though he would not see everything for himself before long. When he pulled back to search her face, she sighed and glanced away. “I am certain you know what bothers me. Please do not make me say it.”

“Alright.” Azriel tucked a curl behind her ear and brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “Nothing has to happen between us. Ever, if you don’t want it.”

“I do.”

He raised a speculative brow.

“I truly do—tonight, even.” She bit her lip and cupped his face. “In part, I fear how you might react, if I am honest.”

Now he frowned. “I wouldn’t ever be angry or upset with you about something you couldn’t control.”

Pushing her hair aside, Ariadne’s shaking fingers found and unclasped the golden buttons at the nap of her neck, then switched to the corset ties at her lower back. Her heart thundered in her ears. He would be the first to see her body since the abduction.

After a moment of watching her struggle, Azriel asked, “May I?”

“Please.” She turned and ignored her reflection as he dipped lower to release the complex bindings. His steady hands made quick work of the dress, and bit by bit, piece by piece, it fell away until she stood before him as naked as in her imaginings.

As she suspected, Azriel stood stalk still, his face draining of color. He stared, unblinking, at her back. She had spent the last year very carefully curating her wardrobe. Some might have believed her to develop a taste for modesty, perhaps in the hopes of finding another suitor. In truth, the high backs and gossamer additions hid what shamed her the most: a slew of scars made permanent by fistfuls of salt.

After a moment, Azriel’s fingers traced the largest set of them all—the scars, carved out numerous times by the same dhemon, bore that wretched name in all capitals.

EHRUN

It marked her as his for all to see, and the longer it took for Azriel to say something, the more her stomach knotted. Tears stung her eyes. She tilted her chin to the ceiling to blink them back in.

---