Page 117 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Marriage to Ariadne placed Azriel in a strange, personal hell. Everything from her adoration to the full trust she put in him with her body tormented the sane piece of himself. Yet somehow, it soothed his less controllable aspects and eased the pressure of the bond. Each time she reminded him of her love, that horrible monster inside purred with delight while his mind screamed for her to run.

For Ariadne Harlow didn’t love Azriel Caldwell. She loved the version of himself that he carefully constructed to entice her. If she knew who he’d been before their first meeting, she’d never speak to him again.

And it shredded his soul as he kissed her sleeping brow later that day before pulling on loose trousers and slipping from the suite barefoot. After their time on the chaise, he’d carried her to their bedroom and entwined their bodies a second time. Between the exertion and excitement of the night, Ariadne fell asleep as he held her, cursing himself for every second of it all.

Azriel descended to the main floor of the house, the heat of the summer day seeping through the closed curtains. In the foyer, he followed the sound of low voices to the kitchen, where a handful of the Rusan staff sat around a small table, eating their dinner before bed. Sunlight poured into the room, and he paused in a ray to soak up its warmth. Sometimes being a half-breed bastard had its perks.

“My Lord?” Petre called from the table as the conversation rolled to a halt. Five pairs of eyes widened at his lack of clothing.

“I’m looking for my brother.”

“Ah, yes.” Petre stood and made to lead the way out of the kitchen.

Azriel held up a hand. “Just tell me where and I’ll find him. Rest.”

“The library.” Petre bowed.

After a quick, thankful inclination of his head, Azriel turned and left them to their meal. Whispers followed him into the hall. Not accepted by the Caersans and no longer a member of the staff. An awkward place to be.

The library, while not as extensive as at the Harlow Estate, still stretched high enough to require a sliding ladder to reach the top shelves. Dark wood gleamed with polish, not a speck of dust in sight. Madan lounged near the center of the room, a safe distance from the draped windows, and read by candlelight. His full Caersan blood barred him from the same daylit pleasures as Azriel.

“Brother.” Madan, draped across a deep blue couch, didn’t look away from the small book balanced precariously between his fingers over his face. “Enjoying your morning?”

Azriel collapsed into a chair near his brother’s feet. “Yes. No.”

He leaned forward, elbows to knees, and pressed his fists against his eyes. The short walk through the manor had been enough to rattle his nerves. There was too much to say.

The shift of paper told Azriel that Madan turned a page. “Care to share or just here to cry about it?”

“You know what I’m thinking.” He looked up, brows drawn tight.

“Yes.” Madan’s marbled eyes flickered to him, then back to the book at hand. “And you know there’s nothing left to be done.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“I swear to every god listening,” Madan sighed and set the book on his chest to glare at him, “if you say you shouldn’t have married her—again, mind you—I will fucking throttle you. You made your decision and now must live with the consequences.”

“She’s been ruined by me.” Azriel shook his head. “If anyone found out the truth, she’d be shunned.”

Madan rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows you’re half-fae. What’s done is done.”

A long silence stretched between them. Madan picked up his book and began reading again while Azriel leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. His stomach clenched and twisted into sickening knots.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to voice the words until finally, he said, “They forced themselves on her.”

Madan said nothing. Only silence closed in on him, drowned out only by the blood pounding in his ears.

“I heard it happen—I heard her begging them to stop,” Azriel’s throat tightened, and a fresh wave of rage heated him. “I’d hoped it wasn’t true, but she confirmed it for me tonight.”

He looked to his brother when there was no reply. Madan’s face, paler than usual, spoke volumes. “I know.”

Everything stilled. Azriel grit his teeth hard as Madan pushed himself to a sitting position on the far end of the couch. A wise choice with the way Azriel’s hands twitched.

“What?” His voice didn’t rise above a gravelly whisper.

“I know everything that happened to her.” Madan surveyed him like he was an angry, cornered animal. “I heard Ehrun talk about it afterward.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

---