Page 118 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Madan shook his head. “I gave her a tea on our way to Laeton to ensure—”

“What the fuck, Madan?” Azriel shot to his feet and drew his fingers through his hair, heart slamming against his ribs. Every fiber of his being demanded he return to the mountains and finish what he’d started. He itched to wrap his fingers around Ehrun’s neck and watch the life drain from his eyes, then shred his corpse and force-feed it to the grunts who helped him torture her. “Why wouldn’t you tell me something like this?”

“Would you rather her get pregnant by them?” Madan snapped back and stood, squaring off in front of him. His finger remained in the book to mark his page.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Azriel stared at him. That Madan had had the foresight to provide her with such a concoction was a blessing. The secrets he’d kept, however… “I’d have rather known.”

“So you could do what?”

“I would’ve killed every single one of them.”

“No!” Madan stepped forward and threw the book onto the couch. “No, Azriel, you would have died!”

Azriel bared his fangs at his brother. “Traitor.”

“You saw what happened to your father against Ehrun!” Madan took another step closer, undeterred by Azriel’s temper. “If he fell, you would’ve been annihilated at best—or kept as their fucking plaything.”

None of it registered. The words were mere hot air making no sense. Madan had kept the truth from him and actively prevented him from exacting the vengeance owed to him.

“She is my mate, and you’ll never understand—”

Madan laughed. Azriel’s blood boiled at the sound. None of this was a joke. None of it was funny. None of it should be met with any amount of mirth.

“She is your wife.” Madan jabbed his bare chest with a finger. “As you’ve reminded Whelan and me many times, mates are reserved for reciprocated bonds.”

The edges of his vision blurred, and he sucked in a deep, calming breath. “Get out of my house.”

Another laugh. “Oh, it’s your house now? After all you’ve claimed about us working together?”

“Get the fuck out.”

Madan’s grin faded. “It’s midday.”

Azriel turned and stalked to the doors, flexing his fingers into fists again and again. “Then I better not see you when night falls, or I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

He ripped open the door as Madan called, “As you wish, dhomin.”

Ice flooded Azriel’s veins at the dhemon word. It’d been a great while since he’d heard it at all. It’d been even longer since it was directed at him. He paused, allowing the discomfort to run its course, then slammed the door and retreated to his rooms.

Chapter 26

Marrying Azriel felt right. Ariadne’s entire life turned upside down the night they pledged themselves to one another—body and soul. Something lifted from her which had, for too long, kept her pinned in the dark, melancholy world of her grief and self-pity. Once more, she basked in the beauty of what life had to offer.

Perhaps that was what happened when someone listened and empathized.

Their first night together, Ariadne did not see much of the manor. She explored nothing beyond their luxurious suite, where the servants drew her a steaming bath of milk and honey, and she drank tea or wine and indulged in platters of food brought up to them. Her favorite activity soon became the hours spent tumbling through the sheets, learning every surface of Azriel’s body.

The second and third nights, they ventured forth from their comfortable confines. He gave her a tour of the manor despite his minimal knowledge of the Caldwell family history. In comparison to the Harlow Estate, the smaller house and garden did not take long to get through. They asked questions of the servants, and both Petre and Bella were happy to oblige.

It was not until the following night, as they laid in bed together, arms and legs entangled and their bodies hot from exertion, that Ariadne finally asked, “Shall we go to town?”

Azriel stilled at the question, the back of his fingers stroking down her side—not her back, never her back—then kissed her shoulder and said, “Promise me something.”

“Hmm?” She arched her body to get a better look at him.

In the dim light of the low fire, his eyes almost glowed red as they reflected the coals. “Never leave the grounds—neither here nor in Monsumbra—without me. Never.”

Ariadne frowned and ran her fingers over the network of scars on his chest. “Why?”

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