Page 14 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Emillie raised her brows. “It is a lot.”

“I think he is kind,” Ariadne said, pushing her nose into a carnation. “I think he truly likes me.”

“Do you not think it odd,” she said slowly, “how much he pines over you after Darien?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Ariadne stiffened. Her free hand gripped the napkin on her lap, and she turned back to her food without answering.

They finished their meal in relative silence after that, then stood together.

Before she could leave, her sister took her hand again. “We should visit Camilla soon to talk about your interests. Until you know how to approach it, know that Father will expect you to dance with both of those suitors.”

Emillie’s stomach dropped. “I know.”

“I love you, Em.” She squeezed her hand, then left, as quiet as a ghost.

She waited several beats after Ariadne’s departure before following. Her mind reeled. Had she truly just exposed her deepest secrets just to be met with indifference? Not that she had expected her sister to be eager for more information, but she had been convinced she was able to hide the truth. If Ariadne had figured it out, had her father done the same?

Just outside the breakfast den, Emillie ran smack into a large body. She gasped, took a step back, and tilted her gaze up to find Madan watching her wide-eyed. Odd for him to be up there so early in the night.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Harlow,” he said, straightening his jacket. “How are you feeling this evening?”

“Oh!” Emillie gaped at him. “Not entirely well, if I am honest.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Madan said and took a step back. “If there’s anything I—or my cousin—can do to be of assistance, please let us know.”

Emillie gave him a tight smile. “Thank you.”

After a brief bow from the guard, she swept past him. Glancing back over her shoulder, she frowned. Madan stared at the collection of vases on the table, his mouth forming a thin, tight line. What did he see that she had not?

Azriel lounged on a frayed couch in the common room at the end of the servants’ basement hall. He kicked his legs out before him, a bowl of porridge in hand and sword within arm’s reach, to watch as Madan stomped past the bedroom doors. The vampire’s face twisted at the sight of him, and every one of Azriel’s senses went on high alert.

“Morning,” Azriel grunted, shoveling another bite of plain gruel into his mouth; he didn’t want to get into it with him again.

“What the fuck?”

Azriel lifted his spoon to point it at Madan. “You told me not to curse here.”

“Not in front of them.” Madan shook his head, running his fingers through his hair with a groan. The other guard turned to look around the room littered with mismatched chairs and old furniture as though to check they were alone. “You sent her a fucking flower?”

Azriel blinked once. Fuck. How’d he find out? He grunted by way of response and shoveled more porridge into his mouth.

“So it was you.”

Another grunt. Another spoonful. He didn’t have to answer that.

“What the actual fuck?” Madan stepped closer, fists tight at his side.

Azriel felt the proverbial hackles rising at his approach. Like a rabid animal locked in a cage. He could smell Ariadne on him. What was he doing wandering the manor at nightfall?

“You know what would happen to you if anyone found out?”

“And who would tell them it was me?” Azriel leveled a cold gaze at him in challenge.

Madan threw his hands up. “You’re acting like a real asshole, you know that?”

“You brought me here.”

“I didn’t think it’d turn you into your father.”

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