Page 141 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Very good.” Her father nodded once. “I need to speak with him before your departure.”

She should tell him. Every fiber of her being screamed to speak the truth: Azriel Caldwell was a liar, a sheep in wolf’s clothing, a dhemon. Worse, he was the son of the Dhemon King, the Crowe. The one who had spent centuries waging war against Valenul. Her own husband had likely been a part of it, in fact.

Dhomin.

The dhemon from the road used that word. Again and again, and each time, Azriel grew more and more enraged.

“What does dhomin mean?” She blurted the question before weighing the consequences.

Her father stilled. “Where did you hear that word?”

Emillie looked between them, recognizing the harsh language and calculating the risks of such knowledge. She bit her lip and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“I remembered it recently,” Ariadne lied and hoped her expression did not give her away. “From… before.”

Enough of a truth neither of them would question. To get her to say anything about her time in the mountains was a miracle.

Still, her father tilted his head and searched her face. “It means little prince.”

So Azriel had been a fae prince in disguise, as Camilla had once joked. The problem with his title, of course, remained which fae lineage he hailed from. At the time they had assumed him to be high fae from L’Oden Forest—not a dhemon. Not an enemy of Valenul.

“Never speak that tongue in my house again,” he added.

“Yes, Father.” Ariadne’s heart hammered in her chest, and she dipped her chin to refocus elsewhere. In her periphery, Emillie looked between them, gaze lingering on her face. Whatever she saw there, Ariadne knew she could not hide it forever.

Not when she needed to think of a way to convince them to let her stay. To convince Azriel to leave her alone. Perhaps he would do so in exchange for her silence. He could return to Eastwood on his own, and she would only suffer his presence when he visited Laeton.

“Excuse me,” Ariadne said after the silence stretched out too long. “I should wash up.”

“Ari, may I join—”

“No.” She did not look at her sister as she turned toward the next set of stairs. “I need a moment alone.”

Emillie remained silent after that, and Ariadne hurried up to the third floor. As much as she wanted to speak with her sister, tell her everything, and glean whatever advice she might have to make it through the crumbles of her life, she could not. She could not condemn Azriel because, gods damn her, she still loved him. The thought of him in handcuffs again—or, worse, killed—made her want to scream.

Penelope, in charge of preparing her room, opened the door from the inside at the same time Ariadne reached for the handle. The Rusan maid curtsied and said, “Fresh linens on your bed, my Lady. Would you like tea?”

“No, thank you.” Ariadne slipped by and locked the door behind her.

She had not made it even a fortnight since she last set foot in the room sprawled out before her. In those few short nights, she discovered both nirvana and the true meaning of despair. All of it stemmed from the one man she swore to hate yet could not stop loving.

Unable to draw in a full breath, Ariadne crossed the room and, for the first time since her return from the dhemon keep, flung open the doors to the veranda. Warm, summer air curled around her.

Ten…

It filled her lungs as it passed down her burning throat. Her chest expanded, and she held it, desperate for any relief from the pain. Her knuckles turned white as she curled her fingers around the rail.

Azriel had been dragged away not long after delivering her to the keep. He roared—no, screamed—as Darien appeared, ready to fight Ehrun. He struggled against the hands, forcing him back. She had seen only rage in his face, but now she knew the man behind the horns. Knew his heart.

It had been fear. Not rage.

Nine…

She exhaled hard. The air left her in a long, low wail. Her elbows bent, and she let the tears fall again.

The first night had been long and silent in her dark cell. All that interrupted the reticence were shouts at the far end of the cell block. Shouts and something slamming hard against a wall or door. Had it been Darien? She had not seen what Ehrun did with him at first.

Or had it been Azriel, locked away and branded as she had been?

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