Page 146 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

On her way to that same door, Ariadne had brushed her fingers along the leather cover of the novel. They caressed the gold-stamped letters like a long-forgotten lover. Then she continued on, a single candle in hand, and opened the door. Warm summer air swirled in around her.

Guards descended on the woods as she set the candle on a table and slipped outside. No one would expect her to be there. No one would check this room to ensure her safety.

No one except Azriel.

He kept to the shadows of the trees, but she knew then what to look for. His midnight blue skin and black horns blended in with the darkness, so it was his eyes which gave him away. Always his eyes. Whether green or red, they watched her with the same melancholy intensity.

She had wrapped her arms around her then as the flood of emotions hit. He held his side as though injured, and one eye swelled. But still, he stood. He fought, and he won. For her.

She wanted to go to him then. Even as a dhemon, she wanted to touch his face and ask where he was hurt. To feel the weight of his cheek pressing into her palm.

Then a guard shouted up at her to go inside, breaking through her thoughts and shattering the memory of her husband’s face shifting from the one she hated back into the one she loved. She retreated into the manor and left that room behind.

Now she stood before a mirror, hair braided like a coronet around her head. She shifted to ensure every scar remained hidden, the heat of anger sluicing through her again. He did this to her. Frightened her. Ruined her. To think she could continue to love such a twisted man who lied and betrayed her—

A knock on the door jolted her just as the guard’s shout had. “My Lady, Lord Caldwell has arrived.”

Her stomach twisted, and her breath caught. No, no, no. She needed more time. More time to compose herself. More time to decide what to do.

She could still tell her father and demand he be arrested. She could expose Azriel for the snake he was, watch with satisfaction as the man who destroyed everything she loved was taken away—not to be lashed, but to be killed. She could apologize to Loren and tell him everything she knew about Azriel and the dhemons.

He would take her back. He would keep her safe.

Yet somehow, the memories of the General made her just as sick. She rubbed at her wrist as she turned to the door. If he had been so quick to harm her the first time, he would do it again.

“I will be down in a moment,” she said and pulled in a long, shaking breath.

After a beat, Ariadne crossed the room and opened the door. No one stood in the hall. Hardly a voice could be heard except, by her keen Caersan ears, the low voices of those in the foyer. One, a gravelly rumble, made her heart kick into high gear.

How could she face him again?

She drew her shoulders back and stood a little straighter. Once, she had stared into the eyes of a dhemon with the refusal to back down. It had been the first time Ehrun struck her.

Right after Azriel had been dragged away, yelling something in the dhemon language, to the same dungeons she lived in all those nights. Dragged away. Fighting. Though she had not known the words he said, she had recognized the tone. At the time, she had assumed he had been angry about not getting the credit for her retrieval. Now she understood.

He had been scared. Frightened, even, to be taken away.

I didn’t have a choice—I never intended on any of it.

Had he been telling the truth?

Ariadne started for the stairs, heart slamming against her ribs like a hammer and anvil. If only it gave her the strength of steel to face him. To listen—or expose.

Down the first flight of stairs. She paused at the landing overlooking the foyer and gripped the banister hard, knuckles white, as Azriel turned his face up to her. No horns. No sharp teeth save for his fangs. Only peridot irises and dark brows drawn together in concern. A bruise arched around his right eye and his sword, a contradiction to his fine Caersan clothes, was strapped to his back.

Azriel parted his lips as though to greet her, then he closed them and hung his head. He could not even look at her.

Good.

She descended the stairs and stopped an arm’s length away. “Husband.”

He swallowed hard before bowing with a wince. She let him take her hand and kiss her fingers, lips lingering just long enough for any prying eyes to not suspect anything negative between them. Despite her resolve to hate him, her heart fluttered as it always did in his presence.

“Wife?” The single, whispered word lifted into a question as he raised his gaze and straightened his back with another grimace. Whatever injury he acquired the night before still hurt him.

She did not answer but accepted his arm nonetheless. Her stomach churned, and she shoved away the memory of his rough hands covering her mouth as she screamed for Darien.

Sensing her discomfort, Azriel released her to open the door and followed her down the front steps to the carriage waiting outside. He waved off the coachman to help her in before closing the door behind them both and sitting across from her.

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