Page 149 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

She frowned at the weapon. “What?”

“Those dhemons last night…” He held out the dagger. “They were only the beginning.”

“I do not know how to put it on.”

He hesitated. “On your thigh.”

Ariadne pulled up her dress as the carriage moved forward again. They were in a queue. “Help me.”

Again, Azriel hesitated. He reached out, stopped, and looked up at her with uncertainty.

Her heart thrashed. Was she really doing this? Had she forgiven him? No. But the truth had been a start. It gave her hope and enough trust that he would, in fact, fight for her.

“You can touch me,” she reassured him and stuck out her bare leg.

“Ariadne…”

She closed her eyes for a long moment at the sound of her name on his lips. Oh, she still loved him, and she hated it so much. When she opened them again, he searched her face. She nodded once and said, “You are my husband, are you not?”

He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled the straps around her thigh, adjusting them to the perfect tightness.

“Do not confuse this with forgiveness,” she said quietly as he worked.

He glanced up at her, and she noted how his fingers barely touched her skin. When he finished, he sat back, and she pulled the dress into place.

After a long moment, as the carriage stopped again, he nodded and said, “I know.”

The carriage door opened, and Azriel stepped out, turned, and held out his hand to her. The relief on his face when she accepted him made a knot twist in her gut. No, the road to true forgiveness would be a long one. But the first steps had been taken.

Despite his insistence against it, Loren’s father invited the Caldwells. While he hoped the half-breed bastard would not attend, he still looked forward to seeing his future bride. Ariadne—or Emillie, if he must—would be his before the winter solstice, and with his recent discoveries, the timeline may be shortened.

Carriage after carriage rolled past the front doors of the grand Gard manor. He greeted the guests as they exited and thanked them for attending the ball. Most returned the welcome with warm responses. Others, mostly those still in Laeton from Eastwood Province or close friends to the Harlows, remained less charming.

Soon enough, they would all regret placing such faith in a lying bastard.

When the Caldwells came to a halt at the front of the procession, Loren took a step back. Azriel stepped from the carriage as Ariadne smoothed her skirts on her lap. The implication of the motion made Loren’s blood boil. That should be him mussing up her skirts.

As she took her husband’s hand and gave him a small, secretive smile, Loren cursed under his breath and moved to the carriage behind theirs. The Harlows.

Markus stepped out first. Loren gripped the Princeps’ arm in greeting before offering a hand to Emillie. No harm in making ground with the younger sister in case he could not free the elder.

“Good evening, Miss Harlow,” Loren said and kissed Emillie’s fingers. She gave him a polite, reserved smile and curtsied. “May I escort you inside?”

Emillie looked to her father, who nodded his approval, then back to him. Her smile did not falter, though neither did it grow. “Yes, thank you.”

He did not need her to like him—only the Princeps and, given the recent discussions they had had, Loren remained hopeful. Ruining Azriel’s reputation came second to lifting his own standing with Markus.

They made their way up the steps to the manor several paces away from Azriel and Ariadne. The former gave him a cold, curt nod. The latter offered a smile.

Perhaps he could hope after all. If the new Lady Caldwell proved dissatisfied with her husband, Loren would be more than happy to reclaim her. While some Caersan men may consider her impure or, worse, tainted, he would not allow her to feel that way.

Until she gave him that opportunity, however, he needed to remain focused on the younger sister.

“You look beautiful this evening, Miss Harlow.” He smiled down at her.

Emillie continued looking straight ahead as they entered the manor. “You flatter me, sir.”

The pointed drop of his title struck a nerve. His mouth twisted, but the smile did not falter. “Would you do me the honor of a dance this evening?”

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