Page 15 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Azriel froze. It had been an unspoken agreement between the two of them not to mention his father. The man had been kind to them and treated Madan like his own child when he was around, but he hadn’t been around often. Therefore, when his father lost his temper, it made an impression.

And the apple never fell far from the tree, did it?

In a flash, Azriel stood a breath away from Madan. Fear flashed in Madan’s eyes at their size difference. Azriel had never lashed out at his only remaining family member, but bonded fae were unpredictable.

“I won’t do it again.” The words were low, and he could not keep the disturbing images from plaguing his mind. “But never speak of him again. Is that understood?”

“You’ll need to talk about it at some point.”

“He’s dead.” Azriel turned away and, scooping up the bowl and sword, made for the exit. “Let him rest.”

“Az—”

“Don’t, Madan.”

“No.” Madan grabbed his arm, stopping him from leaving. “Something else.”

Azriel turned his head enough to see him over one shoulder and lifted a brow in question. What else could he say? What else could he do? He’d done enough, imprisoning Azriel here with her.

“I haven’t seen Whelan in months.”

That wasn’t what he expected. He turned back toward him with a sigh. “I told you to visit him.”

Whelan, Madan’s fae partner, had been a valuable ally long before the two had finally admitted their feelings for one another. Being gay in a world of heteronormativity created problems Madan had avoided by pretending to fit into the mold expected of him.

He’d tried for so many years—decades, really—to be what he believed everyone wanted. When Whelan came along, every careful brick of his façade crumbled. Azriel had watched, heartbroken, as Madan had struggled to face what made him different. Different and so perfectly who he was always meant to be.

Strange, really, for a Caersan who’d been raised in such alternative ways. The village in which Madan had lived after his parents were gone had no issues with anyone expressing their sexuality however they wished. It was a natural part of life. Yet those distant ties to the Society and their strict rules kept the vampire from being comfortable with himself.

The night Madan had finally told Azriel, it’d been obvious that he’d anticipated reservations. Questions about why he believed himself to be gay.

But when the words finally came, Azriel frowned and said, “I know.”

Azriel had wrapped his arms around the last shred of family he had left and held Madan as he cried. He didn’t need to explain himself. He didn’t even need to even say anything. Azriel had known and accepted him long before the conversation had ever occurred.

Then Azriel held him at arm’s length and said, “Now go find Whelan and tell him.”

Madan never even had to speak the name of the fae he loved—the fae who’d bonded to him and struggled the same way Azriel now struggled.

Madan’s brows pinched together in concern. “Would you be alright without me for a couple weeks?”

“Of course.” Azriel didn’t meet his gaze. Alone with Ariadne for two weeks could spell disaster without Madan.

“Don’t lie to me.” He gripped Azriel’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “I won’t be here to keep your head on straight.”

Azriel slanted his head and looked him over. He could manage a fortnight without his personal leash. When he finally spoke, he did so quietly. “You haven’t had a day to yourself in far too long. Take your time—and send Kall my regards.”

Tension eased from Madan’s shoulders, and he loosed a sigh of relief. He knew that even seeing Kall, the fae who kept Whelan from losing his mind much like Madan did for Azriel, would be a reprieve. The vampire worked too hard.

“Have you not spoken with Kall?” Madan frowned.

Azriel shook his head. “Razer’s too far.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Guarding the clutch with Mhorn.”

By the way Madan’s eyebrows show high, that hadn’t been what he expected to hear. They hadn’t discussed sending their friends to ward off the dhemons—Azriel had made that decision alone. “Are they safe?”

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