Page 150 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

This time she looked up. Her eyes, a twin to her sisters’ oceanic pools, sparkled in the light of the chandelier as she said, “The honor would be mine.”

Loren picked up a dance card from the nearby table and signed his name to the top of the list before sliding it onto her wrist. His fingers brushed her inner arm as he took her hand to kiss her again. “I shall see you soon, then.”

With that, he turned and slid into the crowd. Too many eyes watched his interaction with Emillie. The gossip he was certain would arise from his abrupt switch from one sister to another would be suboptimal. He needed to control the narrative.

Ariadne had yet to confirm anything publicly about the incident which caused the duel. Any discussion of the matter must be put to rest. To do so, he had to locate the loyal officers still in the ranks. They would steer any gossip toward his positive attributes while denying any ill claims.

Before he could do that, however, more pressing matters weighed on him. After the near-attack on the Harlow Estate the previous night, security was stretched thin. Maintaining vigilance and securing specific areas of the manor was top priority.

No one would get on or off the grounds without him knowing of it.

Dancing with Loren Gard made Emillie’s skin crawl. He swept her into his arms at the first note of the waltz and held her uncomfortably close. While she could understand why some Caersan women, her sister included, had been enamored by him—the military rank and handsome face—she felt nothing but disgust.

And it had nothing to do with her preference for women.

No. Even if she had not been aware of his mistreatment of her sister or even turned a blind eye to the enjoyment he received from harming others, Emillie could see the cruel glint hiding behind his public mask. When he spun her out, the corner of his mouth twitched up as his cold eyes slid down her body like ice. Upon her return, he inhaled deeply as though memorizing the scent of her hair.

“You are an excellent dancer,” he said, hand sliding to her lower back. “You move quite well.”

Was that meant to be an innuendo? Emillie furrowed her brows. “I am a quick study, my Lord.”

He chuckled lightly. “Indeed, you are. Not all Caersan women are so adept.”

“I must ask,” she said as she twirled with him, ignoring the jab to her sister, “do you attempt to flatter every woman you dance with?”

Loren’s smirk grew. “Only those I am truly interested in.”

“Do you not find it strange how quickly you shifted your interest from my sister to me?” She lifted her chin and met his gaze full-on. “You had been ready to marry her.”

The grin vanished, and he sucked on his teeth a moment, breaking eye contact to glare over her head. There was the side of him he did not want anyone to see. Just as quickly as he let the mask slip, he put it back on and said, “Your sister did the same from my brother to me, then from me to…Lord Caldwell. Is she the only one allowed to change her mind?”

“No.” Emillie’s mouth tightened. The loss of thought for Azriel’s name said enough. The slanderous remarks he threw at the Teaglow Estate had not been the only time he used such foul words. “Though keep in mind, sir, the Society is not forgiving of those who blame others for their shortcomings.”

The song ended and, foregoing the customary curtsy, Emillie marched off the dance floor. She would not hear another word from a man so shortsighted. Her blood pumped hard through her veins, so when another Caersan man approached to ask for a dance, she ignored him and continued on.

With the Golden Rose of Valenul married, too many suitors’ sights had turned to her. She desired none of them and wanted even less attention from the rest of the aristocracy. Her sister’s previous hope of becoming an unwed spinster suddenly appeared enticing.

As if her father would ever allow such a thing.

Emillie pushed through the crowd of guests to the table of refreshments across the ballroom. The pale yellow walls and bright chandeliers lit up the room with enough dazzling light to blind a mole. It made her head hurt.

Snatching up a glass of sparkling wine, she meandered around the edge of the room. Gaggles of debutantes moved from place to place, whispering behind fans or over the rims of their glasses. She wanted to simultaneously be one of them—single-mindedly focused on the one thing Caersan women had, marriage—and loathed their very existence.

So she shifted her attention to finding the only people left in the Society who agreed with her. Camilla would be just arriving, late as always. Likewise, Revelie would be somewhere on the outskirts.

She slid between the guests, smiling politely or greeting lords as necessary on her way through the throng to the foyer. The corridors, though quieter, still hummed with noise. Between the din of gossip and the ensemble’s music, there was no escaping the incessant cacophony.

Most conversations did not draw Emillie’s attention as she passed. Not until she overheard the tail end of one with a familiar voice. She stopped dead, leaning closer to the corner around which they spoke.

“—that bastard’s cousin keeps quiet all night.”

Loren.

“Of course, General.”

Nikolai.

“Check the rotations while you are out there.”

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