Page 152 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

The music began, a jovial tune that had them moving at a more brisk pace than Emillie and Loren’s dance. At first, she did not look at him. She focused on her feet, which stumbled and tripped more than usual. Her heart beat faster and faster. Her head felt light.

“Breathe,” Azriel whispered. “Breathe.”

She sucked in a breath and looked up at him with wide eyes. Somehow, he remained just as calm and composed as she always knew him to be. Until recently.

“I admit,” he continued at his conspiratorial volume, “I was surprised to not be greeted by a prison wagon when I arrived this evening.”

Ariadne frowned, then winced as she stumbled again. “Why would you be?”

His hand on her back gripped harder, keeping her from falling. He glanced up at the watching Caersan as though daring anyone to laugh. When he looked back down at her, his face softened again. “You said you—”

“I know what I said.” She blocked out the feeling of his hands on her—not the soft, gentle guiding of the present moment, but the rough ghost of the past. “I know.”

He searched her face. “What do you plan to do now?”

“I do not know.” She shook her head, heart heavy. “But I cannot let them…”

The way the chains clinked when he had been led away in front of the Court House echoed in her mind. They mimicked the sound ingrained in her from the mountains. The steady clink as her wrists lifted above her head. The rhythmic jangle as Azriel stepped onto the platform before the lashes.

“Ariadne.” Azriel’s voice cut through the image of him removing his shirt, revealing all those scars for the first time—through the memory of her gown being cut open down the length of her spine. “My love, come back to me.”

She drew in a strangled breath and grasped his hand harder. He returned the firm grip. The room spun around her in broad arcs. “Azriel.”

“Look at me.” His eyes bore into her as she turned her gaze up. “You’re safe.”

“No, I am not.”

In an instant, his calm intensity shifted. Azriel looked up and around. For what? An adversary he could defeat in her name?

“No.” Her hand drifted from his shoulder, down his arm around her waist and back. “You put me in danger.”

“I never meant for any of it.” A sickly pallor took hold of him, and he closed his eyes for a long moment. “Please believe me. None of it.”

“How can I?” She swallowed hard. “I have spent so long cursing you for what you did.”

Azriel sighed, focusing on the distance between their bodies. No such space existed the last time they danced. When he spoke, it was almost too difficult to hear his words. “Then hate me, my love.”

“What?” She gaped at him. He would not fight for her, then.

“Scream at me,” he continued and raised his gaze again to hers. “Hit me. Never speak to me. Find a lover who makes you happy again. But please…please, Ariadne…don’t leave me. Don’t go to him.”

Him. Loren. The General she had threatened to run to for safety. The one man she knew would hurt him the most to hear of her finding comfort in. She should have weighed her words more carefully, for she would never go back to such a despicable vampire.

The song began to fade. Azriel spun her away from him and, upon her return, dipped her low, never once taking his eyes off her. When he righted her, he kissed her cheek and whispered, “Until the very end, my love.”

With that, he pulled away to give her space, then inclined his head and turned toward a small group of lords. She wanted to call him back. To hold him and inhale his perfect scent. To reassure him that she did, in fact, still love him. At least she continued to love the part of him she believed to be real.

Ariadne swept away, heart aching anew. Gods, it felt as though the pain would never end. The hurt ran deeper than any blade or loss. If she were to choose between this betrayal and Ehrun’s dungeon, she would gladly take the latter, for this was true torture. A true hell in the face of immortality.

So when she caught sight of her sister, Ariadne leapt at the opportunity to bury her grief in whatever news Emillie had in store this time. No sign of Camilla or Revelie meant she had yet to divulge what had occurred on the dance floor. The perfect distraction.

“Ari!” Emillie grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a solitary alcove. Guests passed without glancing their way. No one lingered close enough to overhear whatever gossip was about to be spilled.

“What happened with the General?” Ariadne asked, sliding an interested smirk of mischief into place. “You did not look pleased by the dance.”

“Worry not about the dance.” Emillie shifted the hold from wrist to hand and squeezed tight. Too tight. “Have you seen Madan yet?”

Her heart stumbled, and her stomach knotted. She straightened to look around. “No. Where is he?”

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