Page 166 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Markus.” He let out a breath when silence descended again. “My father. Everyone.”

At first, Ariadne didn’t respond. She twisted her fingers in the stained skirt and stared at the fire. “I think I know how she felt.”

And if that didn’t feel like a punch in the gut. Of course she was scared of him. Why wouldn’t she be? He’d been the first face to give her cause to be frightened. Ehrun only solidified it.

“My father frightens me, too,” she continued and looked up at him again. “Now more than ever.”

Now, he hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

She snorted with dry humor. “Who would not be afraid of a man willing to murder his entire family?”

Azriel reached out, paused, and returned his hand to his lap. “He loves you and Emillie. He loved your mother.”

“How do you know?”

“Well,” he said with his own humorless chuckle, “he lives with you, for one.”

Another scream—louder this time. It shot through him like fire. He lurched to his feet, and Ariadne, quick as ever, seized his wrist to yank him back to the couch. He sat with a groan, eyes locked on the door.

Ariadne’s next question dragged his attention back. “Do you love me because of the bond, or do you love me despite it?”

The air in his lungs stuck. He turned to her slowly, and for the first time, the scream from the bedroom faded into the background. He searched her face—every perfect curve. The way her eyes lifted at the outer corners. Her straight nose with the slight bump at the end. The angle of her cheekbones and noted how the hollows beneath them appeared a bit less defined since the wedding.

Beautiful, yes, and while that’d attracted him to her, it’d merely been the tip of the sword for him. Her sharp mind and fondness for books spoke to him. She could sense the truth in others’ words without trying and always knew when to play the game of life in the Caersan Society. The strength it took for her to not only endure what she’d been put through but continue to thrive despite the scars—literal and figurative. He envied her mental fortitude in the face of every terrible thing that passed her way.

To him, she was perfect. How could she ever ask such a question?

Then again, his own brother had asked him the same thing not too long ago. Bonds didn’t automatically mean love. They meant obsession. They meant protection at all costs. They meant taking without thought. They meant never being able to think about anything else.

Some fae bonded and resented their mates. Perhaps they’d loved another and still desired that other individual but couldn’t bring themselves to be with them anymore. Fae struggled under such bonds. With no escape from them other than death, they sought fights or, in moments of complete mental collapse, took their own life.

“At first,” he said slowly, “it was merely the bond.”

“Oh.” She looked into the fire again.

This time, Azriel reached out and, with a gentle hand, turned her face back to him. “But I fell in love with you—everything about you—and that would’ve happened whether the bond was present or not.”

She searched his face. The fire’s reflection danced in her oceanic eyes like waves of light. “When did it happen for you?”

“The first time I heard you laugh.” He smiled to himself. It’d been right before the dhemons’ attack on Vertium when she sat outside with him, rubbing her feet. “I knew I was in trouble.”

She nodded and leaned her face into his hand.

Azriel swallowed the lump in his throat, his chest swelling with hope again. His heart slammed into his ribs, and all he wanted to do was kiss her. To wrap his arms around her and remind her how much he really, truly loved her.

The bedroom door opened, and Izara swept out, wiping her hands on a towel. Azriel dropped his hand and stood to watch the mage with a wary eye. The bond demanded he stay with Ariadne. His mind screamed to see Madan.

“Your brother will live.” Izara leaned a hip against a chair and picked at her nails as though everything she’d just done was a normal evening for her. Perhaps it was. “He’s awake.”

Azriel gaped at her. “I owe you a life debt.”

Izara clicked her tongue. “No. All I require is payment—in coin. I’ll come by tomorrow evening to collect.”

The mage laid the towel over the chair and left without another word. It didn’t matter what she said. He’d be at her beck and call for what she’d done for Madan. Anything and everything.

And yet, as the household servants who’d helped keep his brother alive left as well, Azriel couldn’t find his feet to enter the room. A part of him had been preparing to say goodbye. After seeing all that Loren had put him through, Madan shouldn’t have survived.

“Go,” Ariadne said quietly and pushed at his back. “Go see him.”

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