Page 167 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

So he took the first step.

Ariadne looked on as Azriel took the first step to see his brother. It was hesitant, as though he could not believe Madan had survived. She followed, watching him cautiously for any sign of despair.

“Madan.” Azriel’s face twisted with a deluge of emotions. He took another slow step forward, then hurried to the bedside and fell to his knees.

Her throat tightened at the sight. The silent big brother who had spent so many nights glaring at the world and scorning his younger sibling. His heart was bigger than he let anyone see—even her.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel rasped and took his brother’s remaining hand in his. He pressed his forehead to it and shook his head. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Madan glanced at Ariadne through the dark, then looked back at his brother. The corner of his mouth ticked up, and a mischievous sparkle lit in his eyes. He winked at her as a slow smirk formed on his swollen face. It’d gone down considerably since partaking in Bella’s vein.

“This never should have happened,” Azriel continued and looked up. He froze. His brows furrowed as he dropped the hand and pulled back. “What the fuck, Madan? This is funny to you?”

Ariadne covered her mouth with her hand to hide her own amusement. At least her old guard’s sense of humor remained despite it all.

Madan’s grin only grew. “It’s about time you realize you’ve been a complete ass.”

Azriel stood and crossed his arms. “I should’ve let you die.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to hear all your apologies as you wept upon my grave.” Madan laughed. The sound cut short. He turned in on himself and groaned. “I much prefer this.”

Azriel smiled. “You’d hear them. You’re too petty to not haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“Right you are.” Madan lifted his stump of an arm, the new flesh at the end pink and soft thanks to the mage’s work. “Now I just get to lord this over you forever.”

Azriel laughed, and the sound washed through Ariadne as warm as sunshine. He had laughed with her, of course, but she had never heard it quite so carefree before. Had the two always bickered like this? Ariadne and Emillie had certainly had their own similar tête-á-têtes, but none quite as morbid as theirs.

“But in all seriousness,” Madan said and eyed Ariadne again. He dropped his voice and leaned closer to his brother as though it would hide his words from her keen-hearing Caersan ears. “When did you tell her the truth?”

Ariadne stiffened but said nothing. The memories of the previous morning tripped and stumbled through her mind. The concern at his sorrow surrounding Madan’s disappearance slammed into the fear of his revealing transformation. She bit her lip as her own parting words echoed through the memories: I hate you more than you hate yourself.

Oh, if she could take back those words…

Azriel’s smile faded as he glanced at her. “It’s been…a process.”

“He lost his mind without you,” Ariadne interrupted, watching her husband warily. “He let it slip more than confided in me.”

A tense silence fell in the room. Madan looked between them, his face twisting with unspoken words. He took his brother’s hand and gave it a single squeeze. Ariadne tracked the motion. When had they begun doing that?

“Azriel,” Madan said after staring at his brother in a way that made Ariadne feel as though they could somehow communicate without spoken words—something more than just a sibling connection. “Give me a moment alone with my sister.”

No niceties, then. She edged into the room, and Azriel watched her with that familiar expression she had seen so many times over the last few months—as though he had been cornered and knew the fatal blow would land at any moment.

But Azriel did not argue or say anything at all. Instead, he listened and left, closing the door behind him.

With just the light of the candelabra on the bedside table remaining, Madan surveyed Ariadne fully for the first time since she had learned of her connection to him. He grunted and shifted up in the bed.

In a flash, Ariadne moved to his side. She pulled pillows from the far side of the bed and propped them behind his back to provide more support. She could not do much to help him but this? This she could do.

“Thank you,” he said and settled back into the mountain of cushions around him. “Sit, please.”

She looked behind her and, upon discovering no chair nearby, slowly sank onto the bed beside him. Despite her haste to help him, she didn’t look at him. Instead, she studied her hands and her fingers rolling the fabric of her skirt. What could he possibly want to say to her without Azriel around? That he even remembered she knew of their relation was a miracle.

“What do you know about us?” His head fell to the side on the pillows, and he studied her carefully.

Ariadne bit her lip. Us. Her and him, not him and Azriel. The very notion made her heart skip a beat. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned her full attention to him. “You are my half-brother. We share our father. You are also Azriel’s half-brother. You share a mother. Our father was unkind, left you all often, and killed your mother when he discovered her going to the Crowe—Azriel’s father.”

He hummed and rolled his head to stare at the ceiling. “So he told you about our childhood.”

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