Page 17 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Nikolai laughed and shook his head. “No, sir, that would be a breach of trust.”

“Is that so?” Loren glanced at Markus.

The Princeps nodded in agreement. “Very good. Yes, Captain Jensen has been the Elit to both Ariadne and Emillie for the last year.”

A strange, ugly feeling curled in Loren’s gut. Elits, contracted Caersan men, provided blood to unwed women. Feedings were an intimate matter, closely watched for all young Caersan women until they married and took only from their husband’s vein. For Nikolai to be the one who sustained Ariadne after she returned knotted Loren’s stomach.

It should have been him.

But if that had been the case, he never would be allowed to court Ariadne, just as Nikolai could no longer entertain the idea of garnering Emillie’s favor. An Elit signed away the rights to ever court the woman they fed so no attachment could be made or abused.

All the same, Loren did not like the idea of Ariadne’s fangs in Nikolai’s wrist. He particularly hated that it had been Nikolai’s blood that nourished her body for the last year. Soon it would be his blood and his blood alone.

“The Harlow women are fortunate to have such an honorable Elit to see to their needs,” Loren bit out after a moment to collect himself. He slid a smile into place before inclining his head. “I must be on my way.”

“Thank you again,” Markus said, mimicking the gesture, “for looking in on Ariadne’s well-being. I hope to see you at the next ball.”

Loren nodded. “I would not miss it.”

“General.” Nikolai bowed again before turning back to Markus and saying, “Lead the way, my Lord.”

The two took to the stairs, and Loren watched them disappear at the second-floor landing in the direction of the drawing room. He shoved the burning bite of envy away before pivoting to the front door. His heart leapt, hand twitching to the sword at his hip.

The new Harlow guard stood in front of the doors, closing one behind him. The bastard’s gaze flickered from the place Markus and Nikolai had vanished to Loren, where it settled with cold calculation. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“General Gard.” A bow, fist over heart, though his eyes never left him.

Loren did not so much as nod. “Remind me your name.”

“Azriel Tenebra, sir.”

“Indeed.” He surveyed the hulking mutt with distaste. It was no secret the guard had a muddled heritage. Not only did it say so in the employment paperwork from a century earlier when he began his training, his build harked back to fae lineage. Even his ears had a slight point to them. His father had been high fae and his mother a disgraced Caersan woman long abandoned by Society. The guard did not deserve the faint blue veins on his throat and therefore did not deserve to be treated as someone with Caersan parentage. “Strange for you to be coming in the front doors.”

Tenebra inclined his head. “I’ll take better care in the future.”

“You watched my dance with Miss Harlow last night,” Loren said, ignoring the implied apology. “Then you were with her outside when the dhemons attacked. You have a habit of lurking about. Why?”

Something flickered in the guard’s eyes. “It’s my job, sir, to look after the Harlow family.”

“Your job.” Loren nodded. “Do not forget that.”

“I might ask the same of you, sir,” Tenebra said, ignoring Loren’s words just as easily. “You, too, seem to have a habit of lurking about the Harlows.”

A fire lit in Loren’s chest, and he drew himself up. Though the guard might be too tall to look at directly, he would do his damnedest to try. “You forget your place.”

“My place is here, sir, ensuring the Harlows’ safety.”

“You will do well,” Loren said, his jaw stiff and lips hardly moving, “to remember to whom you speak. I am the General of Valenul, and you are but a guard. As such, you fall under my command.”

Tenebra cocked his head, something between a sneer and a smirk curling his lips. “I answer to the Princeps.”

“You answer to me,” Loren snarled, then caught himself. He sucked in a deep breath and forced his voice lower. “Consider this a warning. I mean to make my intentions clear to the elder Miss Harlow so you will see me often. Make yourself accustomed to that fact.”

To that, the bastard had no reply. Tenebra stiffened, and a muscle flexed in his jaw before he nodded. After a tight-fisted bow and a mumbled “General,” the guard disappeared down the corridor.

If that great oaf believed he could stop Loren from wedding Ariadne, he had another thing coming. No one—no vampire, fae, or mage—could stand in his way. Any who tried would be put down without mercy.

Chapter 4

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