Page 171 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

The way he had looked at her over the last week had been difficult to bear. His uncertainty grew with each night while the hope waned. She never lingered long. She could not give him anything to look forward to—not when she had been so unsure herself.

Now she knew. Now she understood what had to happen, for better or worse.

She made her way down the hall, pausing to look, for what felt like the thousandth time, at the portrait of Mariana Caldwell-Harlow and her two sons. Isaiah and Mattias.

All three had been murdered in a way. She by the man who vowed to keep her safe. Them by the man who failed.

Down the stairs to the foyer and out the front door. She pulled her hood into place and paused to take in the front drive. It was not as large or as regal as the Harlow Estate, but it was beautiful nonetheless. With the gravel loop curving before the front steps, a statue and greenery at its center, it remained a simple and lovely entrance. Something else she would miss.

Stepping into the rain, Ariadne curled her shoulders against the cold. After so many nights without it, she had become too accustomed to the warmth of summer.

The stables where she had seen Azriel go earlier were tucked out of sight from the front doors. She had planned to wait for him to return indoors but decided against it. He deserved to know as soon as possible.

Following the path cut through the gardens, Ariadne took in the flowers and hedges. She quite liked the way the gardener took care of them and how they had been arranged over the years. Even the dahlias had been carefully curated throughout to not only match colors but maintain their annual growth. Such care could not be found everywhere.

By the time she reached the stables, the rain had eased from a deafening roar to a light pattering. The roof of the stables created a wonderful harmony to the windowpane earlier, and inside, the acoustics of the space only heightened the musical drumming.

Azriel stood toward the back, where he brushed his stallion. The moment she entered, he stiffened despite his back being turned, and he set the curry comb down before turning to her. He wore all black, as usual, though the style of clothing would not have suited a Caersan man. Mud dirtied his trousers, and his boots were dull from use. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hung a little looser than the tailored shirts she had grown accustomed to him wearing. His hair, pulled back as always, had fallen into his face, and when he swept a hand across his brow to clear it from his eyes, a smudge streaked across his skin.

She stared at him for a long moment. It had been some time since she had seen him appear so disheveled. It took her back to those memories of them together in the library at the Harlow Estate, in Laeton after pulling her from the Bistro, and every lingering glance which ever passed between them.

“What’re you doing out here?” His voice was soft, and he picked up a grimy towel to wipe off his hands. He took a few steps closer. “It’s pouring.”

“I packed my things.”

In an instant, his face paled, and he swallowed hard. “Okay.”

She gripped her skirt with shaking hands beneath the cloak and took a deep, centering breath. “I am sorry it took so long to make my decision.”

“I understand.” He frowned at his hands as he pulled the dirt from them. His throat bobbed.

“I need you to understand,” she continued, her voice breaking, “that I cannot forgive you for what you did.”

At that, he said nothing. Instead, he nodded in silence. The muscles in his jaw flexed.

“It has taken me a long time to begin moving past what happened to me.” She stepped closer, the sound of the rain fading behind the thundering of her blood in her ears. “You were a big part of that.”

Azriel lifted his shimmering eyes to her and swallowed hard. He cleared his throat and rumbled, “I’m glad I was able to help while I could.”

“That is the thing,” she said, her voice almost gone entirely. “I still need help.”

He stilled and watched her warily. Again, he said nothing. His lips parted, and he searched her face.

“I still need you, Azriel.” The words broke, and the burning in her throat grew. “I do not want to leave you. I need you because I…I love you.”

Azriel fell to his knees. He hung his head and sucked in a gasp of air. His shoulders shook, and he covered his face with his hands, hiding the twisted expression of disbelief.

Ariadne’s heart cracked. She had not realized how close to breaking he had been. The last thing she wanted was to cause him more distress—her choice of words, while purposeful, may have been misleading.

“Azriel, I am so sorry.” She closed the distance between them and knelt before him on the stable floor. “I never meant to—”

“I love you so much,” he rasped as he bent at the waist and laid his head in her lap. There he cried, clutching her dress as though she were the last line to this life.

In a way, she was. The life he desired was one with her in it—one in which she stayed and loved him. She would—she did.

“I packed my things to return to our bedroom,” she explained, laying a tender hand on his back. “I do not like being apart from you.”

He inhaled deeply and shook his head, face still hidden in her skirt. When he spoke, the words were muffled and thick with emotion, “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

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