Page 28 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“What Lizbet does not know,” Trev said, “does not hurt her.”

“Well, then!” Pietro grinned, swirled his drink, and took a sip. “Perhaps this experience will not be as terrible as I imagined it to be.”

Loren rapped his knuckles on the small table. “Or perhaps you take the time to find a Caersan you actually enjoy.”

“Not everyone has the power of being the General,” Nikolai said. “Who do you have in mind?”

“As you said,” Pietro cut in, “he is the General. He has the first pick.”

Loren clicked his tongue and took a sip before saying, “I will not settle for anything but the best.”

“The Golden Rose, then?” Trev asked and tilted his glass toward the far side of the room.

Following the Colonel’s gaze, Loren turned. Ariadne had arrived. Her dark hair piled on top of her head with a series of braids and kept in place with a rose pin of gold. She wore a gown of rich blue, stitched with gold, that hugged her bosom and waist before flowing to the floor like a waterfall at midnight. Her lips, painted dark red, formed the perfect, sensual pout.

“Indeed,” Loren said, voice huskier than he intended.

“Nikolai,” Pietro said, the words drowned out by the sudden rush of blood muffling Loren’s hearing, “you are the Harlows’ Elit, correct?”

The Captain, with all his wisdom in Loren’s presence, merely said, “It is a duty I take on with the utmost respect.”

“Do tell us, though,” Trev said a bit breathlessly, “what her lips feel like on your skin?”

Now Loren turned back, the heat in his blood shifting from lust to fury in a matter of seconds. “Do not answer that. As their Elit, you signed a contract to maintain confidentiality.”

Both Pietro and Trev shrank back, glancing at one another. It was not often Loren’s temper lashed out at them. They were, after all, his trusted officers. Their questions, however, went too far.

“Of course, General,” Nikolai said, holding his ground and turning from Ariadne in disinterest. “I would not dream of tarnishing that trust.”

“Apologies, General,” Trev added after a beat. “That was disrespectful.”

“To say the least.” Loren glared at him. “My conversations with the Princeps have gone well thus far, and I do not need my subordinates to ruin my progress.”

The officers nodded. At least they could all agree upon one thing. Caersan women were not to be slandered. They could taint a Rusan’s name as much as they desired. Those women meant nothing to him.

“I imagine your family’s standing with the Harlows is already high,” Pietro said, edging around the awkward lull. “What with your brother’s proposal a couple years ago.”

Loren flexed and unflexed his fingers. He did not enjoy being reminded of Darien’s hand in creating the opening to the Harlow family. His younger brother should never have been introduced first, and he knew well of Loren’s intentions to seek the hand of a Harlow woman. Had he not met his untimely demise, Emillie would have sufficed, but it was Ariadne who always drew Loren’s eye.

“Our union would complete the arrangement our families had previously agreed upon,” Loren said, turning to scan the crowd again. Ariadne had disappeared. “I believe Darien would be pleased to know I intended on caring for his beloved.”

A look passed between Pietro and Trev, their mouths curling with an unspoken joke. Loren could guess at what they wanted to say but were now too scared to voice. He did not blame them. The venomous glare he shot over his shoulder would be enough to silence the most outspoken Caersan.

“It seems,” Trev said, raising his glass, “that congratulations shall be in order soon, then?”

That kicked up a smirk for Loren. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves. I do not wish to curse the fortune brought to me by the gods.”

No matter if it meant Darien had to die for him to get what he wanted. He had lamented his brother’s death long enough. Now it was his turn to finish what was started with Ariadne.

The music hit its crescendo, drawing Loren’s attention to the dance floor where he found Ariadne being led through a minuet with Alek Nightingale. She smiled up at the councilman and laughed at something the Caersan said, sending a spark into Loren’s veins. That man was the bane of his existence and the number one threat to claiming Ariadne’s hand.

“If you will excuse me, gentlemen,” Loren said, finishing his whiskey in a single swig and slamming the glass onto the table. “I must claim what is rightfully mine.”

“Do not fear, General,” Nikolai said. “Rumor has it the Lord Governor has fallen out of favor with the Harlows over recent years.”

Loren shook his head. “Do not believe everything you hear, Captain.”

With that, he wove his way through the crowd of Caersan vampires, keeping an eye on his target as he moved. Women dipped into curtsies as he passed, perhaps hoping to be asked to the next dance. He ignored them. He had eyes for only one, and she was in the arms of another man.

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