Page 30 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Loren would put an end to that.

Waltzing with Loren was like a dream. He guided Ariadne through each step with the same assurances she had felt with Darien. His sure footwork masked every one of her stumbles, making her appear more capable than she felt.

His questions about her guards, however, were off-putting. He did not like them; that much she knew. Azriel least of all. Perhaps he did not approve of Madan at first, either. She did not recall much of those early days after her return.

The music ended. Ariadne pulled back from Loren to lower into a departing curtsy, and for the second dance in a row, her partner held onto her hand and pulled her close. Alek had whispered into her ear that her beauty would inspire him for many days to come. Loren, however, let his lips brush her cheek before speaking.

“It pains me to see you dance with others,” he murmured. “I hope to one night be the only one for whom you search.”

Warmth curled low in her core. Her breath caught. The spark she once felt with Darien came to life, telling her to find Loren in a dark, unseen corner. They would kiss, and his hands—perhaps even his lips—would drift from her face to her throat to her breasts. Up her skirts to bare flesh and—

Icy cold doused the fantasy when Loren pulled away and she found Azriel watching them, having not moved an inch since the start of the dance. His peridot eyes shimmered, face unreadable. Even from a distance, she could see his throat bob as he cast his gaze elsewhere.

“Perhaps,” she said, still watching Azriel. “One night.”

Loren followed her path of sight and frowned, releasing her. “Do I need to speak with him?”

“No!” Ariadne grabbed his arm as he turned. The last thing she needed was for Loren to make a scene with their new guard. “Let me. Please.”

“Miss Harlow—”

She stepped in front of him. “I will correct this.”

A beat of silence from Loren, then, “I will be close by if you need me.”

“Thank you, General.”

Ariadne bobbed another curtsy, then wove her way through the ballroom. To her surprise, Azriel remained where he stood in the corner. He did not, however, meet her gaze as she journeyed closer. Several Caersan men paused to ask if she would care to dance, and she held out her card for their names before moving on.

The next song picked up, creating a path as guests moved to the dance floor. With every step, Ariadne failed to decide what to say once she reached him. On one hand, he had been an excellent guard thus far, always ready to perform his duties without complaint or hint of annoyance. Escorting her and Emillie to and from the market and Camilla’s seemed a menial task, but he took it seriously and managed to make each trip relatively enjoyable.

On the other hand, perhaps he took it too far in places such as this. The likelihood of dhemons crashing through the doors for the second ball in a row was slim. Besides, he always seemed to be watching her. Where even was Emillie?

“Mister Tenebra.” Ariadne stood right before him, yet Azriel did not look at her.

“Yes, Miss Harlow?” His typical rough voice sounded hoarser than usual.

“I must ask,” she said, angling her head to catch his gaze, “why are you always watching me?”

Azriel swiveled his pale eyes to her, sending a strange jolt through her middle. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Harlow, but I was hired to keep you safe. That would require my attention to be on you.”

“I believe you were also assigned to my sister.” Ariadne struggled to keep her voice low. This was not the place to have an argument with a household servant. Too many ears listened.

“Your sister is on the dance floor.”

“I need you to relax when we are at balls.”

He frowned. “Again, I was hired to keep you safe.”

Ariadne let out an exasperated breath. “I am in no danger here.”

Azriel opened his mouth to reply, then shut it twice. She could guess what he had wanted to say, and discomfort curled through her. She thought she had been in no danger at her own home, also. Twice now, she had been wrong.

In her mind’s eye, she could see the dhemon pushing in from her veranda door. She felt the spike of panic and recalled the mad rush to reach the corridor behind her. He had barreled after her, scooping her into his arms and hauling her back, screaming. Her fingers had slipped from the handle, and she got one word out before his hand clamped down over her mouth: Darien.

“I don’t trust even the Caersan of the Society,” he finally bit out, shocking her back to the present. “I consider everyone a threat.”

Preposterous. Amidst the Society, she was safest. Even Alek Nightingale posed no danger to her despite the dark rumors. She was most in danger when alone.

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