Page 32 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

A pause as both Caersan men considered the option. Ariadne knew Loren would prefer Madan chaperoning their walk, but to say so could come across as an affront to the one vampire who outranked him in the Society. Her heart hammered at the thought of having the Caersan she hoped to marry in close range with the guard who did not trust the General.

Emotions competed within her. Hardly two weeks into the Season and already Loren’s intentions turned serious. It thrilled her to have caught the General’s attention, the only Caersan she hoped she would. His connection to Darien, however, complicated her feelings. While their similarities made it easier to see his positive attributes, they also made her heart throb with grief.

Darien had died trying to protect her after tracking them through the mountains to the dhemon’s keep. He had not lasted long. Though the dhemon who stole her from her home roared with contempt at the sight of him, it was not he who landed the killing blow on her fiancé.

Ehrun had.

No one else came to her rescue for almost a week. Even when Madan arrived, they almost did not make it out alive. Whatever distraction he orchestrated had been a miracle.

Lost in her thoughts, Ariadne headed to the library. If there was one place in the entire manor that could get her out of her own mind, it was the room filled with books. She devoured the tales which lined the shelves with a particular fondness for fantastical romances from the city of Algorath.

Yet the hope for a moment alone did not come to fruition. Ariadne pushed into the room, zeroing in on a bookcase holding her favorite authors. Not two steps across the threshold, however, she froze and turned. A strange lightness took over the knots in her stomach, and for a long moment, all she could do was stare, lips parted in surprise.

Azriel sat at the far end of the library, dressed in his typical black ensemble with his hair knotted at the top of his head. Beside him, leaning against the couch he occupied, was the long sword he strapped to his back. The book in his hand, larger than most yet thin, appeared out of place.

Of all the rooms she expected to find the disgruntled guard, it was not here.

“Miss Harlow.” He shot to his feet, tucking a finger between the pages to keep his place. “My apologies. Excuse me.”

She shook her head to jostle the thoughts awake in her brain before holding up a hand. “No, please.”

Azriel stooped to pick up his sword. “I will give you your space.”

“Please.” She motioned for him to return to the couch. “Sit. Read.”

“But this morning, you said–”

“I know what I said.” She swallowed hard and chewed her lip. “I am sorry for that. I was…crass. You were only doing your job.”

He surveyed her for a long moment, eyes wide and wary. A glance at the book, then the sword in his other hand. Several long, quiet seconds passed before he eased back onto the cushions, watching her like a caged animal.

It was not the first time he let his neutral mask slip into what appeared to be fear and, like the last time it occurred, Ariadne was uncertain what to do with it. So she stepped closer with what she assumed was a pleasant expression.

In response, Azriel sank farther back on the couch.

How in the world was someone as intimidating as that guard so frightened of her? She did not hold the same power over him as her father, and the vetting process for personal guards was so thorough due to the nature of their assignments, he was to be trusted with her in all instances. That included private settings such as the library.

To avoid making him more uncomfortable, Ariadne switched directions and pulled an old classic from the shelf. The tale of a young mage imprisoned by a shapeshifter to save her family from his wrath and unwittingly falling in love—a personal favorite of hers.

She plopped into a chair near Azriel and looked at him over the edge of her book. “What are you reading?”

Azriel held up the book in his hand to reveal the cover. A collection of illustrated fae tales. It did not surprise her, what with his high fae heritage.

“Why did you choose that?” She flipped through the title pages of her book to find the beginning.

“My mother used to read them to me.”

Ariadne looked up fast. That was not what she had expected. He did not speak much about his mother. Too often, the focus was on his father, the high fae who never married the Caersan vampire he had sullied.

“What happened to her?” The question left her without much thought. She snapped her mouth shut, covering it with a hand, and added, “I apologize. You do not have to answer.”

“It’s not a problem.” Azriel ran a finger over the embossed lettering on the front of the book. “She was murdered by a man I trusted.”

Ariadne’s heart sank. Her mother had also been killed, though now she knew who had done it. Ehrun had haunted her family much longer than she realized. Until, of course, the dhemon recounted the tale of how he snapped her mother’s neck in front of her and her father.

She had not realized they were the same dhemon until that moment.

Empathy rolled through her. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

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