Page 34 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Stop it,” he snapped and shook his head. For the first time since his arrival at the Harlow Estate, he struggled to hold back the side of himself he hated most. It reared its ugly head like an inferno too wild to contain within his own skin, and fear flickered in Madan’s eyes. Azriel sucked in a deep breath, counted to ten, then said in a forced, even tone, “This is for the best. I know it is; I just have to get the rest of me to understand it also.”

Madan glanced over his shoulder. “Well, get the rest of you in line quickly.”

Azriel grunted, shoving the horrible sensation down into a dark corner of his subconscious to lock away. When he felt composed and trusted himself enough not to explode, he turned to watch the Harlows descend the front steps alongside the General in his billowing crimson cloak.

Stable hands rushed forward with the horses in tow, and for a long moment, Azriel merely stared. Stared and wondered if he really could go through with it.

“Let’s go,” Madan said, quieter this time. “You can do this.”

“You have far more faith in me than I ever will.”

Yet he mounted Jasper and closed the distance between him and the front of the manor. Madan kept pace astride his paint, Rune. They said nothing when they took up their position behind the group of Caersan. Only one looked back at them, and Azriel couldn’t bring himself to return the smile she offered.

The first to split off from the small company of vampires was Emillie, escorted by Madan. The younger Harlow sister reached across the distance between her and Ariadne. They clasped hands a moment, each giving a silent squeeze before she left. Madan nodded once to him, the only encouragement he had to offer, before following his charge for the night.

Riding into Laeton with the Princeps and General was more difficult to endure than Azriel imagined. Neither of them spoke to Ariadne, nor did they invite her into their conversation. She rode in silence, like him.

“Will there be voting on provincial laws tonight?” Loren asked without looking at the Head Councilman.

Markus clicked his tongue. “Always curious about what is happening in the Chambers.”

Straightening a bit, Loren’s chest seemed to inflate with self-importance. “It will be my duty to uphold any new laws. It’s imperative I am prepared. The latest proposal from Lord Governor Nightingale intrigued me.”

“I will not condone the enslavement of any peoples–imprisoned or otherwise.” Markus gave Loren a sharp look. “The proposal did not make it to the floor.”

Loren raised a brow. “As I suspected.”

“If you must know,” the Princeps continued, “we are gathering to discuss the absence of Lord Governor Caldwell.”

Azriel watched both Caersan from the corner of his eye. How much did they know about the Eastwood Governor’s condition? He twisted his hands over the reins, the leather creaking with the tightened grip.

“He is not expected to make a recovery, then?”

“No.” Markus sighed. “And he has yet to name his successor. We are putting together a contingency plan for if he were to fail to do so in his Will.”

“May I ask who you plan to place as the steward?”

Now Ariadne turned to look at them, curiosity blooming in her eyes. She shifted her gaze from father to suitor, collecting and storing the information she overheard. No wonder word traveled so fast within the Society. Men forget who’s around when speaking, landing their secretive details in the laps of those with little power beyond communication.

“That is the topic for the evening,” Markus confirmed. “We will discuss the merits for any names brought forth.”

A ringing picked up in Azriel’s ears at this. He knew whose name would be in that Will. At the rate Lord Caldwell faded, it would be some time before anyone else read it, however. What he needed was to know who the Council planned to put into power.

Too many Caersan men had the potential. Even Loren could take up the mantle if he so chose, forgoing his position as the General to vie for the position of Princeps later on.

The very thought made Azriel sick.

Before long, Lord Harlow parted ways from their group. He bid Ariadne goodbye and gave Azriel a meaningful look. His priority was to keep the daughter of the Princeps from being perceived as anything less than her pure status expected.

They rode on, weaving through the streets of the capital until they reached Laeton Park. Rusan groundskeepers rushed forward upon their arrival to look after the horses while they enjoyed the rolling lawns, well-kept walking paths through gardens, and the southern beach of Lake Cypher. Loren handed the two vampires a gold coin each, to which they bowed deeply and thanked him.

Azriel scowled. That was not generosity. It was a way to flaunt his wealth.

He followed the General and Ariadne at a distance respectable enough to keep them in sight while also providing privacy. The last thing he needed was for Loren to become volatile. By the way the Caersan had been staring Azriel down at the ball the night before, he knew it would be the next step. One toe out of line, and he’d face the General’s wrath.

Azriel did not fear the prospect. He knew Ariadne carried scars from the dhemons. So did he. Of all the monsters who crawled through the Keonis Mountains, Ehrun haunted his nightmares most often. The dhemon’s blazing red eyes and twisted smirk would loom from every shadowy corner for the rest of Azriel’s life.

Compared to that, Lord Gard was nothing.

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