Page 4 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Thank you, my Lord,” Madan said with a final bow. “Enjoy your evening.”

With that, he was gone, following Azriel’s wake and leaving Ariadne feeling exposed.

“Now.” Her father turned to Emillie, his lips forming a thin line. “You have yet to fill out your dance card.”

“Apologies,” Emillie said with a sidelong glance at Ariadne before refocusing on him.

He turned to Ariadne. “You should find your first dance.” Then to Emillie, he said, “Come.”

Her sister cast her a pleading look behind their father’s back. Ariadne shot back a pained smile and motioned for her to follow. If she did not dance with anyone at their own ball, their father would have a fit.

Alone, Ariadne turned toward the dance floor. Caersan vampires twirled and twisted in a wild display of colors. Dresses flared and jackets whipped out on wickedly fast turns, reducing them all into blurs of movement.

She had never been an elegant dancer. Her awkward footing always put her father to shame, and she depended on her partners to elevate her lackluster skills. Darien had done just that during their courting. He had never once let her trip or make a fool of herself. The suitors on her dance card, however, would not be so gracious.

Such as Lord Pax Tetterington. The first name on her list.

Ariadne spotted the lord on the far side of the dance floor, his tuft of red hair sprinkled with white. The vampire had seen nearly two thousand years. His first wife had died in childbirth along with their babe almost six centuries ago. Now, he searched for the next bride after a string of mistresses left him satiated and ready to sire an heir.

And she would not be that broodmare.

Thankfully, a single dance with a suitor did not promise engagement. She would endure the turn about the dance floor, then avoid him for the rest of the evening.

Pax raised his glass to her from across the room before depositing it on a passing servant’s tray. When the song came to an end and the dancers departed, the next set stepped forward with bows and curtsies. Ariadne followed suit, facing off with the Caersan Lord.

“You look exquisite,” Pax crooned, sweeping her into the first steps of the waltz. His centuries of experience at balls had made him an excellent dancer, though rather than preventing her from tripping over her own feet, he dragged her through the motions. At least her dress’s length hid her stumbling.

“You are too kind, Lord Tetterington,” Ariadne replied as they spun into the next set of steps. Diplomatic as ever. “I hope you are enjoying your Vertium.”

He smirked down at her, the tips of his fangs flashing. “Quite. And yourself?”

“I chose lavender this year,” she said, referring to the seeds Caersan women planted on the Spring Equinox. Each plant had different meanings and accompanied certain desired outcomes.

Pax raised a brow. “Lavender. A unique choice for the Golden Rose.”

She forced out a giggle. “I sewed the seeds prior to the Reveal.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, then twirled her at the song’s crescendo. “Purity is an excellent virtue nonetheless.”

Ariadne’s stomach soured. She smiled up at him, praying to Keon she had obscured her discomfort behind a mask of pleasantries.

Flashes of rough, blue hands pinning her wrists to the floor and the scent of dirt and sweat were pushed to the forefront of her mind. She swallowed hard, shoving the memory away. The gods knew that of all she had endured at the hands of those beasts, that had been the worst of them all. Purity had not been the meaning she intended.

Serenity, however, seemed to escape her as well.

“Indeed it is,” she said quietly after ensuring that opening her mouth would not result in spewing vomit. “I look forward to finding a partner with similar interests.”

The lord quietened after the subtle jab. Good. He was far from pure, nor would he wish to be seen in any other light. Too often, he had loudly announced his latest exploits at dinner tables, much to the delight of the men.

When the dance ended, Ariadne curtsied, then made her exit. She needed air but did not make it far before the next name on her list appeared before her, his hooded onyx eyes gleaming with wicked interest. She could not recall seeing the Governor of the Waer Province to the west in the throng of vampires she had greeted, but his name remained a black mark on her wrist.

“Ariadne,” the Caersan said, bowing at the waist and planting a firm kiss on her fingers. His black hair gleamed in the candlelight.

“Lord Governor Nightingale,” Ariadne replied, plunging into a curtsy and pulling her hand away far too quickly. His eyes flashed. “I am honored.”

The governor simpered. “Now…after all we have been through, should you not call me Alek?”

“My Lord,” she said as he steered her back to the dance floor. The quartet started up the next song. “It would be impudent of me to speak with such familiarity.”

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