Page 40 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Azriel grunted by way of response and picked up his bowl of porridge to tip the dregs into his mouth. Another night, another menial task to drag himself through. Going to town, at least, didn’t require much thought on his part.

“We leave in thirty minutes.”

He nodded and pushed back from the table to clean the bowl in the washtub. What else could he say?

“Azriel.” Madan’s voice was sharper than usual. “This has to stop.”

Looking over his shoulder, he frowned. “What?”

“This.” Madan gestured to Azriel as a whole, and when the half-fae merely looked down at himself, puzzled by what was implied, he pressed, “You.”

With a grunt, he turned back to the bowl, rinsing the suds from it in clean water before propping it on a rack. “I’m no different than I was before.”

Madan sighed and joined him at the washtubs, dunking his own bowl into the soapy water. “They’re starting to notice.”

“Who?”

“The Harlows.”

“How do you know?” Azriel dried his hands on a towel and stalked back to the table, where he swung his sword onto his back. The familiar weight comforted him.

“I’ve been asked about your well-being.” Dishes clinked behind him as Madan stacked his bowl beside Azriel’s. “By Ariadne.”

The sword almost dropped to the floor as his fingers fumbled over the fastenings. His stomach knotted, and the porridge threatened to find its way back out of his body. Readjusting the straps back to their normal place, he shoved the leather through the appropriate loops.

Taking his scrabbling as an indication that he was listening, Madan continued, “You can’t just stop talking to them out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t talk to them much anyway,” he muttered and yanked the tie from his hair. A black curtain fell in front of his eyes just long enough for him to run his shaking fingers through it and shove it out of his face again. It took several tries to retie the knot.

Madan appeared before him. “Make more of an effort.”

“I’m making as great of an effort as I can.” Azriel refused to look him in the eye. It would give his feelings away—as if Madan didn’t already know. Their telepathic connections to Brutis and Razer had exposed them to one another. He knew how Madan’s mind worked just as Madan understood his own thought processes.

“Don’t lie to me.” Madan walked to the door and paused. “We need to ready our horses. Let’s go.”

Azriel watched him leave and, after taking several deep breaths, followed. By the time he reached the stables and had Jasper’s tack in place, his mind was at once more clear and cloudy.

Why had Ariadne asked about him? She made it abundantly clear she didn’t want him around too often, and yet their conversation in the library had been very different. The mixed signals were getting confusing.

He mounted Jasper, silently wishing it were Razer to take him away through the clouds, and followed Madan to the front of the manor, where they met with the Harlows. Markus, it appeared, would be joining them as well. Azriel had half a mind to ask Madan if he could be excused for the evening since they were well taken care of by the two of them.

Then Ariadne turned toward him and smiled. “Good evening, Mister Tenebra.”

Fuck.

Azriel inclined his head. “Miss Harlow.”

She opened her mouth as though to speak again, but Markus nudged his stallion forward to stand between them. He nodded to Azriel and said, “You are up to speed on tonight’s events?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Azriel bent at the waist, fist over heart. They would be going into Laeton for shopping, then partaking in the midnight meal in town. Madan shared the information on their way to the stables. They were to join in case a suitor asked to speak with either Harlow sister and required a chaperone.

“Very good.” Markus then set off and to his daughters said, “Come, girls, or we will be late for our reservation.”

They made good time on the trek into Laeton with minimal conversation. Even Madan didn’t find a moment to ask any questions. Markus, the ever-busy Princeps, didn’t seem to want to inquire about his daughters’ potential suitors.

Until, of course, General Loren Gard made an appearance outside the capital’s Court House.

“Princeps!” Loren hailed as he descended the steps to the street.

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