Page 43 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

He could not be serious. A public punishment for speaking out of turn? Even for how much Loren hated Azriel, it was extreme. The Caersans who lingered to overhear the words passed between her father and the General seemed pleased, however, and hurried off with excited whispers.

Ariadne squeezed Emillie’s hand without looking at her sister. It would be too much, as the memories of her own punishments threatened to drag her below the surface of her thoughts.

“Just remember,” Ehrun had said to her, filling the fresh cut he made on her back with salt, “that this is what happens to vampires who forget their place.”

She could barely hear the words above her screams, but he had made sure to lean in close to her ear. His breath smelled of rotting meat, and when she did not look at him, he grabbed her face to force her head to turn. Crimson eyes burned down at her, filled with a hate she did not understand.

“Do not despair,” he had continued, brushing her tears away with surprisingly gentle fingers, “I will send you home soon to share your lessons with the rest of them.”

What most of those lessons were or why they were inflicted upon her, Ariadne could not recall. After Madan rescued her, she never looked back. When she tried to claw through the memories of what happened, she could piece none of it together. Some hours had disappeared completely, while others were muddled and confusing. She had no timeline, no sense of what happened to her first or last—just pain.

Pain and flashes of suppressed memories that surfaced at the worst times.

Such as in front of a Court House, surrounded by strangers.

“Miss Harlow.” Madan stepped closer to her and held an arm out to gesture to Astra. “May I help you onto your horse?”

Ariadne blinked at him until the words registered. She looked around to find her father swinging back up into his seat, Emillie already sitting on her mare, Lily, and Loren mounting Azriel’s empty saddle. They were leaving, then. Just like that, they moved on from whatever had just happened.

Exactly as the dhemons had moved on after Ehrun crushed Darien’s skull in front of her. Her fiance had been led away in chains, much like Azriel. The next time she saw him, his fangs were removed, and when he tried to fight back, Ehrun put a permanent end to the first vampire she ever loved.

Watching Azriel being led away muddled her thoughts.

She searched Madan’s marbled eyes for a moment, desperate to claw her way back to the present. How he had kept himself professional through it all, Ariadne could not fathom. From the moment they met, he had never faltered under the pressures of his job.

“Thank you.” It was all she could muster as she turned to Astra and accepted Madan’s extended arm to swing into the saddle.

“Since you are down one guard,” Loren said, turning the stallion to face Markus, “may I join you for the evening? I will be happy to return this stallion to your manor when you have finished your business in town.”

Her father nodded, if a bit stiffly. “Much appreciated, General.”

Their group stopped first at Madame Ives’s, where she and Emillie picked up new dresses for the next ball. Revelie, sensing the tension, did not pry. She spoke quietly with Emillie as she handed over the short-sleeved yellow dress embroidered with green leaves and cut with a classic empress waist. To Ariadne, she merely gave a tight smile, then handed over the dusty rose dress.

“I will see you soon,” Revelie promised before moving on to her next customer.

Ariadne looked at the color, folded so perfectly in its box, and tried to ignore the pang she felt in her gut.

That color would look lovely on you.

What would happen to Azriel the next time she saw him?

Their parcels were secured to Madan’s and Azriel’s horses, and they turned toward the businesses along the edge of Lake Cypher. In the distance, Ariadne could make out Laeton Park stretching along the lake’s banks. How different the night had been when she strode with Loren along the fantastical walking paths. He had been so light and humorous, at ease and approachable.

Now he felt rough and distant. The shift from callous to business-as-normal unnerved her. Had he always been that way? Perhaps she had merely never noticed before.

Or was it her fault? Her father had been right; she should not have spoken. It was not her place to comment, and in doing so, she had gotten Azriel into dire trouble.

But why—why—did he say anything at all? She would have let it go. The encounter was hardly the first time she had been laughed at or spoken to in that manner. Such was life for a Caersan woman in the Society.

Nonetheless, it had been dealt with whether she liked the outcome or not.

The bistro added Loren to their reservation without fuss. After all, who would deny the Princeps and General their midnight meal? With the whispers that followed them all the way to their table overlooking the lake, Ariadne could only guess how many of them witnessed or already caught wind of what happened outside the Court House. She dared not listen to what the onlookers said for fear of hearing the worst.

Once seeing them to their table, Madan bowed. “My Lord, would you prefer I remain nearby or at the front doors?”

“Remain at the doors,” her father instructed without looking at him.

The guard’s mouth twitched, and he inclined his head again. “Very well. Enjoy your meal.”

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