Page 44 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

A tightness took hold of Ariadne’s chest as he walked away. Not only was she uncomfortable having Madan—or, she supposed at this point, Azriel—so far away when in public, but she knew he worried for his cousin. Unlike Azriel, Madan struggled to hide his emotions from his face, and the pinched brows said more than he could.

“Was a conclusion reached for Lord Governor Caldwell’s successor?” Loren asked.

Her father eyed the sampler of white wine as it poured into his glass. He swirled it, sniffed, and sipped. With a quick nod to the server, she filled his glass before moving on to the rest of the table. Once satisfied, he turned to Loren and said, “We still await the final ruling due to the undisclosed documents in his Will, but I believe we have come to a conclusion for a steward.”

Ariadne sipped her wine, one hand twisting the skirts of her dress in her lap. Positioned with her back to the rest of the room, she could not find it within herself to relax her shoulders. She stared, unseeing, at the paper before her describing the courses set for the midnight meal.

“Lord Veron Knoll would become the Lord Governor Steward if no other successor is named.” Her father eyed Loren for a long moment. “Do you plan to take your father’s place one day?”

Loren’s mouth curled into a smile. “One cannot play soldier his entire life, no?”

Chuckling, her father nodded. “Indeed, General.”

“I believe taking the same route as you,” Loren said, “would be the wisest course of action if I am to one day have a family.”

His sapphire eyes slid to Ariadne. At once, she felt butterflies in her gut and an unexplainable desire to hide.

There was no doubt in her mind that, of all the suitors thus far interested in her, Loren made the most sense. In fact, she desired no other Caersan man but the General. His increased attention on her over the past several weeks was all she had wanted since the beginning of the Season.

So why did she suddenly recoil? She should be able to overlook his treatment of an unruly subordinate.

Then Ehrun’s voice crept in from the back of her mind alongside flashes of the dungeon below the dhemon keep. “No one will want to marry a sullied Caersan. Isn’t that right?”

Her stomach roiled at the memory of phantom hands sliding down her body and the very thought of creating a family with anyone tied directly to that moment. Hands shaking, she gripped her skirt again and looked anywhere but at the two Caersan men beside her, who took no notice of her sudden rocking.

“Ari?” Emillie whispered, reaching across the distance to untangle her hand from the fabric. She squeezed once, long and hard.

Ten…

Ariadne sucked in a breath, squeezing back.

Nine…

Exhale. You are home. You are safe. You are loved. A mantra she often forgot until she felt her sister’s hand in hers.

Eight…

Inhale. How could she possibly marry someone who did not even look at her except as a puzzle piece of his future?

Seven…

Not even her father noticed her discomfort. Oblivious, useless Caersan men.

Six…

Ariadne looked to Emillie. Her sister held firm, her eyes studying her without expectation. Just calm, cool understanding. What would she do without Emillie? She could not leave her—ever.

Five…

The first course set down before them—a creamy soup of some sort. It smelled delicious, yet still, her stomach churned.

Four…

She pulled in another long breath and closed her eyes, steeling herself for the moment she had to reopen them and become a functioning member of the Society once again.

Three…

The air left her in a rush, eyes snapping open.

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