Page 49 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“No,” Madan cut in and pulled Emillie away. “Stay with your father. I will watch after your sister.”

Ariadne tripped, and Madan’s strong hands steadied her by the arms. Not the back—never the back. He never touched her there, just like Azriel never had, either. Now she understood why: he, too, held a history of pain in his skin.

“The carriage,” she croaked, pushing through the crowd. Some onlookers chuckled under their breath while others cried. Their expressions, hazy in her desperation to get out of the throng, ranged from wicked delight to horror.

To her relief, Madan said nothing. No soothing words or expectations. His silent company as she stumbled past the outskirts of the crowd was more than enough to show his solemn support. Even as they reached the main street outside the Court House and he opened the door to the carriage, he did not so much as speak her name. Instead, he extended a silent arm for her to balance herself against while clambering into the darkness beyond.

The journey home felt like an eternity for Emillie. She sat across from a blank-faced Ariadne, who stared out the carriage window without saying a word. Their father, after ensuring both his daughters were safely within the carriage, stayed behind as Madan escorted them home.

“What are you doing?” Emillie asked him before he could close the door on her.

Her father shook his head once. “I must speak with General Gard and arrange for Mister Tenebra’s return to the manor.”

Emillie held a hand out to block the door as he tried, once again, to close it on her. “Will he be returning tonight?”

“Yes.” The door snapped shut behind him, leaving Emillie to sit back and process everything she had witnessed.

Ariadne left her side as the fiftieth lash struck Azriel’s back. It was clear at that point that Loren, sweat dripping down his face, enjoyed every second. His Caersan muscles did not fatigue as a Rusan vampire’s or even a mage’s did. Each strike was done with strength and purpose.

Somehow, though, Azriel’s knees never gave out. When they reached the hundredth lash, his entire body trembled. He adjusted his feet and slipped on the blood-soaked wood. The chains kept him upright as he corrected his stance, hands still gripping the chains above his head.

Emillie did not blame Ariadne for leaving. Her stomach had roiled with each hit.

In the end, Azriel’s back was stripped almost entirely of its flesh. Soldiers stepped forward with caution, not wanting to fall into the puddle of blood that, by then, had leaked onto the dirt beneath the platform. They released his wrists, and for a moment, Emillie believed Azriel would fall. His legs, accepting the weight back onto them, shook violently, and his arms hung limp at his sides. He did not look at the crowd before being led down the steps and disappearing into the prison.

On her way back to the carriage, Emillie had nearly lost the battle of wills against her stomach. It churned again and again, and she fought the tremors of shock at seeing Azriel in such a state.

“Is it over?” Ariadne had asked when she sat back against the carriage cushions.

Emillie confirmed, and that was the last she heard from her sister.

Back at the estate, Ariadne hurried out of the carriage and into the manor. Emillie stood at the foot of the front steps and watched her go. She could do nothing to help her sister with this. Only time and patience would see her through.

“Miss Harlow.” Madan’s voice shook her back to the present.

She turned to the guard, his grim face attempting a small smile. “Yes?”

“I must ask you to return indoors.” He gestured to the manor. “I am needed to…help.”

To help Azriel.

Emillie looked beyond him as the carriage pulled away. A prison wagon made its way up the drive but took a turn down a side path reserved for servants and deliveries. Her father rode his stallion at the back of the procession.

“Mister Antaire,” she said and squeezed his hand like she would her sister’s, “I am sorry.”

He huffed and shook his head. “He knew full well what he was doing when he got himself into this mess, but he’s been through worse. He’ll be on his feet in no time.”

Emillie frowned, not quite understanding what he meant by any of it. “I hope so.”

The guard bowed and mounted his horse again, taking off in the direction of the wagon. Once gone, Emillie started up the steps into the manor, where she found the staff quieter than usual. None of them looked at her as they mumbled their greetings and passed. Odd, though not uncommon when one of them got into trouble.

Maintaining her distance from the servants, Emillie stopped Penelope as she passed. “Is my sister in her room?”

The Rusan woman curtsied. “Yes, Miss Harlow. I saw her go in.”

She nodded. If Ariadne did not wish to speak, there would be no changing her mind. Eventually, she would come out, and Emillie would be ready to help her overcome this as she had overcome everything else.

Before the maid could slip away, she asked, “Do we still have Algorathian salve?”

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