Page 5 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Alek pulled her closer than was proper and said in his low, dulcet tones, “Would you say we are not on familiar terms?”

Ariadne avoided his searching, greedy gaze and replied, “No, my Lord, I would not.”

Sure, she knew Alek well and had practically grown up with the vampire. They had played together as children, kept one another’s secrets, and teased each other relentlessly. He taught her to pick locks, ride a horse astride, and run almost silently through the woods. He had even been the first vampire she had kissed in secret.

Then he made the transition from boy to man and left her behind to govern the province bequeathed to him by his late father. Since then, and in the eyes of the Society, they could never again be friends. It would be seen as improper and suggestive to say the least.

“A pity,” he murmured in her ear and stepped his hips against hers, “for I truly believed us to be closer than that.”

“My Lord,” she said, voice warbling as the pressure of his body against her sent her mind reeling into the past, “you would do well to remember who and where you are. We are not those children anymore.”

He shifted away and spun her out, then back into his arms. “You are quite different from what I remember, Miss Harlow.”

True. During her first Season, she had been reckless. If it were not for Darien’s interest, she would have ended up like her best friend, Camilla. Though she loved her friend dearly, Camilla was known for her risque behavior, and Ariadne had been on the same path—with Alek, nonetheless—until Darien arrived.

“Much has changed,” she said with as strong a tone as she could muster.

Alek hummed in response, eyeing her with his oily gaze. The rumors that swirled around him over recent years were even less savory than Pax Tetterington—yet another Caersan she did not care to match with and would be working to distance herself from. Any fondness she had once held for him dispersed at the thought of what rumors claimed he did to his less-powerful Rusan servants.

“All I ask,” he said after several silent turns on the dance floor during which Ariadne avoided his gaze, “is that you remember our time together as you entertain suitors in the weeks to come.”

She curled the corners of her lips and batted her lashes in a mockery of who she’d once been. “How could I forget?”

The song faded and put an end to her misery. Alek bowed, brushing his lips over her knuckles before slipping into the crowd.

This time, Ariadne followed suit, foregoing the dance card dangling from her wrist. She looked forward to only one other dance for the evening, and he would not expect it to happen yet. If she made herself scarce for a while, she could avoid any more suitors she did not care for.

As she wove through the throng of guests, eyes swung her way, and whispers followed. Discomfort in her own home was the new normal for her, it would seem.

“The Golden Rose? Her?”

“She disappeared last year and her fiancé died. Does that not sound suspicious?”

“Her father paid off the High Priestess.”

“She will kill the next one, guaranteed.”

“She stopped speaking with everyone out of nowhere.”

Ariadne’s cheeks warmed. No one knew what had happened to her last year. Her father and Loren kept it secret to preserve her reputation, but the damage was done. She blamed herself for not socializing as she once did, even if keeping to her close knit friends kept her content.

Last year’s Season had been a nightmare, mere weeks after Darien’s death and her rescue by Madan. Her vacancy pushed Emillie into the spotlight years earlier than planned as their father scrambled to hide her absence. Emillie’s debut had been his smokescreen, and it had failed.

Air. She needed air. The entire stifling ballroom seemed to press in on her without someone she could depend on. If she could find Emillie or one of her friends, she may just be able to make it through the event.

She slipped away from the crowd to where other women milled about the sitting room. In the center of it all sat Camilla, her pale blonde hair cascading down the low-cut back of her emerald dress. She spoke animatedly with her hands and a big smile on her beautiful face. She laid a hand on another Caersan woman’s inner thigh, gripping lightly. The object of her affections leaned into the touch, eyes sparkling.

“Ari!” Camilla called and motioned for her to join them. Her dark, russet eyes glittered like gems as Ariadne approached. “How are you doing, doll?”

Sitting on the far side of Camilla from the woman she still held, Ariadne kept her back straight and twisted her hands in her lap. She chewed her lower lip and tried to focus on anything but the pockets of Caersan forming to speak in hushed tones. The soft giggles and eye rolls cut deeper than she cared to admit, and she suddenly regretted leaving her room entirely.

“It has been an interesting night.”

“Have you danced?”

“Twice.”

Camilla’s gaze flared. “With who?”

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