Page 51 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“What was Ariadne like?” She chewed her lip, then added, “When you found her, I mean.”

Madan went very still, his dark brows lowering over his eyes. He searched her face for a long time before saying simply, “Your sister and what she went through made Azriel’s punishment tonight look like midnight tea.”

Stomach twisting violently, Emillie swallowed hard to keep nausea at bay. She had suspected it to be bad, but the comparison underscored the reality of what Ariadne endured. So long as time was given to heal between sessions and the blood of another provided, a Caersan vampire could survive torture indefinitely—whether they wanted to or not.

“Thank you for your honesty,” she whispered after composing herself. “Please… tell Mister Tenebra I am sorry.”

“I shall,” Madan said and, as she turned, he continued, “but, Miss Harlow…none of this was your fault. Or your sister’s. He made his choice, and now he is dealing with the consequences.”

Emillie grimaced back at him. “Speaking up for what is right is not a choice. It is a responsibility not all of us are ready to take on.”

Chapter 11

Loren entered the Harlow Estate the next night with sure steps. He handed his cloak to the butler at the door before being led into the parlor to await the Princeps. Arriving unannounced, frowned upon by anyone of lower status than he, meant traversing the unfamiliar waters of waiting. Markus needed time to prepare himself for whatever conversation he believed Loren intended on having.

After their brief conversation following the lashing, he expected all of it. Markus had expressed his deep displeasure at what occurred, and perhaps Loren had stepped out of line with two hundred strikes.

But perhaps the half-bred bastard should have died like he had intended.

Disappointment was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Turning back to face the foyer from his position near the low-flame hearth, Loren found the butler speaking to a Caersan that, for a moment, he did not recognize. Madan’s features shifted into focus when he pivoted, dark brows low. His lips barely moved as he explained something, one hand brushing his back over his shoulder. Then his eyes snapped up to sear into Loren with such scathing heat, he could not help but smirk.

Azriel’s healing incompetence, underscored by his absence, alighted hope in Loren’s chest. If he did not kill the bastard, at least he wounded him enough to keep him off his feet for a bit. Perhaps now he would put distance between himself and Ariadne.

Madan’s top lip peeled back, flashing his fangs.

“Good evening, General Gard,” Markus called, appearing and then crossing the foyer in a few languid strides. As he passed his servants, Madan disappeared out the door, and the butler swept down the hall. “I was not expecting you.”

Loren extended his arm, which Markus took with a firmer-than-usual grip. “My apologies for the intrusion, my Lord Princeps. I came to inquire after the elder Miss Harlow’s welfare. Her sudden departure last night concerned me.”

“Ah.” Markus nodded, then gestured out of the parlor. “Let us speak in my study.”

Down the hall to the regal office, Markus barked an order for food to be delivered at a passing maid, then closed the door behind them with a snap. The long study, with its two side walls bearing floor-to-ceiling dark wood shelves, invited conversation around a low table between a pair of blue velvet couches. Before the bay of windows at the far side sat a large, dark desk covered in stacks of paper, and a high-backed leather chair.

“Sit.” Markus turned to the credenza near the door and poured two glasses of amber liquor as Loren settled onto one of the couches. “I must apologize for the mess. Lord Governor Caldwell’s illness has grown worse, and I am up to my fangs with paperwork.”

Taking one of the glasses, Loren tipped it to the Princeps before sipping. The whiskey burned deliciously on its way down. “Not a problem, my Lord. You are a busy man. Is there no hope for a recovery?”

“At this point,” Markus sighed, “there is naught to be done. Garth Caldwell is old, and this has been long overdue.”

“A pity.” Loren felt none of it.

“Truly a shame.” Markus sounded more exhausted over the situation than saddened. “What brings you to my home this evening, General Gard?”

Loren settled for a regretful expression. “I must apologize, my Lord, for my sudden change of plans last night.”

Markus had not said much to him before departing from the prison, but his fury was palpable. The last thing Loren needed was the Princeps to bear him any ill-will if his plans to wed his daughter were to come to fruition.

With a sigh, Markus took his seat across from him and rested his free arm over the back of the couch. “I am disappointed you felt the need to punish Tenebra so severely. Speaking out of turn has never demanded such a heavy hand in the past. I believed my explanation of why I needed him well would have been enough to dissuade you from such harsh consequences. I was wrong.”

“My personal feelings about him influenced my decision more than I anticipated.” Loren swirled his drink, studying the Princeps’s reaction.

Not even a flinch revealed the High Councilman’s thoughts. “Your personal feelings?”

“Indeed.” Loren sat forward, leaning an elbow on his knee. “While his cousin has done a fine job over the last year, I have found Tenebra to keep a strangely close eye on your elder daughter. Perhaps I am looking too far into it due to my own desire to protect her after all she endured.”

Markus lifted a brow and nodded once. “I understand your concern, General, though despite his outburst in town the other night, I believe his intentions were to protect her as well. I would think you would find it comforting to know someone to be keeping her safe when you are not around.”

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