Page 52 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“After my brother died,” Loren said with as much sorrow as he could muster, “I have felt a deep desire to remain close to Miss Harlow.”

“Very good.” The corner of Markus’s mouth twitched up. “I am pleased to hear this from you. While your brother’s death is regrettable, I have always found you to be a Caersan of worth. Your actions to care for my family, Ariadne in particular, have proven this time and again.”

Loren’s pulse quickened. He smiled back at the Princeps and sat a little straighter. “It has been my intention for quite some time to ask for her hand, my Lord. Would you find this acceptable?”

A knock at the doors drew their attention, and after Markus’s invitation to enter, the young maid from earlier entered with a tray of breads, fruit, and cake. She curtsied, then set it down and asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you, my Lord?”

“Not at this time, Penelope, thank you.”

Penelope smiled at Loren, her pale cheeks flushing, before retreating to the doors. Before she disappeared, he raised a hand and said, “Actually, Penelope, I have a request.”

“Yes, General?” She turned back to them.

“With the Princeps’ permission,” he said, looking to Markus, “I would like to speak with the elder Miss Harlow.”

Markus gave him a curt nod, then turned to the maid. “Please ready Ariadne for a visitor. Have her wait in the parlor.”

With another quick curtsy, Penelope said, “Yes, my Lord. Right away.”

Then she was gone. Markus turned to the food set before them, took up a small slice of bread smeared with salted butter, and popped it into his mouth. He sipped his drink to wash down the remains. “I believe a match between you and Ariadne is serendipitous.”

Loren leaned into the back cushion, the corners of his mouth ticking up and his chest swelling. “I am honored, Princeps.”

“In fact, I had originally hoped for this match,” Markus said without looking at him. “Though your brother was a fine Caersan, I had intended on more for Ariadne. I mean no disrespect to Darien, of course.”

With a low chuckle, Loren snatched up a slice of the lemon cake and pointed it at the Princeps. “No disrespect at all. It had been my intention to ask for Miss Harlow’s hand a long time ago. My brother made himself known first.”

“Disappointing, really.” Markus’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “So much pain could have been avoided had he stepped aside for his elder brother. I am confident this last year’s debacle would not have occurred had she been engaged to you.”

Finally, someone understood Loren’s annoyance at the situation. He had loved his brother dearly and mourned his death as any sibling would have. Unfortunately, Darien had not been equipped to handle such a task when he went after Ariadne’s abductor. Had Loren been the one she had called for that night instead, the dhemon would not have made it to the treeline.

“And I am confident,” Loren said after swallowing a bite of the cake, savoring its tartness in such a glorious moment, “nothing of the like will ever occur again with Miss Harlow under my direct protection and that of the army.”

“Very good.” Markus held out his glass, and Loren tapped his against it. “To a bright future.”

Ariadne, having abandoned her post in the parlor, backed away from the study door, a hand over her mouth. She had not overheard much of the conversation, but it was enough.

Her father had never approved of her engagement to Darien. Loren, his own brother, believed him to be unfit to provide for her. Loren’s visit held a separate intention than what she had thought: to ask for her father’s blessing to marry her. If the wishes for a bright future were any indication, the General had received it.

Stomach twisting, Ariadne hurried back to the parlor, where she steadied herself on the back of a chair. Her eyes burned, and her throat swelled. After everything Loren had done the night before and the pure epicaricacy he received from Azriel’s suffering, she was certain the last thing she wished was to marry a man of such countenance.

That her father would not consult her beforehand only proved both their lack of compassion.

Yet the utter helplessness she felt outweighed it all. It hollowed out her gut and squeezed her chest. Speaking against her father’s wishes would not go well. Insulting Loren by denying a proposal would destroy any future prospects with suitors.

Then she would never be free of her father’s relentless control. His incessant desire to dictate every aspect of her and Emillie’s lives kept them both afraid. Her sister feared speaking the truth about whose company she wished to keep, and Ariadne feared telling him no.

All her life, she had agreed to his every whim. The only time she felt free to choose had been when he accepted Darien’s request for his blessing. For the first time in her life, she had chosen something substantial for herself, and he had said yes.

Now she knew it had been done reluctantly.

This engagement? Ariadne knew well she had no choice. She could attempt to put it off for as long as possible, and yet, she would not prevent it from happening. One night, she would have no option but to accept.

Unable to maintain her composure, Ariadne turned and headed for the stairs. She needed to lose herself in her books—to pretend the world around her did not exist and instead, she was a character on the page, moving through the motions of a life beyond her own with better prospects than she.

“Miss Harlow.”

Not three steps up, she froze at the sound of Loren’s voice. She swallowed hard and forced the rising bile back down her throat. Taking a deep breath, she cursed herself for not taking the time to count back from ten in the parlor. Instead, she plastered what she hoped appeared to be a sweet smile on her face and turned to look down at him.

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