Page 54 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Sinking onto the nearest lounge, she let the book fall open. It settled on a page with a bright illustration of a terrified woman in a beautiful garden. Though Ariadne could not see who the woman feared, a depiction of a shadow along the wall behind her silhouetted a massive beast with a bear-like snout and long claws poised to strike.

How appropriate. She, too, felt trapped like the woman on the page, only she did not face a beast this time. No, she had done her fair share of withstanding monsters when she had been dragged from a dark cell each night by Ehrun. Now Ariadne faced something far more sinister: marrying a man no better than the dhemon who reveled in her pain.

Chapter 12

Ariadne refused to leave the estate for almost a fortnight following Azriel’s public lashing. With no balls to force her out of hermitry due to Councilmen traveling back to their respective provinces, even her father could not push her. They would return, however, and there would be no more hiding when the time came.

Until then, she kept to her rooms, where Emillie sat with her in near-total silence for hours as Ariadne read and her sister sketched. The library became a frequent stop for her during the rounds through the manor, and only twice she went out to ride Astra around the fields.

No less than five messages arrived from Loren, asking Ariadne to accompany him into town or to walk Laeton Park. She declined each, claiming to not feel well or to be busy. Each time, her father scowled at her. What did he want her to say? He did not care for her feelings on the matter, only that she did as he told her.

So when she descended the stairs for the next ball wearing the dusty-pink gown she had collected from Revelie on that fateful night, Ariadne came face to face with her father. He stood alone in the foyer, arms crossed and lips thin.

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, she watched him warily. “Good evening, Father.”

“Daughter.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you.” She gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

“No.” He continued to glare down at her, then took a step closer. “I assume you are aware of General Gard’s intentions—that he wishes to ask your hand in marriage.”

Ariadne swallowed hard. It took all her self-control not to step away from him. She twisted her fingers into the skirts of her gown. “Yes, Father.”

“These last few invitations by the General have been declined by you.”

Not a question, yet still she said, “Yes, Father.”

He sighed and tucked his arms behind his back, pacing away from her. “I will have you know that General Gard has spoken to me of this, and he is displeased.”

Uncertain of what else to do, Ariadne nodded. “I am sorry—”

“No.” He turned on his heel to face her again, face white with carefully tempered rage. “No. Sorry is not good enough, Ariadne.”

“Yes, Father.” Her voice, smaller now, cracked. He did not oftene direct anger like this at her. The last time she could recall such fury was when she had lied about visiting Camilla and, instead, met Darien in town unchaperoned. It had been the one and only time he had struck her.

“Fortunately for you,” he continued, nostrils flaring, “the General’s interest has not waned.”

She said nothing as he marched back toward her. Shrinking away, she watched him with wide, burning eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest. Surely he would not strike her before a ball? Even with her quick healing, she would arrive with a bruise.

The front door opened, and Madan appeared. His eyes narrowed, taking in her father’s flexing hands, then the way she leaned back from him. “The carriage is ready, my Lord.”

“We will be out in a moment,” her father snapped.

Madan hesitated. “Will you be needing anything else at present?”

He turned to face the guard. “No. Go. Now.”

“My apologies.” Madan inclined his head, lines forming between his brows as he watched Ariadne. “I will be just outside.”

The door closed behind him, and for a fleeting moment, Ariadne pictured her father turning back to her quick as a viper to bring his hand across her face. She recoiled as he turned, preparing for the blow.

Instead, he let out a shuddering breath and did not look at her again. When he spoke next, his voice was quiet and filled with an unspoken promise, “You will not jeopardize this engagement.” His fingers flexed in and out of fists. “When he asks for your hand, you will accept.”

Ariadne tilted her head back and blinked back the tears threatening to spill and ruin her makeup. “Yes, Father.”

“Very good.”

With that, he yanked open the front door where Madan, indeed, stood just outside and hurried down the steps toward the carriage driver. Ariadne watched him go, then looked to Madan. He did not speak. His face said enough.

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