Page 55 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“I am fine,” she whispered more to herself than to him, blinking fast and tilting her head back again. One hand she laid over her mouth and the other over her chest as she turned away.

For a long moment, she stood there as wave after wave of tumultuous emotions crashed through her. How she had managed to hold it together in the face of her father’s wrath, Ariadne did not know. She had broken in the face of lesser assaults.

By the time Emillie stood at her side, Ariadne felt composed enough to face the night beyond the foyer. She followed her sister out, and Madan, who had remained at the top of the steps for the duration of her silent countdown, closed the front door behind them.

Markus stood at the carriage and nodded once to them before climbing inside. Ariadne swallowed hard, descended one step, and froze.

Azriel appeared from around the back of the carriage, each movement slow and purposeful. He looked up to his cousin and asked if they were ready to go, his gravelly voice a balm for her nerves. He wore his usual black clothes and boots. His hair remained in the top knot. The only difference she could tell was the position of his sword. Usually strapped across his back, it now hung from his waist. It looked odd there.

She shifted her gaze to the ground before he could catch her staring. Beside her, Emillie picked up her dark blue, velvety skirts and stepped into the carriage. She settled in across from their father, leaving enough space beside her for Ariadne.

Thank the gods. The last thing she needed was to sit beside her father right now.

Sucking in a deep breath, she gathered a fistful of her gown in one hand, then approached the carriage. She lifted her free hand for the handle to hoist herself up, and instead, a firm, steady hand gripped hers.

Ariadne paused, one foot on the carriage step, to turn wide eyes to Azriel. He searched her gaze for a breath, and in that moment, the world fell away.

He survived.

Against the odds and everything Loren had done to keep him off his feet, Azriel survived. After ten days of wondering, unable to fully immerse herself in the books she so desperately clung to, she could see with her own eyes that he was, indeed, alive and well. Or as well as he could be after such abuse.

Then he was gone, and the void left behind threatened to swallow her whole.

She watched him go, holding the hand he had used to support her against his chest. The skin where they had touched tingled, and when she sat beside her sister, Ariadne laid the hand in her lap, palm up to stare at it.

No one spoke on the ride to the Jensen Estate. Though Emillie had not witnessed the verbal lashing Ariadne received from their father, she had had enough sense to not ask about it when Ariadne appeared to be on the brink of an emotional collapse back in the foyer. Moreso, she knew to say nothing in front of their father.

Ariadne ran her fingertips along her palm as they trundled down the road to the ball at the Councilman’s home, and watched the darkness shift by outside the window. Trees and sky were all she could see, with the occasional glimpse of a dark horse. The stallion moved from behind the carriage to beside it frequently, dousing his rider in the golden light of the lamp dangling from outside the coach.

Azriel’s eyes stayed fixed straight ahead, narrowing every so often when they moved through a particularly dense crop of trees. Though he had never said anything of the sort, she got the impression he could not see well in the dark.

What would it have been like had Azriel Tenebra been brought up as one of the Caersan men in the Society? His mother had been a lady within the aristocracy, yet his status as a bastard kept him from claiming his rightful place within it. Archaic laws were all that maintained such boundaries.

How different her life might have been if Azriel had been in the ballroom, asking her to dance before Darien had the chance. Rather than follow the younger Gard brother around like a vapid puppy, perhaps she would have found herself swept away by the tall, handsome half-fae. It would have been him, not Darien, who danced with her the night she had been stolen away, and with him there, perhaps she never would have made it to the dhemon keep.

Ariadne snapped her fingers closed. Such thoughts were not helpful. She needed to put Azriel from her mind and do her best to find something—anything—to look forward to with General Loren Gard.

The carriage rumbled to a halt at the entrance to the Jensen Manor. Emillie waited for the door to open and looked on as Ariadne accepted Madan’s assistance to exit. Shifting over, she took Azriel’s outstretched hand to step down from the interior. Behind her, their father clambered out on his own. Though lines had begun to form on his face, he remained young and strong in the eyes of Caersan vampires. He had no intention of appearing weak before anyone.

Emillie picked up her skirt and hurried to catch up with Ariadne as her sister marched away. Too many eyes followed their entrance, so she kept silent until they entered the front doors and followed the crowds to the cream ballroom with its golden motifs. Before either of them could be bombarded by suitors asking to dance, she grabbed Ariadne’s hand, squeezed it once, then pulled her to an empty alcove.

“What is going on?” Emillie asked, searching her sister’s face. Loose strands of dark curls framed her pale face like wisps of shadows. They stood out in stark contrast to the refined makeup Ariadne wore with the pink gown.

Ariadne smiled a bit wistfully, and when she spoke, her voice was lighter than usual—a clear sign of her hiding something. “Father was just telling me that the General plans to propose.”

A hollow feeling took hold in Emillie’s gut. She shook her head. “The Season has just begun.”

“And I am the Golden Rose,” Ariadne said, the last words cracking despite the serene expression. “Perhaps he acts quickly to ensure others will not impede on his plans.”

“You are allowed to decline.” Emillie squeezed her fingers again.

“No.” The word left Ariadne on a quick breath, her eyes snapping to the entrance of the ballroom where their father paused to speak with a lord. “No.”

Something was not right. Emillie chewed her lip and looked from their father to her sister several times. “Ask him to wait just a bit longer, maybe?”

Ariadne closed her eyes for a long moment. When they flew open, they refocused with hard determination. A light line formed between her brows. “By the gods, Em, why would I ever want to do that?”

That was not the voice of her sister. She knew that voice—it had been carefully curated to hide discomfort and lies. Emillie shook her head. “To give yourself options!”

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