Page 57 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

The song ended, and Azriel lurched forward, fire ricocheting down his back. She curtsied to Nikolai before turning to face him again.

Fuck Loren’s threat. He was her guard, and gods be damned, he would help her with whatever she needed. At least…that’s what he told himself. Her guard.

Azriel pushed through the edges of the crowd, and Ariadne, gaze fixed on him, started across the ballroom to meet him. His heart hammered against his ribs hard and fast. Every movement, every bump to his body, made him ready to shatter into a million pieces. That wouldn’t stop him. Nothing could stop him from getting to her when she needed him.

A soft song started, neither one for a dance nor an intermittent tune, as new dancers took their places. It called the attention of the Caersans, and everyone slowed to a halt to turn and look.

Still, Azriel moved forward. Ariadne’s face paled, and she, like the others, pivoted back toward the empty dance floor. Only then did he slow to watch in mute horror as Loren stepped forward and held his hand out to Ariadne.

The next few seconds slid by slower than he’d ever experienced before. Ariadne looked over her shoulder at him, lips parted in what he imagined as a small, silent scream. The corner of her eyes shimmered, and slowly—oh, so slowly—she turned back to Loren and laid her hand in his.

A single, ear-splitting note rang through Azriel’s head. By the on-lookers’ lack of reaction, he knew it wasn’t something they could hear. Only he suffered through the mind-numbing sound as Loren pulled Ariadne closer.

“Miss Harlow,” the General said, and it sounded so, so far away. The words, distorted as though echoing through water, interlaced with the note slamming through his brain. “The Golden Rose of Valenul. These past weeks have been the most magnificent of my life.”

This wasn’t happening. Not now. The Season had just begun. There was still time. Still time. Still—

“I have been fortunate enough to have spent many wonderful nights alongside your family this past year,” Loren went on, attention unwavering. “Over this time, I have found your grace and kindness to be unyielding. I admit, it was a shock to have been so drawn to you after losing my brother, but I have prayed to the gods many mornings asking for answers.”

Fuck.

Azriel took a sudden step back. Someone cursed at him, but he heard nothing aside from that ringing and Loren’s speech and his heart shattering.

“It is with the greatest respect that I, General Loren Gard, ask you, Miss Ariadne Harlow, to accept my hand in marriage.”

He was going to vomit. This wasn’t happening—it couldn’t be. She wouldn’t say yes, would she? Not after what Loren did—not after all he said to her. How he’d belittled her.

“Will you do me the honor?” Loren held her hand fast in his, scanning her face.

Something slid down Ariadne’s cheek. It glinted in the brightly lit ballroom and shone like diamonds. Her shoulders shuddered. She exhaled a breath as everyone else in the room held theirs. Not a single person spoke. No one moved.

Except Azriel. He had to get away.

“Yes.” Ariadne’s answer left her on a breath.

The world fell out from beneath Azriel’s feet. He grit his teeth to keep from screaming and balled his fists to lock up his body and stop the shaking. His back roared in protest, and as applause rang out, he shoved backward out of the crowd, unable to turn away.

Loren pulled out a long, thin box and opened it to reveal a crimson lace choker sewn with diamonds. An engagement necklace. He stepped around Ariadne and laid it across her throat, the sign of his claim to her.

The song shifted into something lively and romantic, and within a measure, Loren had Ariadne in his arms. Others joined in, shouting their congratulations to the newly engaged, and soon, the dance floor was alive again.

Azriel’s stomach churned. He lurched out the doors to the garden steps and nearly landed on his face in his desperation to escape. Stumbling into the darkness, he found a bush to disappear behind where he could empty the meager contents of his stomach on the dirt.

Again and again, he retched until nothing but bile appeared. Even then, his muscles contracted as though even his soul attempted to claw its way out of him through his esophagus. It burned like wildfire.

“Azriel…”

He shrank back as Madan appeared around the bush. Something hot ran down his back. The scabs must have broken open from all his heaving. The physical pain remained secondary to everything else.

“Go away,” he choked, wiping his mouth with a kerchief from his pocket. He blew his nose into the fabric, then tossed it under the bush as he fell onto his ass and stared at the lawns.

“I’m so sorry,” Madan said, crouching down beside him. “Azriel, I just…I never expected—”

“Leave me alone.”

“What can I do?” Madan studied him, dark brows pulled tight and silver rimming his eyes.

Azriel lifted his gaze to him and shook his head. “You should’ve let me hang.”

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