Page 58 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“You know I could never do that.”

“Well, congratulations,” Azriel said, baring his teeth. “This is a fate far worse than death.”

Madan gaped at him. “Please don’t say that.”

“I knew it would happen eventually.” Azriel pressed his fists into his eyes and buckled forward to suck in a ragged breath. The air rushed into his lungs like fire. “But I thought I’d be gone before it did.”

“I’m so sorry.” Madan laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Azriel, too exhausted to pull away, let it rest there as he let out a low moan.

Tears pushed past the barriers he’d hidden behind, and he dropped his hands as he sobbed, shaking his head. Nothing couldbe done. He knew this night would come. He knew he had no right to be upset, and yet the gods damned bond had other plans.

“I can’t go back in there,” Azriel said after several long minutes of crying. “I don’t trust myself. I can’t.”

“Alright,” Madan said in a quiet, soothing tone. “Alright. I’ll come get you when it’s time to leave. Stay out here.”

Azriel nodded once. It’s all he could manage. The rest of him felt numb. Broken. Would he ever find himself again? No telling. An unfulfilled bond drove most fae toward uncontrollable violence and twisted, unreasonable thoughts. Now he felt shoved down that path.

As Caersans made their way into the garden again, speaking animatedly about the impending wedding, Azriel wiped his face dry before shoving to his feet. They already believed him to be a criminal. He didn’t need the next round of gossip to include how someone found him curled up beside a pile of vomit.

He kicked dirt over the sick he left behind and meandered back toward the manor. Going inside was not on his agenda—not unless he planned on getting ambushed by soldiers as he caved in Loren’s face. Standing outside, though? He could handle that.

Maybe.

Or maybe he would burn the entire manor to the ground just to hear the screams.

Song after song played, echoing through the garden doors, and he watched the moon slide across the dark sky. Every so often, a chorus of congratulations raked across his ears, turning his blood cold. A group of young Caersan suitors, excited to have the attention removed from them for the time being, wandered outside.

Azriel envied them. All of them. They never had to feel what he felt.

“Mister Tenebra.”

Fuck. He was going to vomit again at the sound of Ariadne’s voice. Yet he turned in time to see her brushing off her skirts and making her way to where he stood in the shadows.

“Miss Harlow.” Damn him, his voice cracked. He looked away and swallowed hard before saying, “Congratulations.”

Ariadne did not respond right away, and he turned back to her, heart threatening to crack his ribs. She didn’t look at him as she said, “How are you?”

“Well enough.”

“I must apologize,” she said, flicking those perfect eyes back up at him, “for not stopping them when they—”

“Don’t.” The word left him in a harsher tone than he intended, and she flinched. He grit his teeth, then continued, “Get back to the ball. Celebrate. The General—apologies, your fiancé—would have my head if he saw me speaking to you.”

Ariadne froze and gaped at him for a long moment. She glanced over her shoulder at the party, eyes shimmering, then nodded to him. “Alright…”

Azriel’s head swam. All he wanted was to pull her to him and tell her the truth. Tell her how much he loved her, then get on his knees and beg—beg—her not to go back to the General. To choose him, the bastard guard instead.

But that wouldn’t be fair to her, so instead he said, “Good evening, Miss Harlow.”

She turned to go and paused again. “Thank you for what you did.”

Bracing himself, he asked, “What do you mean?”

Ariadne looked back at him and smiled a small, sweet smile that threatened to crack his composure. “No man has ever stood up for me the way you did with the General.”

Her smile turned sad. “For what it is worth, I am sorry you were punished because of me.”

Then she was gone. Azriel watched her go, the pieces of his soul crushed into a fine powder. She blamed herself for the lashing, and he hadn’t been able to find his voice to tell her he’d do it all again, given the chance. He’d do anything for her.

---