Page 59 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Even if it meant letting her go.

He had no words. The ringing started up in his head again, and his body lurched forward involuntarily.

Chapter 13

Over the two weeks following her engagement, Ariadne could not stop replaying those moments at the ball in her head. Again and again, she felt the flood of hope as Azriel pushed through the guests, aventurine eyes wide and concerned. He knew. Somehow, he knew she needed him in that moment—him and the freedom he would certainly sweep her away to.

Then the dread set in as, over and over, she heard the chords of the song, making her turn to find Loren standing before her, hand outstretched. He looked regal in his usual red and leveled that expectant expression at her. She knew what it meant. No escape. No freedom. No Azriel.

She played it through, searching for a way she could have gotten out. There had been none. Over Loren’s shoulder, at the edge of the dance floor, stood her father, arms crossed and mouth a hard line. Though he said no words, she heard his voice daring her to refuse. Daring her to walk away. She knew the consequences if she tried, and she would end up with that necklace nonetheless.

The tears as she had turned away from Azriel and took Loren’s hand were not of joy, though she forced her mouth into a smile. A hollowness had opened in her gut, swallowing her whole from the inside. She had heard nothing he said. All she had known was that would forever be the moment she lost any semblance of freedom she once had. Her life was forfeit.

So when she had finally pried herself away from the throng of congratulatory guests and made it outside, Ariadne went straight for the man she hoped would make it all go away. But he had abandoned her—scolded her for speaking to him.

It had been a kick to the gut. A kick she deserved after all he endured for her at Loren’s hands.

Yet spending a fortnight reliving those moments in the rare quiet had been nothing compared to the tasks set before her now. The night of her engagement to Loren ended with her father informing her of the wedding date just over a month away. Every decision was up to her, from the decorations to the location to the invitation list—as if she had a true say in who would be present. If anyone in the Society was left off the guest list, the scandal it would cause…

Night after night and even into the late hours of the morning, Ariadne poured over the papers scattered across the table of the drawing room. Piles of ribbons and paint chips and fabric squares needed sorting. Invitation designs required precise decision-making. Not only did she make every choice on her own for the wedding, but for the announcement ball as well.

Occasionally, Ariadne hid from the mind-numbing work. She locked her suite doors and claimed to suffer from terrible migraines. Other times, she took Astra out for rides around the grounds without telling anyone. These worked, though not to the extent she hoped. Too often, her father unlocked the door and dragged her from the solitude, or she fled back inside by Madan’s sudden appearances to keep watch over her.

It was not until Camilla’s arrival at the Harlow Estate that Ariadne received the mental break she craved. For the first time in nights, her father did not demand she spend time inking personal replies to those in the Society who accepted the engagement ball’s invitation.

“You need to get out of this place, doll,” Camilla announced upon her entrance to the drawing room at almost midnight. Behind her, Emillie wrung her fingers and looked over her shoulder toward the stairs leading to their father’s study. She had tried to drag Ariadne away many times only to be berated by the Princeps.

Relief rolled over Ariadne, teasing out the tense muscles in her shoulders. She shook out her writing hand and stood. “Please.”

“Where are we going?” Emillie asked, following as Ariadne hurried up to the next floor to her suite. “Shall I change?”

Camilla huffed behind her. “Just into town, darling. We will eat and shop to our heart’s content. Perhaps we can pry Revelie away from her fabrics.”

Ariadne shot her a tense look. She had already sent notice to Revelie to not only be a guest but to create a crimson dress to match Loren’s militaristic aesthetic for the announcement.

“Worry not!” Camilla winked. “No talk of the wedding allowed.”

Turning to her sister, Ariadne smiled. “Did you do all this?”

Emillie’s cheeks flushed red. “You were miserable, Ari.”

“To be honest,” Ariadne said with a sigh, “it was.”

It. It was—not that she was miserable. If anyone heard her speaking ill of the upcoming nuptials, there would be no end to the berating she would receive from her father. Pronouncing herself as miserable would be considered a slight to her new fiancé.

So, true to Camilla’s word, she did not hear any questions from either Caersan about the planning as she dressed for town and headed to the front of the manor where their carriage stood at the ready. A horse stood saddled beside the coach. Ariadne’s heart skipped, then sank.

Only Madan would be joining them today.

Oh, how things had changed since she wished Azriel to be gone, leaving them to their lives with only Madan chaperoning their ventures into town. She loved the guard like her brother, and he joked and protected her and Emillie with just as much familial caring. Those feelings never left, but her heart had made room for the newcomer. She told herself he watched over them with just as much platonic love, but she did not want to truly believe it.

With the way he looked at her…Loren had every right to be jealous.

Azriel looked at her with eyes that did not see a sister, like Madan. And Ariadne could not deny how her breath caught at seeing him.

Over the last fortnight, Ariadne’s traitorous heart launched into action each time she glimpsed him in passing. Even during the daylight hours when she should have been thinking of her future husband as her hands explored her body, it was Azriel she imagined running his lips across her skin.

Some nights he would stop and open his mouth to speak, but he never said a word. In fact, she had not heard his voice since he had told her off at the Jensen ball.

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