Page 64 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“It’s time to go,” he said in her ear and pried the last two darts from her fingers.

Ariadne’s unfocused eyes glimmered up at him, and a small smirk curled her lips. She ran her fingers across his chest. He froze, the touch sending jolts of lightning through his blood. Something inside him hummed with satisfaction. Something else screamed the reminder: she was engaged to another vampire.

“You are quite handsome,” she said, walking her fingers up to one shoulder before sliding her palm down his bicep.

Fuck. For a moment, Azriel stared at the ceiling and prayed to all the gods that his cock stayed put. She was engaged and not to him. She was the Princeps’ daughter. The Golden Rose of Valenul. Untouchable. The one who would never, never love him back.

The Rusan man beside them puffed out his chest, then cut across his thoughts. “We’re playin’ a game, boy. Walk away.”

Azriel ignored him. He set the darts on the nearest table and pointed to the door over Ariadne’s shoulder. “Come now.”

“I said,” the Rusan man growled, “we’re playin’ a game. Now leave.”

When Azriel shifted to face him and drew up to his full height. Placing himself between the Rusan and Ariadne, he cocked his head to the side and set his jaw. “You put your hands on the Princeps’ daughter. You’ll be lucky if I don’t turn you inside out.”

His face paled, but he didn’t back down. “She asked me to show her how to play.”

“And now she’s done.”

Beside him, Ariadne scoffed. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

It took all of Azriel’s self-control not to yell in frustration. No wonder Madan had called on him first. If the other guard had put his hands on Ariadne—even to get her out of a filthy tavern masquerading as a bistro—he knew what Azriel’s wrath would look like. With enough drinks in her to loosen her tongue, Ariadne’s self-assurance flew skyward.

“Tonight, I do.”

“No.” Ariadne made to step around him, the glass still in her hand swinging precariously. “Tonight, I do what I want.”

“There’s a good girl.” The Rusan man held out a hand.

As Ariadne went to reach for the stranger, Azriel slapped the man’s arm away, slid between them, and slammed his fist into the Rusan’s face. The man stumbled back, blood dripping from his nostrils, and growled. Without a word, he charged forward and swung.

Azriel blocked the punch with ease. He caught the arm, slid to one side, and pinned the arm down tight. In one fluid movement, he grabbed the Rusan, shifted his body, and lifted the man onto his back before dumping him on the floor. The Rusan landed like a stone, the air rushing out of his lungs. Before he could stand again, Azriel kicked his head.

He straightened again and looked around the room. Those nearby stared, wide-eyed, as the band continued playing. Azriel swept a hand across the top of his head, peeling flyaway hairs from his forehead and smoothing them back into place.

“Let’s go,” he grumbled to Ariadne.

“You are going to do that to a stranger and then expect me to go with someone like you?” She watched him, incredulous.

Sighing, Azriel shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“Then leave me be.”

“Not an option.”

“Then what—”

Before she could finish her question, Azriel grit his teeth and stooped, slinging her over one shoulder. Ariadne inhaled sharply, then after a moment, she shrieked in outrage and pounded her fists on his back.

“Put me down!”

He didn’t deign to respond. Not only was it childish behavior on her part, but he didn’t want to think of the last time he’d done something like this. So instead, he focused on the door ahead, ignoring the turning heads and Rusan men standing, contemplating what to do next.

Yet no one followed as Azriel stepped into the bright moonlight and walked toward the carriage where Madan, Camilla, and Emillie stood waiting, then far enough beyond for him to speak with her in private. He knew Madan’s tendencies and didn’t want him dropping any eaves.

Satisfied by the distance, Azriel set Ariadne back on her feet, where she swayed dangerously.

“Enough,” he said.

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