Page 66 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Just as he suspected. Those damned personal guards were useless. “Who attended them?”

“Both guards.” Markus led him down a wide corridor, then up another flight of stairs. This was the furthest Loren had ever been in the manor. When Ariadne had returned, she stayed in a room on the second floor before demanding she move suites. The more he saw of the house, the more impatient he became to own it.

“And two grown men could not keep track of two women?” Loren rolled his eyes. “Will another lesson need to be taught to them both?”

“No.” Markus did not so much as glance in his direction. “From what I saw of Emillie and Camilla—”

“Miss Dodd is present?”

“Indeed.” The Princeps shook his head. “They are also unwell from too much drink.”

Perhaps he should have guessed. If there was one thing vampires, Caersan or lesser, succumbed to, it was alcohol. Not even he was safe from its vicious grasp.

Nonetheless, if Tenebra and Antaire had been doing their job properly, the women would not be in their predicament.

Markus halted before a set of doors and rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Daughter.”

A pause, and then, “Father.”

Interesting. Drunk Ariadne was gutsier than he was used to. The sharpness of her tone spoke volumes, and by the way Markus tensed, he knew the Princeps heard it too.

“Your fiancé is here with me.” Markus crossed his arms and glared at the door.

Another long pause. In the suite beyond, he heard a thump, crash, muttered curse, and then a stumble before the doorknob twisted. The door cracked open a fraction, and Ariadne’s face appeared there, her eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

“Good evening, General,” she said with a curl of those pretty lips. “I must ask for another few moments to prepare myself.”

“Enough of this.” Markus laid a heavy hand on the door and pushed.

Eyes wide, Ariadne stepped back so he could step in. She wore a purple dress that elegantly hugged her lithe curves, and her dark hair, hanging in waves around her shoulders, gleamed in the candlelight. Loren looked forward to the mornings he could finally tear the gowns from her body to ravish every rise and hollow.

Gods, if Markus had not been in the room with them, he might have done more than the bow he swept before her.

“Please, Father—General—” Ariadne said, speech slurred, “just a few more moments.”

Loren wanted to throttle the men who let her get to this point. Beautiful though she was, her behavior was appalling. The wife of the General could never be seen in such a state.

“By the gods, Miss Harlow,” Loren said, steadying her as she swayed, “where did you go tonight? Did Tenebra let this happen?”

“I want to know the same,” Markus chimed in. He widened his stance and crossed his arms, ever the ex-General.

Ariadne’s head snapped up to look at them. “I went to the Drifter’s Bistro, and I chose my drinks. Neither Mister Antaire nor Mister Tenebra had anything to do with it.”

“But they were with you?” Markus pressed.

“I am the Golden Rose,” she slurred, “and those guards do not tell me what I can or cannot do.”

Loren raised a brow and turned to the Princeps. “That establishment has been a thorn in my side for ages. I should have shut it down decades ago.”

Ariadne’s eyes widened, and she lurched forward. She clutched the back of the nearby couch and looked between him and her father. “Wait. Shut it down?”

“Very good,” Markus said, blatantly ignoring his daughter. He turned to go as though that was the last of what he wished to hear. “It is a scourge on Laeton if it cannot keep its patrons from over-indulging.”

“No, wait!” Ariadne caught Loren’s hand as he made to follow the Princeps. He paused at the sudden sound of panic in her tone. This was an intriguing shift from her stubbornness a moment before. “Do not ruin a business because I made a bad choice.”

He angled his head. “Excuse me?”

“Please,” she said, voice smaller now.

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