Page 68 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“How is Lord Governor Caldwell faring?” Nikolai asked as the laughter died down. “Last I heard, he had entered his final sleep.”

“Ah,” Colonel Trev Wintre said with a grimace and pulled out a small slip of paper. “I received word this evening of his passing two nights ago.”

Everyone fell quiet. Even Ariadne’s pulse slowed as the understanding set in. The Lord Governor of the Eastwood Province was the last Caersan vampire of the first generation. An elder who had lived through the very making of the Society after the curse and the second most powerful voice on the Council after her father.

“Let us raise our glasses,” her father announced suddenly, standing with his wine in hand, “to the Lord Governor, Garth Caldwell. May his soul rest with the gods.”

The Caersan officers stood, saluted their cups, and said in unison, “Rest well, Lord Governor Caldwell.”

She and Emillie raised their glasses of water as well. They said nothing, as was customary of women. To do so would be impudent.

As the men returned to their seats, Nikolai asked, “Has his Will been read yet?”

“I should be receiving it soon.” Her father tucked back into his meal, the thoughts of a dead Councilman doing nothing to upset his appetite. “Though it could take several weeks for the Legal Guild to sift through the records and parcel out the inheritance.”

“How is Lady Caldwell?” Trev sipped his wine.

“I am uncertain,” her father confessed. “She has yet to reach out.”

“Mourning can be a tricky thing,” Loren said. “Let us speak of something more positive.”

Nikolai turned to Ariadne. “Yes. How are the plans for the engagement ball coming along?”

She choked on her water. “Fine.”

“We are looking forward to celebrating the two of you,” he said and winked at the General.

Ariadne forced a small smile and avoided her fiance’s gaze. “It will be stunning.”

“Will there be a theme?” Trev asked.

“No.” She pushed her potatoes to the far side of her plate.

That ended the questions directed at her. Ariadne felt no disappointment as they turned back to discussing matters they deemed inappropriate for Caersan women. She and Emillie fell silent again.

Before long, the dinner plates were removed, and dessert set before them. Chocolate mousse with a cream whip on top. Ariadne’s favorite.

Yet three bites in, she looked to her father. “I am quite tired. I believe I will retire for the day.”

He pierced her with his sharp gaze, then nodded once.

Loren stood as she did. “May I escort you?”

Ariadne gaped at him for a long moment before saying, “Thank you, General, but I am fine. Please stay and enjoy the food and company.”

He swept around the table and bowed, taking her hand in his to kiss it gently. “Good day to you, then, Miss Harlow.”

With a quick curtsy, she left the dining room and half-ran to the stairs in the foyer. Her heart thundered—a mix of exertion and panic. Up one floor, and she paused. A new book. She needed a new book to distract her. Even something as droll as history would be better than nothing.

Ariadne turned down the hall to the library and hurried through the closed doors. She shut them behind her and closed her eyes.

Leaning back against the wood, her head made a dull thunk as she inhaled deeply to calm her racing heart. Counting back from ten, she followed the steady rhythm of the numbers to slow her pulse. The last thing she had wanted was to think about the wedding. About a future with Loren.

At one, Ariadne opened her eyes again. Through the dim candlelight of the library, she found Azriel standing rooted to the spot before a chair, book in hand. The cut on his cheek, still red and blossoming with a bruise, stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his features.

Her heart leapt and started off on its wild race again. Cheeks flushing with warmth, she bit her lip and mumbled, “Sorry,” before turning back to the door.

“Stop.” His deep voice was soft, and she looked over her shoulder at him. “Stay. I’ll go.”

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