Page 7 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Ariadne bit her lower lip. “You are too kind.”

Another turn, another perfect angle to watch her move with the music. He could get used to this. With the Golden Rose on his arm, he would be the envy of Valenul. Not only was she the daughter of the Princeps and most beautiful Caersan across all provinces, she had escaped from monsters very few of his own soldiers could survive: dhemons from the Underworld.

Chapter 2

The first time Azriel Tenebra had seen Ariadne, she’d been no farther from him than when she danced with Alek Nightingale. His entire world changed in an instant. But the soul-deep fae bond could never be acted upon. After all, despite bearing the blue veins of a Caersan, he would never be a part of the Society. His bastard lineage kept him from transcending to the aristocratic heights of his mother.

So when Madan first approached him to become a personal guard for the Harlow family, Azriel had laughed in the vampire’s face and said no. The very notion of being put in close proximity with Ariadne Harlow made every sense in his body go on high alert. To physically stand before her would destroy him.

Madan, however, won out. The Harlows needed another guard to chaperone for the Season, and he trusted no one else by his side. For Azriel, family always came first.

Walking into the Harlow Estate that evening turned Azriel’s bones to flame. Unlike those who descended from the god-born fae lines, vampires didn’t create soul bonds. They were once mages, cursed by rival clans to walk the night, feed off each other’s blood, and disconnect from their magic. Therefore Madan could never understand the depth of white-hot pain it caused to be close to, yet kept from, a mate. Azriel’s fae father—the man who’d sullied his mother outside of marriage—gave him the ability to bond.

Thanks, Pop.

A small group of young Caersan eligibles passed by for what he counted as the fourth time. Their wide eyes slid to him with interest as though they had never seen a half-breed before.

“He is quite handsome,” one said, her cheeks reddening.

Another giggled behind her hand. “I wonder if all of him is that big.”

“Priscilla!” The third smacked her friend’s arm, yet her own gaze slid down his body with a curious glint.

He stilled under the examination. It wasn’t the first time he’d been analyzed in such a manner. Traveling to the mage capital of Algorath often brought similar remarks. His size, like most fae lines aside from the petite avians, was unmatched in the human and mage world. The only beings larger than him, he’d discovered in the worst way, were dhemons, the descendants of Keon, who stood at least half a head taller than other fae.

“Do you think he’d let me compare our hands?” The second Caersan eyed him.

They spoke as though he couldn’t hear them. Were all vampires of the Society so daft, or were these women just that bold?

Sighing, Azriel pivoted in their direction and, placing a hand over his heart, bowed to them. “Pardon me, ladies, but I believe such things would be inappropriate. Please enjoy your Vertium.”

All three gaped at him, wide-eyed for a long moment. Then the first grabbed the wrists of the other two and pulled them away, her eyes glittering as she looked back at him. A few paces away, they giggled before continuing their analysis of his figure.

Azriel crossed his arms, elbows tight to his sides, and pivoted away again. They would not distract him or get him into trouble. Were a guard such as him to touch any Caersan outside his protective duties, he was as good as dead.

Refocused on the dance floor, his heart plummeted. The general had returned, this time sweeping Ariadne into his arms. It was the third dance of hers that he’d endured as an onlooker. The first two had been excruciating to witness. Pax, the old hack, was in well over his head if any of the stories were true; it was obvious she’d accepted out of etiquette alone. Alek, however, was a sadistic bastard who refused to pick up any of her physical cues. That he even let the Lord Governor walk away was a miracle unto itself.

With Loren, Ariadne appeared at ease. She trusted him, and even though Azriel didn’t, he could convince himself she was well-off with the General. For now.

Then Ariadne shifted back from Loren, keeping distance between them and forcing his hand off her back. The subtle movement, unnoticed or ignored by the Caersan, burned into his mind. A similar adjustment had occurred when her father touched her shoulder. At first, it appeared to be a quirk. Now he knew it meant something more. A nervous habit? Or a revulsion?

He didn’t want to know if it was the latter.

Azriel swallowed hard and turned to look out the window. Watching her dance in the arms of another man only made his heart ache, and he hated her for it.

Part of him blamed Madan. His darling cousin had only gotten the job as the Harlows’ guard because he’d snuck Ariadne out of the dhemon keep. Yet no one knew Madan couldn’t have succeeded without Azriel’s help. If the fight against those monsters had gone the way Madan had planned, it would’ve been Azriel carrying Ariadne back to the capital instead.

As it were, Madan returned to Laeton the hero while Azriel hid in Algorath with their mage friend, Phulan, to be healed from the wounds he’d sustained. The entire ordeal had been awful. Though relations between vampires and mages had improved over the last millennium, one mage in particular had it out for him. If he’d been discovered by Melia, there would’ve been no escaping her wrath. Worse had been Azriel not knowing whether Madan made it back to Laeton unscathed with Ariadne in tow. Even the line of communication through their telepathic friends, Razer and Brutis, had gone silent due to distance.

But Madan had meant well. He didn’t understand the pain Azriel endured to pin down his most basic instincts demanding he be with the very woman they were hired to protect. As Madan had put it, he’d thought Azriel would be the perfect candidate because of the wretched fae bond.

The quartet started up another song, and Azriel’s gaze snapped to the dance floor. Ariadne twirled through the steps of another dance, her smile brimming. From the corner of his eye, though, he tracked as Madan slid around the perimeter of the room, closing the distance between them. With mere paces between them, Azriel’s jaw tightened, and he averted his gaze again.

“Oy.” Madan sidled up beside him and put a fist on the vampire’s shoulder. “Focus.”

Azriel slid his gaze to the vampire and scanned his face. “I am.”

Madan snorted, shook his head, and shifted to watch the guests as he spoke in low undertones. Of course. No one needed to hear what he had to say. “You look ready to murder everyone in here.”

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