Page 70 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Everything slammed into focus. He shouldn’t be here. Not with Ariadne—not alone with her like this. Least of all when Loren lurked about. If they caught him with Ariadne, it’d be his life on the line and her reputation.

Icy panic leached into his gut, twisting it from the inside like a vice. His breath hitched, and he looked from sister to sister. The younger chewed her lip. The elder pointed to the veranda at the far end of the library.

Azriel opened his mouth to speak—what? He didn’t know. To tell her he was sorry for abandoning her? That he loved her? To ask her to run away with him? He could do none of those things. Not in this lifetime.

Voices echoed down the hall. A loud laugh he recognized as the Colonel’s drew closer. Why they were heading to the library, Azriel could not fathom. Aside from the Princeps, none of the Caersan men from dinner this morning were studious.

“Why are they coming here?” Ariadne hissed to her sister and motioned again for Azriel to get to the veranda.

“Something about genealogical history?” Emillie picked up the book Azriel had abandoned and plopped onto the couch. She glanced at the title and frowned at him. More fae tales.

“Go!” Ariadne said, desperation dripping from the word. “Please.”

Finding his legs, Azriel launched into action. He crossed the room and snatched his sword from its place against the couch. Unlocking the veranda door with steady fingers, he paused. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he found Ariadne ripping a book from the shelf and sitting beside Emillie, her eyes still latched on him.

Azriel’s heart stumbled. He shouldn’t be leaving her. Not again. But the plea in her gaze pushed him through the door so he could close it behind him. He flattened his back against the outer wall of the manor to stay hidden, heaving in a deep breath of cool spring morning air.

And not a moment too soon. The library doors opened with a chorus of voices.

“A Steward Governor would be fine for a time,” Markus was saying as he entered the room, “but a direct descendant of the Caldwells should take the seat.”

“Miss Harlow.” Loren’s tone was one of surprise and, to Azriel’s disgust, pleasure. “I thought you had retired for the day.”

A beat of silence. Azriel could see her stand and curtsy in his mind’s eye. Her cheeks would still be flushed from their encounter as she said, “General. I desired a book before turning in.”

“A pleasant surprise.” Nikolai’s voice was closer, almost to the veranda doors.

Azriel gripped the rail beside him with one hand and, in a single, swift leap, launched himself down from the second floor. He landed, knees bent and heart racing, in the grass at the same moment the doors opened where he’d stood a breath before. Voices spilled into the early morning air behind him, and it took all his concentration to not look up at them right away. Instead, he picked up a casual gait toward the servant’s entrance near the kitchen.

“I admit I am pleased to have another chance to speak with you,” Loren said behind him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Ariadne’s tone was tight.

Azriel looked over his shoulder then, unable to stop himself from ensuring she was, in fact, safe. On the veranda, Loren stood behind Ariadne. She gripped the rail Azriel had just leapt over, and the General, body almost close enough to touch hers, laid his hand beside hers so their fingers brushed together.

Azriel’s throat tightened. That should be him. Every instinct in his body demanded it be him standing beside her, their bodies a mere whisper apart. Not Loren.

Ariadne shifted away from the General and snapped her gaze to Azriel. Her mouth formed a tight line. His footsteps faltered until she shook her head almost imperceptibly. Do not turn back, she seemed to say.

Azriel dipped his chin, then turned away again. Gods, he was in trouble.

Chapter 15

Emillie dressed the next evening in a simple green gown meant for home wear. As she braided her hair and slipped on soft-soled shoes, her mind remained restless. It leapt from the bistro to the dinner to the library in a steady rotation.

Already she missed Kyra. The Rusan woman, so open and proud of her affinity for other women, had felt…right. Her hand between her legs had felt even better. She envied her and, most of all, wished she had had more time to get to know her.

Meeting with Kyra again would be almost impossible. After Ariadne had gotten sick all over the General’s boots, their father decreed they were no longer permitted to Laeton without his accompaniment. Azriel and Madan’s presence would not suffice since they had ignored their efforts to steer them home. Even if she could get word to Kyra to meet her somewhere, her father would not allow them to be seen together in public.

The horror of her father insisting Camilla return home before dinner had eclipsed Emillie’s regret about not asking Kyra for a way to get in touch again. Her friend had taken the suggestion well, claimed she needed to get home before dawn, and left with Madan as her escort.

That had then left her alone with a quiet, withdrawn Ariadne throughout dinner, surrounded by military officers who did not care to engage her in conversation. It was obvious from the start of the meal that her sister had not been fully present. The journey into town had been meant to loosen her up—and it had for a while—but the moment the General arrived, the Season’s Golden Rose wilted.

To walk into the library and find her with their personal guard had therefore been a surprise greater than anything Emillie had ever experienced. The two were standing more intimately than she had seen many Caersan vampires with their wedded spouses. Azriel’s head had angled so that if he had bent just a bit, their mouths would have met. Ariadne, in turn, had curved her back to meet his body with so little space dividing them, Emillie doubted she would have been able to slide her hand between their forms.

And that was the one thing she could attempt to solve tonight. Kyra would have to wait, and Camilla knew she would be welcomed back once their father realized his mistake—as he always did.

Emillie knocked on Ariadne’s door, and it opened much sooner than she was accustomed. On the far side of the threshold, her sister gave her a tight smile and stepped aside as a silent invitation to enter. Ariadne still wore her sleeping gown and a long robe, which she pulled closer to herself.

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