Page 77 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Look what happened to my father.” Azriel checked each end of the hallway for any sign of eavesdroppers. “I’m not made for it.”

“No.” Madan took Azriel’s face in his hands and leaned their foreheads together. They both closed their eyes for a long moment. “That will never happen to you.”

His voice cracked, “How do you know?”

“Because I’ll be there,” Madan said quietly. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

After his mother’s death, Azriel had watched his father spiral into a hatred he couldn’t control. The link Azriel provided by carrying her blood is all that kept him from succumbing to the bond’s nightmarish hold. Perhaps by some miracle Madan could be that anchor for him. A link to the world so he wouldn’t become a shadow of himself.

“You can do this,” Madan whispered and pulled away, one hand on Azriel’s face. The familial warmth radiated through him. “I believe in you.”

When Azriel opened his eyes, his vision blurred. “At least one of us does.”

Loren did not linger long after dismissing Madan from the office. His business complete, he bid his goodbyes and started down the corridor toward the foyer. Halfway to the exit, he heard a pair of familiar voices. Of the two, the deeper, more rough tone made his temper simmer.

Killing the bastard guard would be easier than walking this fine line to protect what belonged to him.

He shifted closer to the servant hall to better listen to what Madan told his cousin. If he was expected to trust the vampire with his future wife, he needed to know what kind of man he was. That included how he went about following instructions.

“Caldwell’s Will is being delivered to the Council the night after tomorrow,” said Madan.

Why would a guard know the comings and goings of such official documents? He had no bearing on what those papers said.

“I don’t want it.” Azriel sounded somber.

Loren’s blood ran cold. The Caldwell heir could not possibly be that bastard-born fae piece of shit. The second-most powerful Council position in Valenul could not be replaced by half-breed filth. It would be a disgrace to the very title.

“You did before,” Madan said, quieter now.

The reply from Azriel, whispered, could not be heard from Loren’s vantage point around the corner. His mind whirled. He had never heard of a blood heir to the Caldwell line—they died centuries ago. What could he do, then, to prevent this heinous ascension?

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I’ll abdicate.”

“To who?”

“You.”

Loren had heard enough. He pushed away from the wall and returned to the front door. Outside, he called for the stablehand to return his stallion. He mounted the horse and yanked the reins to face the long drive. None of what he had just discovered would happen as far as he was concerned.

Those low-standing men would never be accepted as part of the Society. Whether they spoke the truth or not, he now had much to consider.

The strangest part of it all, he realized as he started toward the road, was their sudden appearance in all their lives. How had he not considered the oddity of it sooner? Both men, according to the paperwork he had read weeks ago on them, moved from simple grounds guards to personal guards at the Caldwell Estate almost a year and a half ago—not six months before Ariadne’s kidnapping—and frequently requested to be stationed in Laeton.

Then Azriel joined his cousin at the Harlow Estate a mere fortnight after the first notice of Lord Governor Caldwell’s illness.

Why did either of them continue in their positions as personal guards? If they knew they were to be named the heirs of the Caldwell Estate, they would have done better to join their distant family and take up the mantle of Steward as the lord passed in peace.

Unless, of course, they were hiding something.

At the old highway, Loren spurred his stallion toward town. Only one way to find out what they were hiding, and that required taking a deeper look into their lineage. Azriel Tenebra might be a bastard, but he needed to know how he connected to the Caldwell family.

Chapter 17

Ariadne could no longer wear the gown Revelie had made for the engagement ball. The short, capped sleeves would have been perfect for the late spring celebration, and everything she had put together during the weeks of planning matched it perfectly. Rich emerald garlands amongst sapphire and burgundy flowers paired well with the deep crimson fabric.

Long sleeves, however, covered the yellowing bruise on her wrist. She did not know if it was from not having fed since the night at the Bistro or the sheer strength of the General, which caused her arm to turn purple within minutes. What she did know was her strong vampire bones were all that kept her arm intact. Without them, Loren would have snapped it in half.

---