Page 81 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Loren hesitated. He looked from Markus to Azriel and back. “That proves nothing.”

“Then pray tell,” Markus said calmly, “why you will not prove your innocence in harming my daughter?”

“If it was me,” Loren said, stepping closer to Ariadne, “then it was an accident made in an attempt to assist her.”

“Lies,” Azriel snarled and jerked forward. Ariadne caught his gaze and gave a subtle shake of her head. He froze, fist curled at his side.

The General smirked up at him. “The true problem is yet unsolved.”

“General,” Ariadne breathed and pulled out of her father’s grip. She straightened her sleeve. “I am sorry. Please—”

To Azriel’s increasing irritation, Loren ignored her. “You defiled my fiancée. There are consequences for such bold behavior.”

“No.” Ariadne grabbed the General’s arm. “Please stop!”

“Silence, Daughter,” Markus snapped. “You have done enough tonight.”

If Azriel could have killed both Caersan men, he would. Ariadne, though, would never forgive him. That understanding was the only thing staying his hand.

“A duel,” Markus declared. “For her honor.”

Loren scoffed. “A lowly guard? He should be hanged.”

“And domestic violence was outlawed decades ago.” Markus raised a brow. “Prove your innocence by fighting for her hand. The gods will make their judgment.”

Again, Ariadne shook her head and whispered, “Do not do this.”

“When?” Azriel trained his focus away from her, unable to withstand her pleas if he didn’t concentrate. The bond, stoked by their moment of passion, pushed for him to abide by her commands.

A wicked smirk twisted Loren’s face. “Immediately.”

Not so long ago, it seemed the world had fallen out from beneath her in the most glorious way. Ariadne, wrapped in an embrace with a man her heart had chosen, did not think beyond her own desires. The rules and traditions of the Society were as troublesome as a fly—mere noise and no real bother.

What a fool she had been.

Now the world fell out from beneath her in the most horrific way. The duel, posed and accepted, determined her future with no thought as to what she would want. Given the chance, she would cloister herself away and tell every man who wished to speak with her to go away. She would grow old as a lonely spinster with no one but her sister for company.

That was not the reality Ariadne lived in, however. No, instead, she played the damsel to be saved, the maiden to be wed, and the Caersan woman silenced because of her gender. She hated each role. The first left her with scars better left hidden beneath her clothes. The second shackled her to the highest bidder like a broodmare. The last kept her muzzled so no one would listen to a word she said.

Even if she told her father the truth about the bruise, the General of their army held more sway. His daughter though she may be, Markus Harlow had never listened to her plights. The only reason he asked her about what happened in the mountains was to gather intelligence for Loren to use against the dhemons.

A Caersan woman’s power came from her husband’s position and the rumors she could spin to get what she wanted. It was all any of them had.

So Ariadne watched, heart racing, as the men filed out of the room. Her father lingered on the threshold, overseeing both Loren’s and Azriel’s departure, before following them out. That he did not lock her into the sitting room as they handled the duel was a miracle.

Ariadne followed them all at a distance. She clasped her hands together and wrung her fingers again and again. Her skin felt cool despite the dapple of perspiration on her forehead and neck. Blood pounding in her ears, she could not hear the hush that fell over the waiting guests when the four of them appeared at the top of the stairs leading into the ballroom.

Azriel was going to die. An excellent guard though he may be, the General’s years of combat training and experience would overwhelm him. Despite the terms yet to be decided, she knew Loren would not stop until the half-vampire lay in pieces. Even if, somehow, Azriel managed to scrape by in the duel, he was not a Caersan nor a part of the Society and risked being hanged for what they had done.

No matter the outcome, she would end up with Loren, and Azriel would be dead. Once again, he would pay for her mistakes. Only this time…with his life.

“A most egregious development has occurred,” Markus said to the quiet guests. “To settle a dispute, General Gard has challenged Azriel Tenebra to a duel.”

“Speak plainly,” Loren snapped. “The lowly bastard was discovered forcing himself upon Miss Harlow.”

A collective inhale of breath from the Caersan, then eyes swiveled in her direction. Ariadne’s heart flopped over, and at once, her face heated while her body shook from a sudden drenching of cold. In a dozen words, Loren had ruined her reputation, securing her to him. Markus glared openly at him, knowing well the consequences of what the General had said.

But Loren paid no mind. He barked a few quick orders to the soldiers present in the room, and they moved forward, clearing a space where the dance floor should be. No music played as they moved, and murmurs of excitement and surprise took its place from the Caersan.

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