Page 82 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

Ariadne swayed and turned her gaze in a desperate search for someone—anyone—who might wake her from the nightmare unfolding around her. At the back of the room, standing in his usual place, Madan looked on with shock. His eyes flickered to her, and he shook his head slowly. There was nothing he could do.

A hand slid into hers. Ariadne jumped and almost ripped her hand away, but Emillie held fast. She squeezed hard and asked, “Are you alright?”

Words failed her. No. She most certainly was not alright, but not for the reason anyone was thinking as their judging gazes swept over her. Because of Loren, she appeared as a harlot who invited the advances of a guard. No matter that he claimed it was forced, the Society always blamed the women first.

Worst of all, he painted Azriel as an immoral criminal—again.

The dance floor cleared for the duel, and Azriel and Loren made their way to its center. The General held a hand out to his nearest soldier. A sword, produced with that song-like sound of steel being released from its sheath, passed to him. He had not brought his own, expecting the night to proceed as normal.

Across the floor, Azriel pulled his own sword from his back. The weapon was less flashy but just as sharp. Its edges gleamed in the firelight cast by the chandeliers overhead.

General and guard circled each other. A gleam sparkled in Loren’s wintry blue eyes, his mouth curling at the corners into a wicked smirk. He shifted his shoulders in circles, warming up his muscles for what would inevitably be a short fight in high favor.

Across the dance floor, Azriel’s expression descended into cold calm. It was how he looked the first night they had met. Calculating. Focused. He did not move like Loren did and instead kept his sword’s tip pointed to the floor between them. His pale eyes almost darkened with the hate radiating from him.

Then the General struck.

Chapter 18

Emillie did not understand what was happening. When she had entered Ariadne’s rooms earlier that evening, it became painfully obvious how her sister felt about the engagement. Her reserved, ghost-like countenance said more than the reassuring words. It had been like stepping a year into the past when she had struggled to coax Ariadne from her new suite.

The moment Azriel appeared at the top of the stairs beside her father and Loren, Emillie knew something was wrong, as did the rest of the onlookers. Beside her, Camilla’s sharp intake of breath drew her attention from the silent descent of the men with Ariadne trailing behind.

“Look at her lips,” Revelie whispered from her other side, clutching Emillie’s arm. “And Mister Tenebra.”

Then she saw it. The ruined lip stain and the corresponding smear across Azriel’s mouth told the truth. Loren lied, of course, as he had the first time he had tried to kill the guard with lashes. Now, he had the entire Society on his side.

Camilla covered her mouth. “Do you think he really—“

“No.” Emillie shook her head. “No, I think this was a long time coming.”

At least she prayed to every god listening that was the case. If it had been anything different, Emillie did not believe Ariadne would have come out with the men.

“I will be back,” Emillie whispered, before moving to her sister’s side.

Emillie slid her hand into Ariadne’s, holding firm when her sister jumped and nearly pulled away. “Are you alright?”

The non-response spoke volumes. No, Ariadne was not okay. Not as the two men circled one another, swords in hand. The General moved like a predator stalking his next meal. In a way, he was. The Caersan had been targeting the half-fae for months. But the guard stared back, face drawn and nostrils flaring, as though he was ready to finish what he started.

Brave, considering the General’s training and experience.

Loren lunged. Azriel blocked with ease and struck back. Metal clashed again and again, ringing through the ballroom to the response of gasps and hisses.

“What happened?” Emillie tried to engage her sister again, this time working hard to keep her mouth from moving too much. She did not want others to try guessing what she said.

Ariadne did not look at her. Eyes still glued to the duel, she said on a breath, “I made my choice.”

Her choice? She chose the half-fae guard over the Caersan General? It was not so long ago that she had been fawning over the most powerful military figure of Valenul. Her eyes never left the Caersan.

Until Azriel spoke up for her and was lashed for it. Something broke in Ariadne then. Whatever glamour the General had held over her diminished, and she had never looked at him with the same passion again. Even if she never admitted the change of heart.

Until now.

The guard parried another attack, then slid into a quick riposte which nicked the General’s shoulder. Azriel spilled the first blood, much to the astonishment of the crowd.

Loren lifted his lip in a snarl, twisted aside, and doubled down on his next attack. The strength of the swing forced Azriel back a step, though the guard did not look surprised by the move. Both swords swung hard, colliding with a rasp.

Footing regained, Azriel pushed back. Loren stumbled, and the Caersan onlookers gasped. For a beat, it appeared Azriel could land the fatal blow. He rushed forward, and the General righted himself quick enough to lunge in.

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