Page 84 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“Do you think they will marry?” a Caersan woman fanned herself and leaned toward her husband.

Now Azriel looked up. He let the sword fall from Loren’s throat so the General could rise again. As much as he’d dreamed of marrying Ariadne, he’d never considered the possibility of it being real.

The man scoffed. “A bastard guard? Never.”

“He may not have a choice,” she pointed out. “No one else would touch such a—“

“Hush.” Her husband cut her off with a warning look. “She is still the daughter of the Princeps.”

Azriel slipped his sword into the sheath on his back. He studied the faces around him, including Loren’s, white with anger and twisted into a snarl. Markus, to his credit, appeared unperplexed at the outcome. Ariadne, not far behind her father, didn’t take her wide eyes off him, just as he’d struggled to do throughout the duel. Emillie gripped her sister’s hand and gaped openly at him and Loren.

The General stood, swaying a bit from the rush. “Coward should have killed me.”

Azriel turned, his vision darkening. If he lost control, Loren wouldn’t be the only casualty. No soldier would allow him to attack their General again now the duel was finished.

Azriel glared at the General. “I’d rather be a coward than a man who abuses women.”

Sound erupted from the crowd at the accusation. Gasps and calls for proof rang out. Soldiers’ hands moved to their swords—the words as good as a threat to them.

Azriel, however, turned to Markus as though the Princeps could explain. As the onlookers took note of this, they, too, turned in that direction. Either their High Councilman would admit that Loren, the General of Valenul, was abusive or decline to comment. The former would be damning. The latter left enough to speculation that Azriel’s accusation would hold weight. Either way, Loren wouldn’t walk away without a mark on his reputation.

Markus said nothing.

More whispers arose, then someone called out incredulously, “You would let your daughter wed a servant?”

A laugh spread across the crowd as though such a thing was the most ridiculous thing any of the pompous Caersans had ever heard. Azriel stilled.

Madan’s clear voice carried over the din. “He’s not a servant.”

“He is a half-blood bastard guard,” Loren snarled, wiping the blood from his nose. “And you have no voice here.”

Azriel whipped around, his breath catching. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not now, in front of everyone. Madan leveled his glare at Loren and reached into his coat pocket. A moment later, he held out a thick letter, folded within its ivory envelope to Markus. “This is the late Lord Governor Caldwell’s Will. Azriel Tenebra is the heir to the Caldwell Estate.”

Silence descended over the ballroom. No onlookers seemed to move or even breathe as Madan stepped forward so the Princeps could take it. He did so and yanked the pages from the envelope.

Azriel gaped at Madan, the blood draining from his face. Every opportunity to disappear and leave the estate to Madan vanished. But that wasn’t Madan’s fault when he was foolish enough to act on the bond, leaving Ariadne ruined in the eyes of the Society.

“Impossible,” Loren said. “No half-breed has ever held a title such as a Lord Governor.”

“Correct.” Markus’s mouth tightened into a thin line. He looked over the papers at Azriel, a frown forming between his brows. “But there has always been a direct heir before now.”

Several Caersan men shifted uncomfortably, glancing from their wives to the Princeps. Those who remembered Markus’s first family. Who knew the name of the Caldwell who would have been heir and bore the responsibility of keeping it all a secret from the next generation so the Princeps could move on with his new family.

No one spoke the names of his lost children.

After a long moment, Markus read aloud, “It is with great pride that I, Garth Amon Caldwell, Lord Governor of the Eastern Province, Last of the First Generation, and Guardian of the Keonis Tree, pass my titles, estate, and seat on the High Council to my eldest kin, Lord Azriel Tenebra. His status should henceforth be recognized as Caersan and a full-blooded member of the Society, given the blessing of the Princeps.”

Azriel took a slow, deep breath and raised his chin. Markus Harlow now held the power to either accept his position or cast the Will aside. If the Princeps chose to ignore Caldwell’s final decree, his life and Ariadne’s reputation would be forfeit.

“His father was not even a vampire.” Loren addressed the crowd, gesturing to Azriel. “He does not belong amongst us. And you would give a half-breed bastard a seat at the High Council?”

Standing tall under such scrutiny became more and more difficult. Azriel’s shoulders turned in.

Madan sighed and spoke quiet enough for no others to hear him, “My Lord Princeps, it’s your decision alone. You’ve seen the truth of the man who your daughter would wed otherwise. Her heart doesn’t want him. She made her choice, and you’ve experienced firsthand what happens when a marriage is forced… and when it’s a union of love.”

Nostrils flaring at the mention of his past—no doubt wondering how a guard knew his best-kept secrets—Markus pierced Madan with his amber gaze. For an instant, Madan shrank back under the unyielding stare.

Azriel swallowed hard, uncertain how he could lend his support in that moment.

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