Page 86 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

If he even had. Accepted was a strong term even if his title and position had been finalized. Most members of the Council would likely react to his appointment just as Loren had: with disdain. That meant the entire Gard family—the one she had hoped to marry into for so long—would never truly accept him. The Lord and Lady would likely look down on her now as well.

Yet somehow, someway… Ariadne did not care. Perhaps that was the realization which shocked her most. Despite watching her fiancé lose a duel to the man she loved—yes, she understood it was love the moment her father asked—she was at peace with it all. The violence, the anger, and most of all, the outcome.

She had not known Azriel was so skilled. Each movement he had made throughout the duel appeared relaxed and calculated. Aside from the jab to his middle, it seemed as though he knew what Loren would do next. Mind-reading was a strong term. Studious seemed more apt.

How, then, did Azriel find the time to study the General’s sequences? His tells? Ridiculous though it was, he looked as practiced in it as one would if they had fought before. Impossible.

Perhaps, when Azriel joined the lower military ranks as a personal guard, he had been taught to fight in a similar manner. It made more sense than him facing off against Loren in the past.

What seemed to take the General off-guard the most had been the moment Azriel took him to the floor. While Ariadne knew the soldiers in their military trained hand-to-hand combat from watching her father give orders at the Hub as a child, she could not recall them learning such techniques. Had Loren been expecting it, he never would have lost the grip on his sword. The movements, however, were still familiar to her.

A shiver worked its way down Ariadne’s spine despite the heat from the fire and tea. She sipped it, relishing the cascade of brisk lemon and soothing honey. The steam worked its way across her face as she took a shaky breath.

Try as she might to ignore the similarities in Azriel’s combat style and that of the dhemons she had witnessed fighting in the past, she could not shake it. Again and again, she saw the massive, horned men circling one another, weaponless and glistening with sweat. Ehrun, the dhemon whom she had come to know and hate, slammed the other—her kidnapper—to the ground in a similar manner to what she had seen tonight.

That Azriel knew the same moves told her precisely why he walked away victorious: he had faced off with those monsters many times and learned how to move like them to protect himself. It made sense.

“Did you know he was connected to the Caldwells?” Revelie whispered to Emillie and Camilla, drawing Ariadne’s attention.

Emillie shook her head and glanced toward her. “Not at all. Neither of us.”

“Will your father push for a marriage after the General’s accusations?” Camilla sipped her tea, eyes bright.

Emillie chewed her lip. “I do not see why not. He made him the next Lord Governor, after all.”

“No one will want me after this.” Ariadne looked back at the fire, her chest constricting at the very thought. Why did she care? She had wanted to fade into the background like Revelie, free to live her own life. But if the Society now considered her ruined, would Azriel even want her?

“Ariadne—”

“I had the best match of the Season,” she said and silently cursed the way her voice broke over her tight throat. Her father would still be furious. “I ruined it.”

The three Caersan women moved closer and sat beside and before her around the fire. Emillie tucked in close, her warmth decreasing the quakes of her body.

“What did he mean about the General finding pleasure in hurting women?” Revelie asked quietly, leaning forward to look Ariadne in the eye. “Did he hurt you?”

Emillie tensed. “I cannot imagine—”

“Yes.” Ariadne eased the sleeve of her gown up and held it out. “He is not a kind-hearted man.”

Camilla scoffed, taking Ariadne’s fingers and pulling her closer to inspect the fading bruise. “And you were going to marry him without saying anything?”

Blinking back tears, Ariadne nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?” Emillie’s wide eyes searched her for any hint of understanding. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Because that is the poison of the Society,” Revelie said. She sighed and gently pulled the sleeve back into place. “It tries to keep Caersan women in a position of weakness. It is not this way with Rusan vampires. Their women are hard-working and treated with respect.”

Camilla, Emillie, and Ariadne stared at her for a long moment. Though they had discussed existentialism in the past, the reality of their status in the aristocracy felt suffocating. The only sounds were the distant music in the ballroom and the snaps of the fire. Ariadne always knew the Rusan had a different way of living. Their customs were not as strict in many ways. Women could do as they liked without permission from the men of their families, and they could marry who they loved. To say Rusan women were respected, however, implied Caersan women were not.

“There are many things that need to change,” Camilla agreed after a beat of quiet. “Perhaps this will move things along.”

“This?” Emillie asked with a frown.

“Mister Tenebra’s—” Camilla cut herself off with a short, abrupt laugh. “Pardon me. Lord Governor Caldwell’s appointment despite his—to be frank—criminal record.”

“He is not a criminal,” Ariadne whispered, cheeks heating. “Unless you consider standing up for me a crime.”

Camilla placed a hand over her heart. “Apologies, doll. I meant no offense. His imprisonment is all I referred to.”

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