Page 94 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

What really happened that night? Did Azriel force himself on her? Was she compromised? If not, why would she ever choose a simple half-vampire guard over the General? Did she know he was the heir to the Caldwell Estate?

Absolutely none of the questions or attention enticed her.

So she lingered on the outskirts as her father peeled away to speak with the other Lords and studied the partygoers. Several passing officers shot daggers in her direction. Most Caersan women lingering in the corridors whispered amongst themselves and only looked her way as she drifted by. The one person she had hoped to see did not make an appearance.

For two weeks, she had heard from Azriel only twice, and both times were in a short letter apologizing for his absence. The thought was sweet. He remembered the insecurities she had expressed that night in the library and made strides to reassure her that he had not abandoned her. Not again. Never again.

Fingers slid into her palm.

“You are pacing.” Emillie gave her a firm squeeze.

Ariadne bit her lip and scanned the foyer and hall leading to the ballroom. “He is not here.”

“He may be waiting for you.”

“Perhaps.” She turned to where the music and joviality sprung. Showing her face in such a crowd after the last ball made her palms sweaty. “What if he did not come? What if he decided against the betrothal?”

Emillie laughed. “The man who has written to reassure you of his intentions?”

Heat flushed Ariadne’s cheeks as her sister tugged her toward the ballroom. “Emillie, I do not think—”

Guests nearest the door fell quiet as they entered. Like a wave, the boisterous conversations fell into an excited whisper. Caersan women leaned closer to chitter to one another while the men drew others’ attention with a sharp prod of their elbow. Eyes shifted to her, and like a wedge driven into the crowd, bodies parted to create a path forward. At the end stood Lord Governor Azriel Caldwell.

Ariadne faltered. Emillie gave her hand one last squeeze, then released her. Alone, she continued on with her blood pounding in her ears, drowning out the whispers.

Azriel, otherworldly handsome as always, looked vastly different than the last she had seen him, covered in blood and bruises. His raven hair, no longer all in a knot, hung mostly loose around his shoulders, with only the top half pulled back. Those pale, peridot eyes locked on her face and sent shocks through her body.

The strangest part of seeing him standing at the edge of the dance floor was the exchange of his guard’s clothes for those typical for a Caersan man. High, polished black boots and finely tailored black trousers remained while the white shirt appeared out of place. The dark damask vest shone with the thin, silver threads woven through like iridescent spiderwebs flickering in the light. His tailed jacket, the latest in fashion amongst the Caersan, only accentuated the width of his shoulders and, thus, his bastard lineage.

He met her curtsy with a bow and swept her hand in his to kiss her fingers, eyes lingering on her face. “Apologies for the delay.”

“Not at all,” she said, voice quiet. “You look…”

“Ridiculous,” he finished and flashed her a grin, then pulled from his pocket a long, thin black box. “You, however, are missing something.”

Heat rose to Ariadne’s cheeks as Azriel opened the box to reveal an obsidian velvet choker. Embedded at its center rested a large dark ruby. Thin, silver chains hung from it, interlocked and twisted into intricate lacework. When he pulled it from the box, the chains sparkled with dozens of tiny diamonds. Women gasped at the sight of it, echoing Ariadne’s own sharp inhale.

“I fear,” Azriel said in a low voice, the tension in his shoulders displaying his discomfort, “I have no beautiful words to say before everyone, except—”

“My Lord, you need not—”

“Except that I love you.”

Ariadne’s heart stuttered. She snapped her gaze up at the new Lord Governor, lungs burning as she struggled for breath. Those words, spoken loud enough for those nearest to hear, were all she wanted—needed—from him. Though not his first time uttering them, to have his feelings reiterated after a fortnight of wondering soothed the aching part of her.

He slid the empty box back into his pocket. “May I?”

“Please,” she breathed and shifted her dark curls out of the way.

Azriel stepped around her, draping the silver chain lace across her collarbones, and clasped the necklace in place. The third and—she prayed—final piece of engagement jewelry she would ever don. She shifted under the new weight of it and of the eyes swinging back to her.

It was Azriel’s touch that guided her attention, though. His fingers brushed down the slope of her neck, sending a wave of goosebumps across her arms before landing heavily on her shoulder. She turned her face up to him, heart full, and took in the sharp angles of his face. The scars she had grown used to were either faded or gone entirely. A shadow of a beard graced his jaw—a newer style taken by the younger Caersan men.

But Azriel did not return the look. He stared straight ahead, eyes blazing and mouth taut.

Ariadne followed his line of sight and froze. Across the dance floor, Loren glared back at them. His fingers curled hard around the glass in his hand, knuckles white. Despite his defeat at the ex-guard’s hands, he did not flinch away. Whether it be his position as General or his own foolhardiness, Ariadne did not know.

What she saw in his icy gaze, however, sent chills down her spine. He was not yet ready to forgive.

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