Page 17

Chapter 16

T he Harlows certainly knew one thing when they had their home built: they would be Valenul’s greatest family and needed to show it. Neither Ariadne nor Emillie saw it for what it truly was. An estate? A manor? A home?

No.

It was the largest, most well-cared for, and exquisite building not only in Laeton but all of Valenul. From the moment Loren first saw it as a child, he decided it would one day belong to him, and its potential would finally be unlocked as a castle—the place where a monarch rested his head and laid the foundations of an unstoppable kingdom.

Now, it was Loren’s turn to make it his own. New paint, new rugs, new extensions added over the course of mere days thanks to mage architects, engineers, and landscapers hired from Algorath, including an entire wing outfitted for his expanding Court. Revelie took up residence in the first of the rooms, and the King’s Sword—the title he had finally decided to give Nikolai —laid his claim to another. Before long, there would be a dozen or more couples and individuals residing within his halls.

Until then, he had a kingdom to run.

With the sitting room returned to its previous status, Loren’s throne room sprawled across the corridor from the ballroom. A door fitted into the side wall, nestled between two massive pillars, led into what he so lovingly referred to as his war room. Inside, a grand circular table took up space at its center with a relief map of the Keonis Mountains and Valley—a perfect match to that he used at the Hub. On the walls hung the long crimson banners of Valenul with a singular gold version of the same design framing the large chair meant for him.

Loren sat beneath the shining banner as his officers filed into the room, first greeting him with a bow before milling about and talking amongst themselves. As required, Nikolai remained at his side and spoke only briefly to those he had once served alongside. Though Loren knew Nikolai’s change of status had not been what his friend expected, having him close by was a comfort.

“Let us begin.” The words were hardly out of Loren’s mouth before silence descended.

Officers arranged themselves around the table with those highest-ranking nearest Loren. Standing straight-backed and ready for instructions, tension seeped through the room as they looked to him for guidance and orders.

“Before any of you provide an update,” Loren said from his seat, “I have one of my own.”

The officers shifted, eyes flickering to those on either side of them before refocusing. Rumors and speculations had made their way back to Loren about a great deal of things: what was happening in the provinces, what the new line of power would look like, and who would be the next General.

It was the last of those that Loren wished to put to rest first. He needed a strong hand in charge of his military. Though, as the King, he would remain at its head, he would no longer be able to travel to the Hub or make his way around the kingdom quite as often.

“Talk has turned to who will be leading this fine army now that I have ascended to my rightful place upon this Gods-given throne.” Loren rested his hands on the arms of the chair in emphasis. Every seat he took would now be an extension of the throne just beyond the door at the far end of the room from him. “I have looked to my most loyal officers to provide such guidance, and I am pleased to announce our next General.”

The silence that descended in the room had Loren sitting a little straighter. Not one soldier’s attention wavered. Those at the far end of the room knew they had no chance, yet hope flared in their gazes nonetheless. Loren took the time to look each and every one of them square in the face before landing on his successor.

“General Trev Wintre,” he said to a chorus of whoops and claps. “Congratulations.”

“Well deserved!” an officer shouted from across the room.

Another joined in, “General Wintre!”

“An excellent choice, Your Majesty!”

The cheers and congratulations spread around the room for several minutes. Loren lavished in the praise of his foresight and generosity, leaning back in his chair with a wry smile. After making his rounds about the war room, Trev turned on his heel and bowed low to Loren before taking his place at the left of the throne, opposite Nikolai.

With all the excitement in the room for the success of a shared friend, Loren found it most strange when his Sword did not join in. When Trev walked by, Nikolai gave him a mere nod and smile that did not reach his eyes. He took his role entirely too seriously at times.

“Now that is settled,” Loren said after eyeing Nikolai, “I am ready to hear the updates. Who has word of my betrothed’s whereabouts?”

The elation of the previous announcement dissipated entirely. A blond-haired officer with deep blue veins along his pale jaw at the far end of the table, however, stood a little straighter. Attention turned to him in unison.

“Your Majesty, I was sent by Colonel Foster of Eastwood Province.” The Caersan bowed low and continued as he straightened, “My name is Lieutenant James Barde.”

“Welcome, Lieutenant.” Loren cocked his head as he surveyed the man. “Why, though, has Colonel Foster failed to attend himself?”

To his credit, James was ready for the question. He lifted his chin. “There has been an extraordinary amount of dhemon activity in Eastwood, Your Majesty. As such, the Colonel deemed it most necessary to remain to quash the current influx.”

Loren nodded once. “A wise decision. What other news comes from Eastwood, then?”

The Lieutenant’s throat bobbed, and he clasped his hands behind his back. The nerves almost made Loren smirk. He remembered feeling the same way when addressing Markus Harlow during his stint as General and Loren’s as a mere Sergeant.

“While there have been no sightings,” James said with a surprisingly even voice, “there have been whispers of the Crowe reemerging.”

To Loren’s left, Trev snorted. “The Crowe is dead. He has been for over a year.”

James inclined his head to the new General. “Indeed, General. However, a dhemon has taken up the same name and title as the Crowe had prior to his death.”

An ugly, oily feeling curled through Loren’s gut. There was only one dhemon who would be so brazen as to call himself the Crowe and the Dhemon King. He did not try to hide the sneer that twisted his mouth. “Previous intelligence provided us with a different name for who they call King these days: Ehrun.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” James refocused on Loren, fist over heart. “I am merely reporting back what we have heard as of late. There seems to be some turmoil amongst the dhemons regarding whom they look to lead.”

When the Lieutenant opened his mouth to speak again yet said nothing, Loren narrowed his eyes. “What else, then?”

“You asked about your betrothed.”

“I did.” That piqued Loren’s interest.

“We have heard,” James said, “that the Crowe has taken a Caersan wife.”

Loren gripped the arms of his chair hard. Keeping his temper in check was important in this role. His inferiors could not see him lose his head over something so trivial as a rumor . He would not play into the image Azriel Tenebra had painted of him prior to his fall from grace. Though Loren had cleansed the Society’s mouths of the half-breed bastard’s words, he could not change how they might still see him. Patience was vital.

“And how,” Loren said with deadly calm, “did you hear of this?”

“Colonel Foster has received word from an old friend now close to the Crowe.” The Lieutenant tugged his cuffs straight. “Someone on his council.”

A shock of excitement shot through Loren’s veins in unison with the murmur from the rest of the officers. He leaned forward with more interest. “A spy? Do they report regularly?”

“That is my understanding, though communication is inconsistent.” Now James seemed to have gained more confidence. His shoulders eased down from his ears, and his voice took on a clearer tone. “Colonel Foster claims he has worked with this individual for some time.”

“A name, Lieutenant,” Trev finally snapped. “We need a name.”

At that, James deflated. “Colonel Foster did not provide me with their name in the event I was intercepted by the Crowe’s men on my way from Eastwood.”

Annoyance fluttered through Loren at that. Of course, he would have done exactly the same as Foster in this instance. With such a critical individual in place amongst the dhemons, he would not risk that information for anything.

After a long moment, Loren nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant. I commend your candor and the vigilance of Colonel Foster. As it were, I need the name of this individual as he may be the key to locating and rescuing your future Queen.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” James bowed again. “I will inform the Colonel and report back to you with haste.”

Loren sat back at that and looked around the room. “Did no one else come with anything to report, or is this fine gentleman the only one who prepared for this meeting?”

Another murmur swept around the room before another cleared his throat. “Captain Sven Hooke of Waer Province, Your Majesty.”

The Caersan had rich brown skin, his webbing of veins bright as lightning across his throat and jaw that matched his eyes perfectly. His blond hair fell over his brow in curls that matched that of his sister’s, Hyacinth.

“I recall,” Loren said and watched him expectantly. His sister was one he wished to bring into his Court; having the blessing of her family members would make such a move much smoother. Someone as vibrant as she would entice the Caersan men from across Valenul to not only bend the knee to him but remain close to gain the favor of the women nearest him.

Her addition would provide the added benefit of keeping the powerful Hooke family securely under his thumb.

“A fae merchant was brought in for questioning last week.” Sven fixed the cuffs of his shirt to avoid eye contact with anyone at the table. “He reported having seen a Caersan woman traveling with a small band of spice merchants through the Keonis Mountains in the west.”

“Did he describe the woman?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Now Sven looked up, his vivid blue gaze piercing Loren with a strange intensity—as though he knew the plans for his sister and already disliked them. “He said she had brown hair, freckles, and blue eyes. She wore an engagement necklace with a blue stone.”

“Ah.” A slow smirk crossed Loren’s lips. “Lady Nightingale.”

“It would appear that way, yes.” Sven inclined his head. “The merchant could not verify whether or not she was in distress or the identities of her companions. He claimed they were headed toward L’Oden Forest with a lycan.”

Loren could not conceal his disgust. “It is below her status to be fraternizing with a criminal.”

Another nod from Sven. “Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“I want her found and returned to Laeton immediately.”

Sven paled. “Your Majesty?”

“With Lord Nightingale’s untimely death,” Loren said, “it is in her best interest to return here. After all, her sister is to be Queen. It would not do to have her running around with fae vermin. Send a company to L’Oden and find her.”

After a beat of silence, Sven bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Conversation turned, then, to the tactics being used across the provinces. Status of the military moved to the forefront, and Loren sat back to allow Trev his time to shine. The men discussed troop movements, how to utilize their new information from the spy set up with the Crowe, and where additional support was required.

And all the while, Loren could think of only one thing: he was one step closer to having Ariadne back, and with her, he would remove the final faint remains of doubt still present amongst the Lords of the Society.

Returning to Auhla felt different for Ariadne after visiting the clan village and proving her capabilities as a new member of the dhemon community and the Dhemon Queen. When Razer landed on the lawn just outside the front doors of the cliffside keep, Ariadne slid down the scales into Azriel’s arms and felt no pang of apprehension in her chest. It was not home, nor did she believe it would ever feel like home.

But it was familiar, and that, in a way, was comforting.

She laced her pale fingers with her husband’s of deep blue and marched up the steps with more confidence than she had ever felt before. Inside, her attention skimmed over the bloodstain. It skipped past the dungeon steps, lit from below by the single torch. Beside her, Azriel stiffened in preparation for her dash across the entry hall in a mad frenzy to escape the memories.

When she did not rush through, his heavy gaze fixed on her. Looking up, she smiled.

“Are you well, my love?” The question was spoken on a breath with a frown.

Ariadne nodded. “Quite.”

“Come,” he said, lips grazing the shell of her ear, “I want to show you something.”

Rather than turn into the great hall where few people remained from the night and not many had yet risen for the day shift around the keep, Azriel guided her down a side corridor she had not yet explored. By the time she reached the entry hall most nights, her singular objective became exiting the building at top speed or making it to the great hall before the darkness crept in.

Voices faded behind them. Despite the few awake at that time, more and more had flocked to Auhla as promised by the clans that had been visited over the weeks. The influx eased the tension for many by providing more hands to complete the tasks needed to care for the keep and its residents. More to hunt, cook, clean, and train.

It did not, however, ease the volume of the keep. For someone who enjoyed curling up on a couch to read a book and lose herself between the pages, she did not take kindly to the constant noise.

Azriel paused just long enough to push open a door before stepping back for Ariadne to enter. Yet when she saw what lay beyond the threshold, she lost all sense of her feet.

“What is this?” she whispered.

The room appeared to have once been a gathering space. Chairs and couches were clumped together in arrangements not unlike those found within a Caerson manor. Small tables sat between the seats, barren except for the occasional unlit candelabra. Yet none of that took Ariadne’s breath away. She had seen enough parlors and sitting rooms to know when she looked upon one of those.

Bookshelves of all sizes and all states of distress were propped along the walls. Some were empty, while others sported stacks of books or a landslide of tomes that had tipped over after being propped in a neat line. Tall, wide texts with pictures and short, thin novels were clumped together with no rhyme or reason to them.

“ Auhla has no library,” Azriel said as she took a step into the room. “So I took shelves from around the keep and brought them here with every book I could find.”

Ariadne’s lips parted as she ran her hand over a book she could not even read due to the foreign language. Pivoting on her heel, she looked up at him with wide eyes. “When did you do this?”

“Not long after we arrived.” He crossed the threshold and leaned his shoulder against the nearest wall to watch her with that burning red gaze. A slow smirk curled his lips as he said, “If Madan asks…I don’t know what happened to his shelves.”

With a snort, she closed the distance between them and folded herself into his arms. “Thank you.”

Azriel tucked his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deep as his horns caged them together. “I know this is no home to you, but I don’t want you to hate it here while we search for one together.”

Heart fluttering, Ariadne nodded. “I do not know what to say.”

“Say nothing.” He took her hand in his and shifted to the nearest chair. “Just sit with me. Read to me.”

“I think you would need to read to me .”

“There are books from Valenul here.” Azriel fought back another twist of his mouth. “Again. Don’t tell Madan I took them.”

Giggling at his thievery, Ariadne peeled away from him and paced up and down the bookshelves. It did not take long to search through the meager choices to find those that she could read. Of those, she pulled out the only text she found even remotely suitable: The Garnet Tomb of Anwenja and Other Lost Fables .

By the time she turned back around, Azriel had settled into a large armchair. He lounged in such a way that made him look even more the part of the Dhemon King, eyes tracking her movement. Though she moved toward the chair beside him, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her back onto his lap.

With a squeal, Ariadne said, “You are—”

“Perfect?” he cut in with a smirk. “Thoughtful?”

“Insatiable,” she finished. His arms, tight around her waist when first she sat on his lap, released the longer he held her there as they always did when his bond was slaked.

Azriel brushed his lips across her cheek. “How could I not be with Yvhaltrinja ? After your feat in that village, the clansmen will speak of your bravery when they arrive.”

Plucking at the red tunic she still wore, Ariadne tilted her head back to look at him. “I do not feel very regal as of now.”

“Oh, my love.” Azriel’s red eyes ran down her body. “You exude it.”

Heat flushed across Ariadne’s cheeks. She sat back against his chest, relishing the way his handing ran up her thigh. They may have spent the last several hours astride a dragon, but sitting there with Azriel made the aches fade faster.

“Tell me something, Yvhaltrinja ,” Azriel said, pushing a loose curl back from her face. A shadow passed in his vibrant gaze, and he hesitated before continuing. “Why did you stop me from killing her?”

Ariadne stilled, her fingers just cracking open the book she had collected. “The woman in the village?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“You know why I want her alive.”

“She wouldn’t have stopped.” He brushed a thumb over her face, throat bobbing as his gaze went distant. “But I wouldn’t have let her hurt you.”

Holding his wrist, she gave him a light squeeze. “I know. But she is one of the many reasons I want to find that ritual.”

“Many?” His eyebrows raised. “Do you have a list now?”

She scowled and turned her attention to her hands as she set the book on the table beside them. Even they had changed over the weeks of training. The muscles flexed differently now when she twisted her fingers into the hem of her tunic. “You know of whom I speak.”

Now it was his turn to glare at nothing in particular. He grit his sharp teeth together, looking away to pin the wrath brewing there on a distant point. “Why are you so adamant about saving that monster? I want him dead.”

Between the torture and being left in the hands of men who assaulted her, Ariadne had no reason to help Ehrun. She hated him. Still, the possibilities weighed on her. She did not want to help that brute of a dhemon for his sake…

“Kall told me the truth.”

Azriel snapped his attention back to her. “Did he?”

“I know they are brothers.” She met his gaze. “Did he think I would blame him?”

A crease formed between Azriel’s brows. “He wasn’t sure how you’d react and asked us to let him be the one to tell you.”

“He cannot hold that burden.” Ariadne adjusted her seat on his lap, tucking in closer. “Kall deserves to have his brother back. So please…we cannot kill Ehrun.”

Azriel’s sigh carried with it a heavy weight of decades of suffering. “I can’t promise anything, but I can try.”

“That is all I ask.” She eased back into him. “You had incredible self-control during the trip.”

“I have you to thank for that.”

Searching his face, she shook his head. Something struck her as odd about how at ease he had been over the recent nights. “You stopped yourself from killing someone who hit me.”

He looked away as though ashamed that she considered that such a large feat. “I had help.”

The discomfort of a secret kept between them crept through Ariadne. By the way he avoided her eye contact and the hesitation in his words, she wagered he had not planned to tell her whatever this was. Dragons and familial ties were one thing, and they had hurt enough to know they had been kept from her. But this was laden with shame.

“Help from who?” Jealousy did not overcome her often. With Azriel’s very soul bound to her, she did not fear infidelity of any sort. For him to seek someone else for aid, however…

“Phulan.”

Icy heat flared in Ariadne’s veins. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment to temper the rising tide of anger. After trusting the mage for so long, why would either of them keep something so important from her?

“Ariadne…” Azriel took her hand. Still, she did not look at him as he said, “I needed help, and only she could do this.”

“What could she do for you that I cannot?” Ariadne did not squeeze back when his grip tightened, and a dark part of her reveled in the pain that flashed across his face in her periphery.

Azriel released her and scrubbed his face with his hands. “She’s a healer , my love. I needed healing .”

As if her blood did not do just that. “She cannot heal your bond to me any more than she can break it.”

He paled at that. “She told you.”

“Of course she told me,” Ariadne hissed as though there would be prying ears at the door when most of the residents awake were finishing their meals. “At least I thought she would not keep such secrets from me. Just as I thought you would not.”

“Listen to me. Please.”

The same words he had used in the study of the Caldwells’ Laeton manor after revealing his dhemon form. She had not listened to him then, and though the distance had helped her clear her mind, it had not helped her understand. So rather than argue further, she sucked in a deep breath and looked up to him with what she hoped appeared to be a receptive expression.

“You know what happens when we aren’t together.” His eyes trailed over her face, then dipped lower to the rise of her breasts. “I needed something to keep the bond from shredding my mind. Something to…numb it.”

At first, it made no sense. From everything she knew of bonds, dhemons could not numb them any more than they could pull their own heart from their chest. It was intrinsically connected to who they were.

Then she remembered the night Azriel had stumbled from Melia’s dining room with no control over his own body. The unfocused eyes. The woman who took his hand. The way he followed her so willingly.

The bond had not kept him safe or aware then, had it?

Ariadne gaped at him. “Have you been drinking Melia’s potions?”

“No!” Panic lit in his eyes, and he shook his head. After a beat, his shoulders drooped. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly ,” she repeated, the hot anger subsiding to a cool fear.

He ran his fingers through the loose strands of his hair, pushing them back into place. “It’s the same type of illusory potion, but it’s much less…invasive.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can think clearly.” His eyes bore into her with such an intensity she could not look away. “I know where I am, what I’m doing…but it keeps the bond from telling me that you’re dead.”

Her stomach sank at that. Trying to imagine such a sensation was impossible. She had no way to gauge how it would impact her. To have no control over her own thoughts and be wholly convinced that the one person she loved most in the world had been killed? No. Just the thought of it made her feel sick.

“So it is not what Melia gave you?”

Again, Azriel shook his head. “No, my love. I would never want that. Phulan would never give me something of that strength. It is just enough to keep me here…where I can be me.”

Ariadne considered it. There had to be more to it. Something either he did not want to tell her or something Phulan wished to withhold. Either way, it seemed too good to be true.

“But it works?” Her voice was quiet as she looked him over, breathing through the sick uncertainty curling in her gut.

“Yes,” he breathed. “It’s helped…so much.”

After another moment of contemplation, Ariadne nodded in acceptance. Relief rushed off Azriel in a breath. Tension eased from his balled fists, his fingers smoothing along the top of her thighs, and he leaned closer to her.

“Thank you,” he said, bringing their foreheads together and shutting his eyes. “Thank you for listening.”

“Do not keep these secrets from me,” she whispered, cupping his face and pushing a loose strand of hair back as he so often did to her. “I want to help you, too.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

She pressed her lips to his. “If you are allowed to worry about me, then I am allowed to worry about you.”

“As you wish.” A small smile curled his lips. “Now, my love…will you read to me?”