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“Stay. I’ll run her a hot bath,” the mage said quietly before disappearing after his wife.

He watched them go, that oily feeling slithering through his stomach once more. Across the hall, Kall looked up when Ariadne and Phulan passed, his brows low. They’d grown close over the past months.

And didn’t that only make matters worse?

It’d been some time since the bond tying Azriel to Ariadne had reared its ugly, jealous head in regards to another man. Heat seared through his veins the longer he stared at Kall. His fists clenched, and the din of the great hall faded behind the steady pump of his heart.

Every feeling was ridiculous. Every flash of anger and envy didn’t make sense. Not when he trusted Kall. Not when he trusted Ariadne. Yet the bond roared through him unbidden, demanding he remove all threats to his connection with her. The searing heat, worse than it had ever been during the Season in Laeton, grew like an inferno he couldn’t stifle no matter how hard he tried.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, snapping his attention away from the dhemon just as Kall swung his attention to Azriel, eyes widening. Azriel looked up to a pair marbled green and gold.

“ Sabharni , Rholki .” Madan’s voice cut through the terrible thoughts that had begun to creep through Azriel’s mind. It’d been so long since he’d heard those words in the dhemon language— Easy, Brother . So long since either of them had felt comfortable using the tongue in front of vampires like their grandmother, now watching them with interest.

Azriel forced his hands to relax from the fists, and a knife clattered to the stone floor, drawing more attention. When had he picked it up?

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, heat washing through his cheeks as he bent over the bench to collect the knife again. “I’m fine.”

Madan beat him to the blade’s handle and pulled it out of reach before straightening again. “No. You’re not.”

Gritting his teeth, Azriel turned around to stare at his plate. Madan was right, of course. But others were beginning to stare—to notice how not fine he really was. They looked to him for leadership, and if he cracked, they wouldn’t believe in him anymore.

Which truly felt like the best possible outcome. He never wanted to be anyone’s leader aside from, perhaps, a general into battle. But the leader of an entire race of people? Not on his to-do list. And yet, he had no choice. Not when the Crowe had been their King and he, their Prince.

The vampire sat backward in the seat vacated by Ariadne and leaned back, elbows on the table behind him. Lhuka picked up a conversation with Sasja and Margot again, purposefully ignoring the brothers as Madan leveled his sharp stare at Azriel. As always, there was no hiding how Azriel felt in his heart from his brother.

“Want to tell me why you looked ready to flay Kall alive?” Madan raised a brow.

But Azriel shook his head. “I’m fine .”

Madan dropped his voice into a whisper as he said, “You’re allowed to not be okay. You’re allowed to admit when you need help.”

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticked. He lifted his gaze from the table to look at his brother fully and swallowed back the tightness forming in his throat. Princes didn’t cry. Princes didn’t need help. Princes led others and couldn’t show weakness. Not with so many in view.

“Please, Madan.” The words were but a dry rasp. He blinked at the heat gathering in his eyes, and he pressed his hands flat on the table to keep them from balling up again. “I’ll handle it. I just need time to adjust again.”

Hurt flickered across his brother’s face. Madan placed his hand over Azriel’s. “Let me help.”

“No.”

“Clan leaders will be here soon.” The vampire swept his gaze across the hall. “You need to hold it together. We can’t appear divided, and if you—”

“I know.” Azriel shook his head, the guilt returning. “I promise, it’ll be fine.”

Madan nodded once, then leaned in but spoke so softly, even Azriel struggled to hear his words. “I refuse to cut you down from a rafter again. Do you understand me? You need help . Find it. In me, in Whelan, in Ariadne… I don’t care. Just find… someone .”

With that, his brother stood and stalked away. The missing weight from the back of Azriel’s hand made him feel as though he could float away on a current of agitation. With nothing to ground him, he’d been left adrift—no raft or buoy of support. He’d needed his brother and pushed him away. Again.

“Are you well, Grandson?” Margot asked after a beat, bringing him back from the dangerous precipice of his own mind.

Azriel shoveled another bite of food into his mouth and nodded with a grunt of affirmation. When she didn’t turn her attention away from him, he looked down at her with a weak smile. “I will be. I just need to rest before tomorrow night.”

She mirrored his smile, concern drawing her brows together. After millenia listening to men lie between their fangs, he was certain she knew just how troubled he truly was. Hiding anything from the old Caersan was next to impossible.

“Go, then,” she said after a beat. “I will clean your plate.”

Exhaling long and slow, Azriel nodded. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

After bidding his farewells to the others, he stood and followed Ariadne’s path out of the great hall. As he moved, Kall’s attention slid to him. Azriel inclined his head to his friend, though knew it looked ridiculous, given he did not bear his horns. The silent apology was all he could offer in the moment; just seeing the dhemon made the bond alight again. To his relief, Kall nodded once in understanding before turning back to his meal.

Azriel exited the great hall and took the nearest set of stairs to the second floor two steps at a time. The sooner he got to Ariadne, the better. Though they hadn’t been intimate since arriving at Auhla , her presence had become a balm to that horrible monster inside him since their reunion. A way to satiate the bond after it had been shattered at the hands of Melia.

This is what you deserve .

The words echoed in his mind too often for comfort. He could still hear the Desmo’s voice, still recall the way his soul had shattered, still see and feel the illusion she’d painted to convince him that Ariande was…

No. No. No.

He ran down the corridor, heart thundering. She lived. She had rescued him. She pieced together his soul and mind by merely existing. And he needed her reassurance that everything was alright. That he wasn’t alone. That she breathed and laughed and loved. Loved him .

The suite door swung on its hinges and slammed against the wall as he crashed through it. Across the room, Ariadne stifled a shriek, shooting up out of the steaming bath water Phulan had drawn for her. Her face, normally pale already, turned a sickly ashen as she twisted in the massive copper tub to see who had interrupted her soak.

Only after several long heartbeats of staring at him did she peel shaking fingers from the lip of the tub and lean back into the water. Her long, midnight hair floated as she relaxed again, eyes closed and head tilted back against the high edge of the bath grand enough to fit even the largest of dhemons. The peaks of her breasts rose and fell beneath the surface of the water, too fast to feign relief.

Fuck. He could only imagine the thoughts that had scattered across her mind with such an explosive entrance. This place ignited day terrors he had never before witnessed from her. Guilt slithered through his gut at the possibilities of what she’d just endured on his behalf.

Azriel shut the door quieter than he entered, then closed the distance between them. The room was massive and without walls to create the defined spaces used in Valenul’s architecture. Their large, canopied bed stood back from the bay of windows on the far side where long quilts had been hung in lieu of curtains to block out the sunlight. A single chair and writing desk sat nearest the hearth while the tub rested across the room. No other furnishings took up the large space across the woven rug at the center, providing a clear path from the door to where his wife lounged in her bath.

Ariadne’s perfect ocean eyes cracked open again at his approach, her lips curving into a small smile. The dampness of her face glinted in the light provided by the blue magic fire—another perk provided by the mages now under Auhla ’s roof. She tilted her face towards him and studied his expression before the carefully practiced mask of serenity faded into concern.

“Are you alright?” She sat straighter, draping her dripping arms over the edge of the tub to haul herself up.

What had she seen on his face? Azriel schooled his expression the best he could before turning away from her, leaning his back against the copper, and taking her hand in his. He pressed his lips to her fingers before saying, “I am now.”

She leaned over the edge of the tub to search his face for a long moment. “What is wrong?”

Azriel sighed. Where did he begin? Rather than answer right away, he twisted back around again, shifted onto his knees, and took up the bar of soap and washcloth hanging from the edge of the tub. He lathered it up with bubbles, enjoying the floral scent that had always reminded him of her, and she leaned forward so he could reach her back. Pushing her hair out of the way, he slid the cloth gently across her skin, relishing the smooth planes there.

The scars, now gone thanks to Phulan, continued to haunt him. He could still see the name that had been carved into her flesh, knotted and raised from the many times Ehrun had tormented her.

“Leaders from nearby dhemon clans will be arriving today.” Azriel grimaced as she tensed beneath his touch. “They left Auhla after my father died and are interested in meeting me again. In meeting you.”

Ariadne didn’t reply for a long moment. When she did, she turned to look at him with her brows pulled taut. “Do they know who I am?”

He brushed the wet strands of hair sticking to her skin back from her face and cupped her cheek. “Yes. What happened to you… That’d been what caused many of them to leave.”

She bit her lip. “So they do not follow… him ?”

“No.” Azriel shook his head quickly. The very idea that any of Ehrun’s followers would set foot in Auhla again turned his blood to ice. “Never. I would never let them back here.”

Curling her fingers around his hand, she leaned into his touch. “Even if they swore loyalty to you?”

“No ally of mine would stand by as an innocent was tortured.” He leaned his forehead against hers and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. The scent of her filled his nostrils, calming the beast within him before it had a chance to react to the memories of her screams. “But these leaders… They’ll expect you to be with me tonight.”

Again, Ariadne tensed. When he opened his eyes, he nearly drowned in the ocean of her gaze as she whispered, “What will it be like?”

Azriel kissed her, soft and quick, before sitting back again and dropping his hand from her face. He stared at the water as he swept his fingers through it, wanting so badly to climb into the tub and lose himself in her. To ease the tension from his own body as he coaxed release after release from hers.

But she had wanted nothing more than a kiss and his arms wrapped around her lately, and he would do anything she asked. Putting his own desires aside for her comfort was nothing in comparison to what he’d asked her to do by coming here.

“I’ll be in my dhemon form,” he explained without looking up from the ripples he created across the water’s surface. “They don’t know who I am now. If I’m to create an allegiance with them, they’ll expect me to step into my father’s place. The Crowe’s place.”

“And what does that look like?”

He grimaced. “These are dhemons who want peace with the vampires. They’ll want proof that I can make that happen. That we can make that happen.”

Ariadne held out a different bar of soap to him, this time for her hair. He smiled as he took it and lathered it between his palms. She didn’t speak, so he continued as he worked the bubbles into her hair. “I’ll speak to them about how we can unite as one. About how we’ll need to put an end to the war with Loren. And how we’ll need to take care of Ehrun before he can get in our way.”

Yet again, her muscles tightened. She inhaled long and deep, eyes closing as he massaged her scalp and worked the soap through her long curls.

“What will this look like for me?” she asked after easing back into his touch.

“They won’t believe we’re married,” he explained, a knot forming in his gut, “unless we show them. Dhemons are…carnal.”

Ariadne’s eyes snapped open. “Excuse me?”

He couldn’t contain the low chuckle at the look of horror on her face. Oh, even his bonded side would happily demonstrate his claim to her in front of anyone, but she wouldn’t appreciate such displays. Caersans were, after all, far more private in their affairs.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he said and brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. “I need my allies to walk away with their eyes.”

A shudder ran through her. She closed her eyes again. “Then explain.”

“I’ll need you close to me, in front of them.” He used a small pitcher beside the tub to rinse the soap from her hair, pouring it carefully around the edge of her face to keep the lather from her eyes. She hummed in contentment, and the sound sent a jolt through his body, straight to his cock. Gods, he missed her beneath him…

Refocusing on the task at hand, he shoved his feelings down. Now was not the time. He needed to be patient. She’d come to him when she was ready.

“They’re expecting the son of their King and his Caersan wife to be a united front. I need you with me.”

Ariadne sucked in a deep breath, and on the exhale, she nodded. “Of course I will be with you.” She turned and kissed him, soft and slow. “Until the very end, my love.”