Page 20

Chapter 19

“ I need to speak with you .”

Azriel’s eyes snapped open as Madan’s mind collided with his, the words echoing until Razer recognized his conscious state and settled down. All of a few seconds passed as he grumbled about being repeatedly woken by his brother before a barrage of images crashed into his mind, highlighting, to his greatest displeasure, Ehrun and Sehrox. Seeing the dhemon in a hazy, panicked memory made his breath catch.

“ Alhija ?” Ariadne’s voice recentered him in an instant, her hand splaying across his bare chest. All he wanted was to pull her on top of him and forget about everything else as they lost themselves together.

Unfortunately, Razer’s sharp mental prod reminded him that his thoughts were currently on display, and the last thing he needed was to reply to their shared half-brother with images of what they’d done before going to sleep. So he wrangled the memory of Ariadne’s moans back in, then sent back a curt, “ I’ll meet you in five .”

“What do they want now?” Ariadne asked in a sleepy voice, curling her naked body closer to him.

He turned to find her eyes still closed, head tucked onto his shoulder. “Madan’s back.”

To his surprise, she merely grunted in reply. Gods, she really had spent quite some time with the dhemons to have picked up that habit. When she tilted her head back, lips brushing along his jaw, she followed up with a sigh and said, “Did he find anything?”

No more secrets. Azriel pulled her onto his chest, relishing the way her body seemed to fit so naturally against him. “I don’t know. He ran into Ehrun.”

Ariadne’s head snapped up to look at him with wide eyes. “Is he alright?”

“I would hope,” he said, brushing her curls back from her stricken face, “that you know I would’ve reacted much differently if he wasn’t alright.”

Straddling his waist, she pushed to a seated position. Azriel bit back a groan at the sight of her poised above him, every dip and curve of her muscular body on display. She searched his face for a long moment before saying, “Is he in the keep?”

Azriel grunted, running his hands up her thighs, and said, “I’m not sure I want to talk about him anymore.”

With a snort, Ariadne pushed the blankets away and slid from the bed to her feet. Before she could get far, Azriel grabbed her wrist to yank her back. She gasped, and he entwined his fingers in her hair as he pulled her mouth down to his. For a moment, she melted into him, then broke off the kiss to say, “Get up, Vhaltrinja .”

“Oh, I’m up.” Azriel glanced meaningfully at his stiff cock. “Care to indulge me?”

She hummed and nipped at his lip. “Later.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Of course.” Ariadne’s eyes twinkled with a heady glint. “Now, let us go see what Madan has to say. I would like to make sure he is not missing another arm.”

And if that didn’t ruin his mood, Azriel wasn’t certain what else would.

Until, of course, his darling brother’s voice clawed its way back into his mind. “ I’m in the war chamber . Where the fuck are my books ?”

After finally rolling out of bed and dressing, Azriel found Ariadne combing out her curls and wearing a long, simple blue dress that reminded him of the nights she would wander around the Harlow Estate, looking for every excuse to interact with him. A pleasing warmth from those easy nights curled through him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, placing a tender kiss on her neck. The hand holding the comb fell to her side, and she tilted her head, baring her throat even more.

“I think,” he murmured, “you enjoy taunting me.”

A wicked smirk curled Ariadne’s lips. “I think it is entirely too easy to tempt you.”

He growled in her ear. “We should leave before I bend you over in front of this mirror and make you watch just how much you tempt me.”

“Stay focused.” She raised a brow at him in the mirror. “Are you not concerned?”

“I’m plenty concerned.” Azriel kissed her jaw. “But he isn’t frantic, so neither am I.”

Hiding her smile, Ariadne pulled away and started for the door. The way she moved, her hips swaying and strong back flexing over the top of a dress lower than anything she wore back in Valenul, had him following like an obedient cur. Her confidence shone when they were alone—when she could let down her guard and be nothing more than herself. It radiated from her like a beacon of pure strength.

The moment they entered the corridor shared with the growing number of dhemons in Auhla , however, her shoulders curled in a fraction. She held her head high and walked with sure steps, but she had done that throughout the Season as the Golden Rose. Each elegant stride masked the insecurities that continued to plague her. In response, that horrible monster inside him turned rabid, knowing that something still held her hostage in her own mind. After all she’d done to overcome her fears and build her self-esteem, she continued to balk when put on the spot.

Azriel fell into step behind his Queen and watched the tension ease from her, lightening her step again as she recognized his presence without even looking back. That it was he who helped her find her own inner fortitude made his chest swell.

By the time they reached the war chamber, a young dhemon who’d joined them and taken up the housekeeping job of opening and closing the curtains each dusk and dawn was busy at work. He lifted his chin at Azriel and Ariadne respectively, the display of his throat a sign of respect amongst dhemons.

“ Lhienska lhon , Bho,” Azriel said as the young boy scurried away. When Ariadne looked up at him expectantly, he explained, “It means thank you.”

She nodded. A light crease formed between her brows, and he knew she was busy repeating the words in her mind to commit them to memory. Her affinity for remembering the dhemon language had been a surprise. Though she only knew some phrases and couldn’t yet hold a conversation, she was well on her way to doing so.

Madan, Whelan, and Kall turned in unison at the sound of his voice. His brother’s fury softened at the sight of Ariadne, and he nodded to the table laden with new books. A conversation to be seated for, then. He shut the door behind them.

Taking his place at the head of the table, Madan sat to his right, and Ariadne settled in on his left. Despite her having never been in the room before, Azriel couldn’t help but admire just how well she fit. Kall hesitated, looked to the door for a long moment, then took his seat beside Ariadne.

“What did you find?” Ariadne spoke first, her attention sweeping across the books written in the dhemon language.

It wasn’t the most pertinent thing on Azriel’s mind—Ehrun occupied that space—but the sheer number of tomes intrigued him. Until he recognized one of the bags from which they’d been pulled.

Azriel frowned, but before he could ask the question, Kall demanded, “Where Sasja?”

He didn’t like the way Madan and Whelan exchanged a silent look before his brother looked to Ariadne and said, “To answer your question…we think we know where to find the tomb.”

A light sparked in her eyes, and she sat a little straighter. “Where—”

“To answer your question,” Madan continued, looking to Kall before she could finish her next inquiry, “Sasja went with Ehrun.”

Hot dread slammed into Azriel. It’d been a risk sending her on the expedition, that much he knew. It’d been a risk to consider she could ultimately turn against them. No one knew prior to their departure if her oath to Ehrun would prevent her from upholding the one she gave to Azriel. Now they did. Ehrun’s oath overruled Azriel’s.

Yet his own feelings paled in comparison to the devastation on Kall’s face. Scars pulled taut as he forced himself to bite back whatever he felt. Kall turned his attention to the books before them, his good eye snagging on the bag there.

“Fuck.” Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “How much did she know beforehand?”

Madan shook his head with a sigh. “Everything.”

“She’s the one who found the map with the tomb,” Whelan said and pushed an ancient, leatherbound book towards him. A ribbon dangled from between the pages. “If Ehrun wants the location, she’ll give it to him.”

Looking between them, Ariadne’s eyes widened. “What does this mean?”

“Me know Ehrun,” Kall said, not looking at the fear on her face. “He no want tomb.”

“That is good, no?” She pulled the book to her and opened it where the ribbon marked. Hope flared in her eyes, then banked when she looked back up at the dhemon who usually remained so stoic and strong. In a desperate search for answers, Ariadne turned her gaze to Azriel. “What is it?”

“You know as well as I just how lost Ehrun is.” Azriel peeled his eyes from the map of the mountains before his wife. “He doesn’t want to be saved, Ariadne. He’d rather destroy it.”

Ariadne’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, it looked as though she would leave. Instead, she looked at Madan and asked, “Did Sasja appear to go with Ehrun willingly?”

A nod from Madan. “Yes.”

Beside her, Kall’s fingers curled into fists, and he shoved them onto his lap, closing his eyes hard. Jaw flexing and breathing steady, he only reopened them when he released a lungful of air.

“Then how did you end up with this book if she is the one who found it?” Ariadne pressed, looking at her friend with worry on her brow.

Azriel cocked his head and surveyed her. When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand and silenced him without so much as turning her attention back to him.

“She gave it to us,” Whelan said. “When we found out Ehrun had arrived.”

A beat of silence, then Ariadne said, “She left on purpose.”

“Sasja swore an oath to him long before me,” Azriel explained. “It won out.”

“I do not believe that.” Ariadne looked at him, then Kall, and back. “She went willingly to save these two. To ensure they got out with the book. With the location. He may not even remember to ask her why she was there.”

In truth, she was right. After experiencing the terrible memory loss in Algorath, Azriel could only assume Ehrun’s own memories were so muddled and incomprehensible that it required constant reminders to keep track of anything. It’d only been thanks to Raoul that Azriel could piece together the days of his imprisonment.

“Why do you think this?” Madan studied her. “I’m inclined to agree, and I had the same thought in the moment, but I have doubts.”

For a moment, Ariadne stared at the pages before her, running a finger along the mountain ridges to where a cave was circled. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I do not pretend to know Sasja well, but I also do not believe she wanted to return to Ehrun. I think she was frightened of him.”

“Frightened?” Kall repeated, the word rolling from his tongue slowly. He shook his head as he continued to avoid their gazes. “Sasja no fear.”

“He left her in Algorath.” Ariadne looked to Azriel for confirmation. “Which means she did not finish the mission he sent her on.”

Whelan held up a finger. “She claims to know how to make liquid sunshine, which is what he sent her to the mages to collect. In fact, she told Ehrun himself that she knows how to make it and which mages would be willing to help.”

“Distraction,” Ariadne said simply.

“My love,” Azriel said gently and laid a hand over hers. As much as it hurt him to see her and Kall pained over this, part of him had expected it. “It’s alright. She betrayed us. We just need to move faster than them.”

Pulling her hand away, Ariadne shook her head. “You are not listening. Our societies are very different, and women are not treated with disdain amongst dhemons, but Ehrun treats everyone as though they are vermin under his boot—even his followers are pawns he is willing to sacrifice.”

The last time Azriel had heard her speak this way, Loren had told her to be quiet. The entire ordeal ultimately had Azriel taking two hundred lashes across his back after telling the General off. He’d listened to her then, and he’d listen to her now as she spoke with quiet determination.

“If I were Sasja,” Ariadne continued, “I would keep him from considering why I was there in the first place and make him believe I was on his side the entire time. It would keep my friends safe…and it would keep me alive.”

The logic was undeniable. Azriel sat back to watch her in wonder. “And why do you believe she would act as you would?”

Ariadne pierced him with her oceanic eyes; memories swirled behind them like a hurricane. “Because I know what it feels like to hide behind lies to protect the people I love from those who view me as inferior.”

The Harlow Estate was no more. In the wake of the final pieces of construction stood Gard Castle, the first of its kind within Valenul. With the comforts and extravagance of a palace and the fortifications of a keep, Loren’s home had become suitable for a King awaiting his Queen. Once she arrived, it would keep her safer than she had ever been before.

No filthy horn-head would find their way inside those halls.

And with such thoughts in mind, Loren sat on his throne, an ashy blonde Caersan debutante from the quickly ending courting Season perched on his lap. His fangs dug deep into her pale, webbed throat, and he hummed his approval at the surge of vitality from her pure blood. One arm around her waist and a hand buried in her thick hair, tilting her head to the side, his cock grew heavy at the way she tensed against him. Her small whimper only had his blood heating even more.

What was her name again?

Ah, yes. Lily Pentley. Her low-Society, wealthy merchant father had leaped at the opportunity to send her to Court alongside a handful of other Caersan debutantes. Though he had called upon others, this was Lily’s first experience. With the beautiful young women now wandering his castle’s halls, he had no shortage of rich Caersan blood to fuel him. It was certainly better than that redheaded Rusan’s.

When he withdrew, Loren released his hold on her soft hair and dragged his tongue up her throat in a lazy attempt to clean up his mess. She clasped a dainty, trembling hand to the puncture wounds, and a drop of blood trickled down her neck in unison with a silent, silvery tear on her cheek.

Loren made a mental note to call on her again soon. The others had not cried, and he was nothing if not a merciful King. It would behoove her to have more practice in such exchanges.

Before Loren, surveying the feeding, stood the mage contractor who had overseen the construction of Gard Castle. The man had mousy brown hair, a curt mustache, and wore wire-framed glasses. He was strong for a mage. As most need not consider their physique when their magic quite literally did all the heavy lifting, Loren had been surprised by the bulk of muscle the man wielded when they first met.

“I require one last task from you, Djuri.” Loren surveyed the human, slowly pulling his arm away from Lily. To his right, Nikolai stepped forward and held out his hand. The debutante took it with a quiet sob and slipped from Loren’s lap. To where she disappeared, he did not know nor did he care.

Djuri tracked the woman’s departure and then bowed, the candlelight from the chandeliers making his already tan complexion more golden. “I’m at your service, Your Majesty.”

Of course he was. Loren paid him handsomely for his work, and the Algorathian Raegi of the Suin District had appointed him specifically to fulfill the tasks. They were just as interested in locating the escaped prisoners as Loren, so providing a contractor who doubled as a reporter back to Algorath allowed them to work together. Once the prisoners were found, they would be returned to the desert to serve out the rest of their sentences pitted against one another.

His only stipulation had been that Ariadne would be spared by the mages. She was, after all, a pawn in all of it and his future Queen. In no world was she capable of any of the horrendous acts committed in Algorath against the late Desmo Melia Tagh or her guards. In no world was she doing any of this in her right mind. As time went on, Loren became more and more assured that his mother and her friends were correct: Tenebra had poisoned her against him, entrapping her by way of some wretched fae magic.

It was because of this that Loren had called Djuri to him again. The mage’s work was not yet finished. Not until he knew Ariadne would be safe from any more outside influence.

“There is a manor not far from here,” Loren explained, “whose family has all died. As such, their homes and coffers have fallen to the Crown. You are to fortify the manor, provide a new wing for a full company of soldiers to remain on-site, and establish wards to prevent anyone on or off the premises without my explicit permission.”

Djuri’s light brown eyes widened for a breath before the mage collected himself. “Of course, Your Majesty. May I ask for whom these precautions are being set in place? It will give me an idea of how many wards will be necessary.”

Nodding, Loren sat back, arms resting on the throne with calm poise. “I hope for it to be the home of my future wife prior to our wedding.”

“Would she not be safest in the castle?” Djuri gestured around them. “I ensured the Queen’s Suite would be most protected.”

“I do not expect outsiders to understand our customs in Valenul,” Loren said. “As she is without a male family member to safeguard her virtue, it would be inappropriate for us to reside under the same roof until marriage.”

Amusement flitted across the contractor’s face, and his eyes flickered to Nikolai as though searching for validation of what he no doubt considered ridiculous, but he nodded nonetheless. “And from whom would you wish to keep her protected, Your Majesty?”

Loren ignored the mage’s mirth. Their own frivolous ways of life were laughable in comparison to the conservative Valenul etiquette. Allowing their women to walk markets alone and bed whomever they wished before marriage—disgraceful. It was part of the reason he had been so quick to correct Revelie Ives. If she was to be seen with Ariadne, she would need to be respectable.

“War with the dhemons has only gotten worse,” Loren said. “The wards should keep any of those disgusting horn-heads off the property. Even half-breeds.”

Whether or not Djuri put together the pieces, Loren did not care. The mage was there for two reasons only: build and provide communication with Algorath. His opinion need not be shared.

The doors to the throne room opened with a bang. Beside him, Nikolai stepped forward, hand on his sword hilt. New armor shone in the candlelight with a fresh imprint of the Valenul crest and a cape of crimson. As the King’s Sword, he needed to be presented with regality—to place him above every other soldier. Even Trev Wintre.

But it was not his new General who stepped into the room unannounced. A grunt of a castle soldier stepped in, holding firm to the upper arms of none other than the wayward seamstress herself. Revelie writhed in the man’s grasp, disheveling her lavender dress.

“Your Majesty,” the soldier said as he steadied the Caersan woman. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

Loren waved a hand. “Release her.”

With a gasp, Revelie jerked free and stumbled forward from the sudden lack of resistance. She glared up at him without a word.

“And the meaning for the intrusion?” Loren kept his voice level and calm despite the rising irritation.

To observe the events unfolding before him, Djuri stepped aside and clasped his hands behind his back. That he did not leave only told Loren one thing: he would be reporting back to Algorath precisely how he handled this situation if it proved to be something worthwhile. Any act as King would be scrutinized, and his alliance with the mages depended on remaining strong before his people.

“Madame Ives was found off the castle grounds,” the soldier reported, staying a step behind her in case she decided to break for the door. “With her was a bag of provisions. It appeared as though she were running away.”

Loren drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne as he studied her for several heartbeats. Wisely, she averted her gaze to his feet and kept her mouth shut. When next he spoke, the tone turned icy and crisp. “Is this true, Miss Ives?”

Another beat of silence passed as Revelie collected herself. She drew herself up, set her jaw defiantly, and lifted her attention to his face. “Yes.”

“Hmm.” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “And after all I have done for you. You are a part of my Court—an honored position—in preparation for the Queen’s arrival.”

Her lips curled into a smirk of sick delight. “If you think Ariadne will come to you willingly, you are a—”

“Enough.” Loren stood and made his way down the dais to stand before her. “You know nothing of what Miss Harlow has endured, and I will not allow anyone to speak so nonsensically about the dangers in which she currently finds herself.”

“The only danger in which she finds herself,” Revelie hissed, “is you.”

Loren cracked the back of his hand across her face so hard, the soldier yelped in shock as she hit the tile floor. When she sat up, Revelie clutched her cheek where silent tears fell despite the ire burning in her eyes. He studied her below him—where she belonged—as he tempered himself before saying, “You are now alive due to my good graces and out of the love of my betrothed alone.”

To his pleasure, Revelie kept that smart mouth shut. A heavy hand went a long way—just like with Ariadne. The tears on the seamstress’s face, however, were not quite as beautiful as hers.

“A slight change of plans, Djuri,” Loren called without putting distance between him and Revelie.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” The mage appeared in his periphery, his face a mask of neutrality.

Loren held out a hand behind him. “Your dagger, Nikolai.”

Tension in the room grew. No one knew what he would do next, and that thrilled him.

When the handle of Nikolai’s dagger was pressed into his palm, Loren gripped it tight and looked at the soldier beside Revelie. The young male vampire’s already pale face had turned ashy, then a putrid shade of green as Loren said, “Hold her steady.”

Revelie sucked in a sharp breath and tried to scramble back across the tile, stopped only by the soldier whose fingers wrapped around her arms again. Taking in the sharp blade in his hand with wide eyes, she made a wretched noise of panic. “Wait—wait!”

“I said steady .” Loren crouched before her, grabbed her left wrist, and yanked her arm taut. Her cry of terror only proved to irritate him more. Peeling her fingers open and pressing her palm to the floor, he ignored her next shriek, louder and more shrill this time, as she realized what he planned to do. He looked back up at her while he adjusted his grip on the dagger. “I am your King, and you will do well to remember your place.”

With that, he cut through her smallest digit with one smooth motion. Screams shifted from fear to agony, echoing through the throne room like music. Before any of her blood would stain the clothes she had made for him, Loren stood back. He held the dagger out to Nikolai, who took it to clean the blade in silence.

Killing Revelie would be silly. It would only anger Ariadne, and it would take entirely too long to win her back over after that. As such, the Caersan woman before him was safe in that regard. For now.

“Now. Djuri.” Loren spoke over Revelie’s wails, ignoring the way she clutched her hand to her chest, soaking her dress in dark rivers. “She is to reside at the manor as you work on it. Until you are finished with construction and the wards, she is not to leave her rooms. My soldiers will see to that.”

The mage nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Turning his attention back to the soldier, Loren motioned for him to rise. He did so, dragging a trembling Revelie along with him. “You did well tonight. Escort her to the old Caldwell Manor and remain as her guard until your relief is assigned.”

The soldier bowed, looking sick to his stomach. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Before he could leave with his new charge, Loren held up a hand. “Your name, soldier.”

“Quinton Tress, Your Majesty.”

Loren cocked his head. “Why do I know that name?”

Another bow. “I escorted the traitor to Algorath, Your Majesty.”

“My orders were for the full escort to remain at the Hub.”

It was as though Quinton’s face was determined to visit every shade possible, turning from sickly green to bright pink. “General Wintre assigned us to the castle, Your Majesty, after we had proven our discretion.”

“Very well.” Loren would not undermine his General’s decisions. “From where do you hail, Tress?”

He swallowed hard. “Waer Province.”

“And you have family there?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Fear glinted in Quinton’s eyes. “A wife and child who work for the Nightingales.”

A stab of dark anger shot through Loren at first. Then he paused, looked to the finger still on the floor between them, and said, “Send her that with a note she is to share with all of Armington: Emillie Nightingale is to return to Gard Castle immediately, or more of those will follow.”

Quinton hesitated, looked at Revelie, still whimpering in his grasp, then released her to pluck the dismembered finger from the floor with his bare fingers. A true soldier never shied from blood, after all. Then, he returned to the seamstress and bowed to Loren again. “I will do so as soon as I can, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

“You are excused, Tress.” Loren nodded to him. “I will ensure your relief is assigned immediately so you may carry out your orders.”

With that, the soldier disappeared, taking the weeping Revelie Ives with him. Loren relished the silence that followed and turned to Djuri. “Use whatever laborers you require, but get the project finished quickly.”

Djuri bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You are excused.”

The mage contractor departed in Quinton’s wake, leaving Loren and Nikolai alone in the throne room. Not every night as King was quite so eventful. As obnoxious as the screams were, Loren enjoyed the thrill of it all—a return to normality from his time as General.

He turned to his oldest friend. “That blade is quite sharp.”

“Honed it myself.”

Loren nodded, then made his way back to the throne. Behind him, Nikolai called in a servant to clean the blood left on the floor and trailing Revelie’s exit. He would not stand for disorder in his Court. That bitch was lucky she held a key to Ariadne’s devotion, or it would have been her head on the floor instead for her insubordination and thanklessness.

Taking his seat on the throne once more, Loren looked out at the empty hall. Nikolai climbed the dais to take his place behind him, his brown eyes more distant than he had ever seen him before. Adjusting to such a position after the liveliness of a soldier would be difficult.

But as the next visitor was called in, Loren trusted no one other than his best friend to watch his back.