Page 27

Chapter 26

A riadne’s heart thundered so loudly, she remained in awe that Azriel could not hear it crashing against her ribcage. When she left Monsumbra with Kall, she had done so with the understanding that she may never make it back to Valenul again. Now she reentered the kingdom as a different person in search of the one who made her entire journey possible. The one who sacrificed her future for Ariadne’s.

But you will not return the same . You never do .

Her father’s words played to the rhythm of her heart—faster than he had said them that night so long ago. The sound of his voice had begun to fade from her memory. It was a horrible fact of time that distanced mourners from those they lost. She had not left expecting her last words to him to have been that she hated him. He was still her father, and as much as she wished to uphold that curse of loathing, she could not bring herself to despise his memory.

When she left Laeton, she was a meek, terrified Caersan woman who could not hold her own. A daughter of the Princeps. A wife of a Lord Governor. The Golden Rose.

But she never returned the same. When she stepped onto Valenul’s soil this time, she returned a warrior. A killer. The Dhemon Queen.

When they had flown just north of Armington not long before dawn, the city sparkled with lantern light and the house-warming hearths that made windows glow. She watched it fade into the distance, her heart aching with the possibility of finally seeing Emillie again.

Now she stood at the outskirts of the city as the autumn sun rose behind her. Bringing the dragons closer to the lanes of Caersan manors, despite fewer eyes during the day, was warned against, and with the farmlands stretching out behind the magnificent gardens, they had no choice but to enter Armington proper and make their way via the main roads.

Like Azriel, now in his vampire form, Ariadne wore a cloak with its hood pulled low to obscure her features. The hilt of his sword stuck out over his shoulder, and several unseen blades were strapped to his body. She, too, sported a short sword that hung from her hip, and Ehrun’s dagger had been tucked into the sheath on the opposite thigh.

Two hooded and armed Caersans would draw attention—the veins on their necks and jaws too noticeable to hide. Fortunately, it would not be for the correct reasons. They looked more like a pair of assassins from her old fae tales than anything else. Certainly no one would mistake her for a woman of the Society.

All the same, when they entered Armington proper, the Rusen soldiers turned in their direction. Ariadne tensed at the unyielding attention, but Azriel kept close enough for his arm to graze her shoulder in silent solidarity.

“ Sabharni , alhija .” He spoke so low, even she could hardly decipher his words. “Just keep walking.”

Easy for him to say. He had centuries of practice with such infiltration. After regaling her with tales of how he and Madan prepared for raids by first haunting the vampire villages so they knew precisely which buildings to save for their theft, he reassured her that no Valenul soldier would draw a sword against her so long as she did not make the first move.

With no such criminal background, Ariadne did her best to follow his lead. She tilted her chin down—something no Caersan woman would ever do—and utilized Kall’s training to keep potential threats in her periphery.

Oh, how she wished she had Astra in that moment. She missed her mare. Missed riding her through the fields and forcing Emillie to accompany her on horseback whenever they went to town. After leaving her in Monsumbra, Ariadne could only guess as to what had happened to her. Hopefully, someone loved her as much as she had.

Dwelling on such things would not help her in that moment, however, so Ariadne turned down the next street at Azriel’s behest and shifted her attention to prayer instead. She sent several to Keon. One to find Emillie safe and happy. Another to get them to the Nightingale Estate without issues. Yet more for her friends back in Laeton and those waiting on the outskirts of Armington.

The farther into town they went, the more eyes studied them. None, however, followed. Even as they wound their way back and forth through the streets towards the aristocratic districts.

Just as Ariadne was about to thank Keon for looking out for them, Azriel made a sudden turn down a narrow back street. She followed, hissing, “Where are you going?”

“No one’s following.”

“Is that not what we want?” Ariadne looked behind them at the empty alley.

Azriel did not answer right away. Instead, he crossed the next main street to where the alley continued between buildings ahead of them. He picked up the pace, his long legs eating up the distance between him and the next corner, forcing Ariadne to move quicker.

“Azriel—”

“Shh.” He stopped halfway down the alley and turned to her, forcing her to reel back before she ran face-first into his chest. “If no one finds us suspicious, there could only be two reasons for it: either they already sent word to officers higher up, and they’re waiting to ambush us, or Loren really did get lax with his training. I’d rather assume the former and be pleasantly surprised by the latter.”

Ariadne tilted her head. “So you are trying to get their attention?”

“I’d rather face them now than at your sister’s home.” Azriel leaned a little closer. “The last thing I need is for any snide soldier to get the better of either of us by using her as a trap—or, worse, a bargaining tool.”

“You think they would use her to…” She could not fathom speaking the possibility aloud.

Azriel, however, did as he tilted his face to look at her with as much seriousness as she had ever seen. “They would use her to take you to him, of that I have no doubt.”

She considered this for a moment, then stood a little straighter and said, “I will not let them take me. The longer we stay in town, the less likely we are to make it. We need to go. Now.”

Closing his eyes for several heartbeats, Azriel swallowed hard before nodding. Those peridot eyes opened again, and he adjusted her hood. “Stay with me.”

“Always.” She took his hand and squeezed it.

The returned pressure eased the knot in her chest, and after letting one another go, they continued on. This time, rather than weaving back and forth through the town, they headed straight for the lanes lined with Caersan manors.

It was not unlike Monsumbra in its layout. Keeping a low profile was best, and neither of them wanted to expose their identities to Rusans at work in the middle of the day. Though the vampires would likely not know them by appearance, they would certainly be able to recall their unusual attire to any soldier who asked.

The far side of Armington, surrounded by farmlands, were the manors of the Society. The fields faded into the tall hedges that lined the Caersan homes, marked by names on the wrought iron gates. With the sun hanging at its peak in the sky, most gates remained closed, locked, and guarded by Rusans who could withstand the daylight. The further they wandered, the farther apart the homes sat along the lane, indicating the larger manors for the most elite of the Society.

“Where are the guards?” Ariadne asked when they passed the third Councilman’s house without anyone—soldiers or private guards—standing at the open gate. Ice dripped into her veins at the implication of so little security.

“Madan said Loren locked down all of Valenul,” Azriel said, though he did not sound convinced as he pulled back his hood at the Nightingale Estate, its front gates wide open. The plan had been to sneak around the back and enter from a servant’s door. But no one stood at the end of the drive. In fact, the ground itself appeared as though very few had tread on it. Certainly no carriage wheels had passed through recently.

Mind-numbing panic flooded Ariadne. Down the lane, a pair of crimson-clad soldiers turned in their direction. When she looked to her husband, fear danced in his eyes, and that alone was enough to make her drop all pretenses and sprint through the gate. There was no way to tell if it was a trap—an ambush set by Loren or his soldiers. All she knew was the desperate need to get to the manor at the far side of the lake that opened up before her.

Cursing, Azriel followed. When he tried to grab her hand to slow her pace, she yanked it free. She would hear nothing he had to say. Not when something was terribly wrong.

For even if Emillie and Alek had been withheld in Laeton, the Lord Governor’s estate would never be left so open to exploitation.

Heat burned her eyes. Fire bloomed in her lungs. Each agonizing breath brought her closer to the house where no one stood outside and hardly any drapes had been pulled shut. Why were no curtains closed?

They had to be there…

Taking the front steps two at a time, Azriel on her heels, Ariadne tried the door and found it unlocked. She burst through into the dark foyer beyond. Facing her from across the entry hung a family portrait of a young Caersan woman with the same hooded eyes as Alek, her dark hair twisted high on her head. She wore a gown of white embroidered with gold roses, the tell-tale sign of a previous Golden Rose. Beside her stood a severe-looking man with black eyes and short, graying hair. Between them stood the small form of the Alek Nightingale that Ariadne remembered from her childhood. The chandelier overhead was not lit, and large swaths of canvas covered the parlor’s furniture. Everything had been set for the house to be empty for a very long time.

“Hello?” Ariadne called, yanking her hood back from her face. Servants always stayed with the manor. Though some moved from place to place with the Councilmen, each house had its own staff. “Is anyone here?”

“Ariadne,” Azriel hissed, closing the door behind them and locking it, “we need to leave. The soldiers saw us.”

She ignored him, heart racing as she turned in a circle to take in the darkness around them. The only light came from the open windows. Open, so no Caersans could be present. Only her with the Noct.

“They aren’t here,” Azriel said, reaching for her again.

“Then where are they?” Ariadne cried and stepped away from him. “Where is everyone? Why is no one here waiting for them?”

Fear. Fear was all that met her when she looked to her husband for answers. Even he had no idea—how could he possibly?

“They are probably being held in Laeton,” he said, though the words did not sound convincing. He looked around as though to assure himself that he was correct—that they were safe and together back in the kingdom’s capital.

“Who’s there?” A light, shaking voice called just before a young Rusan woman with dark skin and silvery hair stepped around the corner. She held a small child on her hip and reeled to an abrupt halt at the sight of them, pale eyes widening.

Air rushed from Ariadne’s lungs, and she surged forward. When the woman backed away, holding her child out of reach, Ariadne froze. She held up her hands after remembering just how different she looked. How not like herself she was. Just being back in a Councilman’s house made her forget the sword at her hip and dirty boots tracking on the tiles.

“I am sorry,” she said. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from running to the woman and begging her for answers. “I did not mean to frighten you. Do you work for Lord Nightingale?”

A light crease appeared between the woman’s pale brows. “I…did.”

The answer did not make sense. Ariadne tilted her head, analyzing the short statement. When she came to no plausible conclusion, she asked, “What do you mean did ?”

“Have you not heard?”

Ariadne’s head swam. This was not happening. This could not be the world she lived in. A scream started up in the back of her mind, and she struggled to hold onto her expression despite her lips quivering. “I have been traveling for quite some time. I…I do not know of what you speak.”

“Lord Nightingale is dead.”

The room swam. Azriel’s hands clutched her arms, holding her upright. Her knees had given out. Hot tears let loose and slid down her cheeks. This could not be happening. It had not been that long since she left Valenul, yet so much had changed. “What of Lady Nightingale?”

The woman’s eyes widened in alarm, but she rushed past them to yank a cover off the nearest chair. As Azriel helped Ariadne to the seat, the woman continued, “Lady Nightingale went missing the same night. No one has found her.”

Tucking her head between her knees, Ariadne choked back the wail that clawed at her burning throat as her body shook.

Somewhere beside her, hands still heavy on her shoulders, Azriel asked, “When was she last seen?”

“We received word from Lord Nightingale,” the woman explained, “about a month ago that they would be traveling. They never arrived, but a letter did.”

Azriel squeezed Ariadne’s shoulders. The pressure kept her grounded, kept her focused. Still, she did not sit up for fear of losing herself. Emillie was missing. No one could find her—not even Loren. And somehow, that frightened Ariadne more than if her sister were in that wicked man’s clutches.

“Give me the letter.” Azriel’s voice was commanding but soft. The same tone he had used many times with Ariadne after they first met when he knew not to use his louder, more imposing volume.

The woman hesitated, and that made Ariadne’s head lift so she could look at her through the blur of tears. “What is your name?”

“Ophelia Tress...” She frowned as though wondering how to address her. The clothing and physical appearance contradicted each other too much.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Ariadne sat up enough to rest her elbows on her knees. “My name is Ariadne Harlow Caldwell. I am Lady Nightingale’s sister.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened in shock. She glanced at the door, and in an instant, Azriel was standing between her and the exit gripping the handle of his sword. If she made to run, to alert those soldiers, he would cut her down. Cut down the small boy in her arms. Ariadne knew this with absolute certainty. He had told her of his crimes before they met—he never left anyone alive, no matter the age.

“Choose your next move carefully,” Azriel said, and this time, his voice was low and dangerous. His green eyes muddied for a moment, and he blinked hard. With a shake of his head, he reopened them to display the sparkling peridot once more. “We will not harm you or the child unless you force our hands. You will do as my wife says.”

There was a finality in his words that took Ariadne by surprise. He would not give them any leeway. If Ophelia so much as screamed, she would die.

“Everything is in the study,” Ophelia said after a moment of contemplation. “This way.”

Azriel hissed between his teeth, freezing the Rusan in her tracks. “Who else is here?”

But Ophelia shook her head. “No one. Just me and my boy.”

That made Ariadne frown. She sat up a little more, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Why did you stay?”

A sadness crept through Ophelia’s eyes. “My husband, Quinton, is a soldier. He joined to take care of us, but this is our home and where he sends the money. We can’t yet afford a home of our own.”

Tension bunched in Azriel’s shoulders. “You will not tell Quinton of our visit. Or that money may just stop being sent.”

Ariadne whipped her attention to him. The threats were not unfounded. He would find a way to track down the soldier—or he would kill anyone with the name to ensure he put an end to the correct one. Still, she said nothing to contradict him. They could not afford to be discovered.

“You have my word,” Ophelia said, hoisting the boy higher on her hip. She nodded toward the corridor beyond the foyer. “The study.”

Taking an outstretched hand from Azriel, Ariadne stood and walked on shaking legs after Ophelia. They made their way through the darkness to a set of double doors. The Rusan pushed them open and hurried across the room to yank open the curtains.

Sunlight spilled into the dark wood study. Piles of papers littered the desk at the center, and books lined the walls on either side leading to the bay of windows. The couches inside were also covered.

“Shall I give you privacy?” Ophelia turned back to them.

Azriel scoffed and pulled the cover from the nearest couch. “You will stay.”

She sank onto the cushions, adjusting the child onto her lap as she moved, and whispered to him. The small boy’s eyes were as bright as his mother’s, though his hair was dark.

“That arrived just yesterday,” Ophelia said as Ariadne ran her fingers over what looked like a box that would hold an engagement necklace. A small bow tied a note to it.

Dread seeped into Ariadne’s gut as she opened the paper and read its contents. Then she ripped off the bow and snapped open the lid. Covering her mouth to muffle her cry of alarm, she dropped the box back on the table where a singular ebony finger, shriveled and bloodless, rolled onto the desk.

Cursing under his breath, Azriel picked up the note and read it aloud. “‘Lady Nightingale…His Majesty, King Loren Gard, requests your immediate presence in Laeton. Failure to appear at Court will result in the removal of a digit from Miss Ives for every fortnight he must wait.’ What the fuck ?”

“Revelie,” Ariadne gasped through her fingers. “He has Revelie.”

“We need to leave.” Azriel grabbed papers from the desk at random, folded them without care, and shoved them into his pockets.

Ariadne turned wide eyes up to him. “But Emillie—”

“She isn’t here,” Azriel snapped, then grimaced. Tempering his tone, he said, “I’m sorry. But the longer we stay here, the more dangerous it is. If we’re going to find Emillie and save Revelie, we need to move .”

A loud bang echoed from the foyer, making Ophelia and Ariadne jump. Azriel, on the other hand, appeared vindicated as he shoved past the Lord Governor’s desk. Between steps, he rolled his shoulders, and midnight blue stretched across his tan features. Peridot gave in to crimson. Horns spiraled forth. Teeth sharpened. In tandem with Ophelia, his sword flashed into view with a shriek.

“Dhemon!” The Rusan screamed and hauled her son to her chest before launching towards the door. “Dhemon! Help!”

Another bang.

Azriel beat her across the room, slamming the only exit shut and locking it before rounding on her. “Shut your fucking mouth, or I’ll cut out your tongue.”

A third cracking sound, then voices filled the entrance to the manor.

But it was Azriel’s threat that had Ariadne moving between him and the servant. “This is not her doing. You said it yourself: the soldiers saw us on the road.”

“Search every room!” The command rang out just before the sounds of doors snapping open. “Kill the man. Bring me the woman.”

“The windows.” Azriel jerked his chin at the bay of opened curtains, his eyes going distant just long enough for Ariadne to know he had informed the others that they were, in fact, fucked .

Launching to the nearest pane, Ariadne’s fingers fumbled with the locks on either side of the sash window frame. The first gave way with ease. The second stuck. She moved to the next window in the bay and bit back her frustrated cry.

Azriel grabbed her wrist, yanking her to the side at the same moment the door to the study rattled, and a voice cried, “This one is locked! By order of King Gard, open up!”

“Help!” Ophelia screamed, now on the far side of the room from them both.

Cursing, Ariadne turned in time to see the Rusan unlock the door—and a dagger careen hilt over tip at the woman’s back from Azriel’s outstretched hand. A flash of silver from the soldier surged across the threshold, and the short blade fell harmlessly to the floor. Ophelia disappeared amidst a wave of crimson uniforms.

“Azriel!” Ariadne could not bite back the fear in her voice.

“It is her!” The leading soldier stopped short, eyes wide. “Miss Harlow—the King’s betrothed.”

A crash behind her had Ariadne’s heart stuttering to a halt. Tearing her gaze from the flood of soldiers, she found the windows broken and the desk chair missing. Azriel wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her back as the soldiers approached, all shouting for her to be released—commands for those closest to grab her—calls of triumph that they were successful.

Everything moved too fast for her to keep up. Hands grappled for a hold of her, but none held as fast as Azriel. He hauled her into his arms and curled his body around her as he jumped through the study window.

Glass shards stuck out from the pane, catching her hair, scraping the back of her exposed hand, and cutting deep into her thigh. The scent of blood seeped into the air—both hers and Azriel’s—at the same time they landed in the garden beyond.

More shouts and soldiers followed after them. In unison, she and Azriel found their footing and took off across the Nightingale Estate. Her leg screamed in protest as warmth gushed from her thigh wound. Soldiers converged from either side of the building, closing in fast as the Rusans with pale veins webbing their necks used their ancestral Caersan lineage to move even faster.

A shadow passed overhead, and all around them, the men in crimson slowed as their shouts turned from commands to yells of horror. This had certainly not been the plan. Revealing the dragons too soon would be detrimental.

But what choice did they have?

Razer landed ahead of them with a roar. The soldiers reeled back in shock before the dragon snapped those closest up into his massive maw. A shriek, ended by a resounding crunch , was the only precursor to the mangled body flying back through the air. The corpse landed in a heap near a handful of the man’s comrades who screamed in terror.

Upon their approach, Razer beat his wings again, readying to take flight. Azriel slowed just long enough to hold his palms up over his knee. In one fluid movement, Ariadne placed her foot onto the makeshift step and launched onto Razer’s back, with Azriel hauling himself up just in time for the dragon to take flight.

“ Are you both alright ?” Razer’s voice rushed through Azriel’s mind in a frenzy. “ Why is she limping ?”

Rather than explain with words, Azriel shared the memories—the soldiers on the road, Ophelia screaming for help, and those damned windows that wouldn’t open. He regretted the moment he jumped through the broken pane with Ariadne in his arms. The only reason she was injured was because of him.

“ The others are nearby .” Razer pushed higher into the sky, shooting for the mountains.

“ This was a disaster .” Azriel wanted to scream. Everything they’d worked for—everything they’d so carefully kept a secret for centuries—was ruined in one horrible afternoon. “ We should never have come .”

Madan’s mind slammed into his. “ You’ve got that right .”

“ Yvhaltrinja ?” Kall’s voice followed shortly behind his brother’s.

Whelan said, “ Fuck, this is not good .”

Burying his face into Ariadne’s hair, Azriel did his best to reassure the trio of their safety. His adrenaline surged, and all he could see were those soldiers’ hands on his wife. All he could smell was her blood as the gash began to heal. All he could hear were those five horrible words: Miss Harlow — the King’s betrothed .

No. Ariadne belonged to him .

They flew out of Valenul’s boundaries, the three other dragons taking up positions around them. The escort moved west until they returned to the meadow where their supplies had been left.

Azriel dismounted and turned to help Ariadne down, and they were both met by fussing caretakers. Before she could utter a single word, Whelan had Ariadne taking a seat against a large boulder for him to examine the wound on her leg. Kall hovered nearby, asking probing questions about what happened.

“She needs blood,” Madan said and took Whelan’s hand in his. “Give them space.”

A small smirk curled Whelan’s lips. “Do you need blood, too?”

In line with the solemnity of their arrival, Madan’s brow furrowed. He was not close to Emillie, but her disappearance following Alek’s death impacted him as well. Nonetheless, he looked at his partner with a sigh. “I wouldn’t say no.”

The two stepped aside, leaving Kall to be assuaged by Ariadne alone. She took the dhemon’s hand in hers and gave him a weak smile, which he didn’t return. Nonetheless, he stepped aside to give them space.

“Sandwich, Yvhaltrinja ?” Kall asked.

Ariadne shook her head, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, and Azriel’s heart sank. Despite their close proximity, distance yawned open between them that had nothing to do with their frightening dash from Armington.

“You should drink,” Azriel said, agreeing with Madan’s suggestion.

“I do not need it.” She wrapped her cloak tight to stave off the cold and brought her knees to her chest. Closing her eyes, she let her forehead drop forward to rest. “I need a moment alone, please.”

Swallowing back his desire to remain beside her, Azriel grunted in affirmation and pushed back to his feet. He knew precisely what she felt, and he hated that she now endured a terror he had never wished upon her. It was, after all, her first experience in losing track of a sibling—her first time having to sit with the very real possibility that she may never see Emillie again.

Though Azriel and Madan had gone through that song and dance numerous times over the centuries, it never got easier. If he could hold the pain for her, he would.

With nothing else to do at the campsite, Azriel shared what he and Ariadne uncovered with the others in a series of memories and clarifying statements—none of which felt any better than the sudden revealing of the dragons to Valenul soldiers. The others held onto hope that Alek’s sacrifice had been enough to save Emillie. As Madan was sure to point out, she was clever like him. She would find a way to survive and even thrive no matter where she was.

Such words wouldn’t help Ariadne, and Azriel hated it. There was nothing they could say or do to help alleviate her trepidation. Finding Revelie’s finger in a box only heightened her distress.

“ We can’t stay here ,” Whelan said through the vinculum.

Bindhe rumbled in agreement, laying her pale snout on a foreclaw. “ If they know about us now, they will be searching the hills for any sign of us . We’re too far east .”

“ Messengers will be halfway to Loren by now ,” Brutis pointed out.

But Razer, who kept watch from the sky above, huffed. “ We could hunt them down ?”

Much to Azriel’s displeasure, the others shot down Razer’s idea immediately. Too risky. Too many variables. They’d been exposed, and there would be no stopping it. Their best bet now was to get to the first cave entrance. Doing so would be crucial if they were to continue their mission of finding the tomb.

“ I can’t ask her to leave yet ,” Azriel said, glancing back at Ariadne. Though her eyes were hidden, he knew she hadn’t fallen asleep upright.

“ She can rest when we get to the caves .” Oria shifted her great body, verdant scales shifting in the low sunlight. “ Or we risk being found again . For all they know, Razer is all that exists . We should keep it that way .”

Fuck. Azriel couldn’t argue with that. So as Madan, Whelan, and Kall packed up their supplies, he squatted down beside Ariadne and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t move, he gave her a small shake.

Ariadne lifted her head but stared at some distant spot beside him, humming in question.

“We need to get to the caves.” He kept his voice low and as soft as he could manage.

Her head drooped again, and she took a shuddering breath. Without a word, she pushed up from her seat and began gathering her belongings.

Azriel watched, her movements as though she were being controlled by an outside force. Each step seemed uncertain. Each jerky motion, like a puppet dancing at the end of a string. No glint of life in her gaze as she strapped the long, wicked dagger to her thigh again.

Then a horrible, gut-wrenching thought hit him. He’d seen this before. Seen the distant ghost of a person who now walked amongst them. The night after the Vertium ball—after the dhemons had attacked her home—she could be seen wandering the halls of the Harlow Estate listlessly.

How long had she floated through life, oblivious to anything but the pain in her soul, after Madan brought her home? He’d never asked. Never wanted to know the extent of the damage he’d wrought upon her life.

Now he looked to his brother, helpless. “ What do I do ?”

Madan glanced in their direction and grimaced before averting his gaze so as to not draw Ariadne’s attention. “ She’s lost . She needs your help .”

“ I can’t make Emillie appear out of thin air .” He packed the bedrolls into the saddlebags, keeping Ariadne in his periphery as he moved. “ And I can’t make what happened to Revelie go away .”

“ Why did you ask for help if you don’t want to hear it ?”

Azriel glared at Madan, drawing a smirk from him. “ This isn’t helpful .”

“ Talk to your wife , you dolt .” Madan shook his head as he hauled a bag over his shoulder with his only hand. “ And stop asking stupid questions .”

“ Well, fuck you, too .”

“ That’s my job ,” Whelan cut in.

The resulting snickers from the pair had Azriel rolling his eyes. Kall muttered something under his breath about getting no peace and slung his set of bags over Bindhe’s shoulders before hauling himself up after them. Without saying a word to anyone, he and the pale green dragon lifted into the air.

Razer landed in the space Bindhe vacated, his dark and imposing form in stark contrast to the elegant beauty of the smaller dragon. He lowered his belly to the ground, smoke rolling from his nostrils, and eyed Azriel. “ He’s right , you know .”

Grumbling curses under his breath, Azriel took a final turn around the campsite as Madan and Whelan disembarked on their own bondhearts. When he came to a halt facing Ariadne, she did not meet his gaze.

“My love,” he breathed and held out a hand.

At first, she just stared at his outstretched fingers, and he had the fleeting thought that even he couldn’t bridge the gap between her and the rest of the world. When at last she placed her palm on his, he sighed in relief. Urging her closer, he used his free hand to tilt her chin back so she was forced to look at him.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Please.”

Worry flickered through her oceanic eyes. Or maybe it was fear, and didn’t that terrify him even more? She bit her lip, her shoulders rolling in. “I cannot help but think all of this is happening because of me.”

A pit opened up in Azriel’s stomach, threatening to swallow him whole at the implications of her words. Of course she was correct. He’d had the same thought at his first meeting in Auhla . Ariadne was the catalyst for everything on both sides of this war. All he could think in that moment, however, was… why her ?

He released his hold on her and cupped her face with both hands. “None of this is your fault.”

Her eyes shimmered. “I could end their pain. Emillie would not have to run…”

Oh, he was going to vomit. Again. His body shook at the strain of holding back the sudden well of emotions, and he closed his eyes against the darkness creeping in on the edges. When he reopened them, certain he had himself under control, he said, “We will put an end to this together, do you hear me? We will bring them all peace.”

“At what cost?”

The question took him off guard. She averted her gaze, but he did not let her turn away. This time, when he spoke, it was with a low, deadly command. “Look at me, Ariadne.”

She obeyed, eyes widening at whatever she saw in his face.

“You are not to blame.” He brought his forehead to hers and inhaled deeply, relishing the floral scent of her. “You did nothing wrong. We will make Loren pay for what he’s done, and we’ll do it together . Do you hear me?”

A tear slid free, gliding down his thumb, but she nodded. “I hear you.”

“Promise me,” he said, brushing the tear away, “you will be by my side throughout all of this. Promise me you won’t…leave me.”

Seconds ticked by, each one more agonizing than the last, as she stared at him without a response. No nod of agreement. No murmured promise. Just her eyes—those perfect blue eyes in which his entire world resided—tracing the lines of his face as though memorizing each plane and angle. His heart pounded in his ears, and his breath hitched.

When at last Ariadne spoke, her voice was so quiet, he could hardly hear her. “I promise.”

Relief trickled in bit by bit as the words locked into place in Azriel’s mind. He nodded, accepting her words, and kissed her gently. The return brush of her lips was soft.

“Let us go,” she whispered and stepped back out of his reach.

The space yawning open between them felt like leagues. For a long moment, he could do nothing but watch as she walked to Razer and climbed onto his back. Though he trusted his wife more than anyone in the world, he could not forget that she was also the kind of person who would do anything for those she loved. Azriel knew all too well what kind of pain could be caused when someone thought they were doing the right thing.

He’d done it to her to save his brother. Would she do it to him to save her sister?