Page 9

Chapter 8

A zriel pulled blood from his hands with a damp rag as he ascended from the dungeons of Auhla . Had it not been for Phulan’s intervention, he would’ve killed the dhemon prisoner for what he’d tried to do to Ariadne. His intemperate fury had reached new heights as the dhemon’s tongue loosened to reveal the truth behind his attack.

He was a spy for Ehrun, sent to end Ariadne’s life with the hope of driving Azriel to madness so he would join the bastard’s ranks and annihilate the vampires alongside him.

What shocked Azriel the most, however, had been how close that had come to reality. Had Ariadne died by that dagger, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill the dhemon. He never would’ve known or been capable of thinking clearly enough to pinpoint Ehrun as the instigator. In the end, he likely would’ve rallied his small army to raze Valenul to the ground in search of some unattainable vengeance.

By the time Azriel reached the great hall, only a handful of people remained. Three dhemons he had not yet met sat speaking in hushed tones, a mix of concern and disbelief on their faces. The other two were Sasja and Margot—a pair not often seen alone together, and the latter having meant to spend the early morning with his wife.

“Grandmother,” he said, shoving the bloody rag in his pocket, though her sharp eyes locked onto the ruined cloth before he could hide it. “Where’s Ariadne?”

Margot didn’t speak, however. It was Sasja who cocked her head and quirked a brow at him before saying in the dhemon tongue, “I knew you were an idiot before, but you’ve proved just how thick you really are tonight.”

Crossing his arms, Azriel frowned and responded in kind. “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously?” Sasja shook her head. “And you think yourself better than Ehrun?”

With that, the dhemon stood and walked away, muttering to herself, leaving cold dread dripping into his gut. If he’d learned anything in the last few weeks, separated from Ariadne and sporting a broken bond, it was how similar he had become to Ehrun.

The thought gutted him.

“Grandmother?” His heart sank when he turned to her again and was met with venom.

“Grandson.” Margot’s green eyes pierced him like hot irons. “I do not pretend to understand the struggles you have endured in your life, particularly in recent times. I do not pretend to understand the intricacies of your bond to Ariadne. From what I have witnessed in Whelan during Madan’s absences, such a bond is more than difficult to manage in the best of times.”

The number of instances Azriel recalled receiving such a reprimand over his five centuries could be counted on two hands. His heart ached, and he curled in on himself as she stared him down. A formidable force less than half his size.

“However,” Margot continued, “unlike Whelan, you have lost sight of yourself. You are not the boy I knew or the man I believed you to be. After what happened last winter, I expected more care from you for the woman you claim to love.”

Azriel’s heart sank. “Claim to—where is she?”

“I would not know.” She drew herself up a little more. “I watched her run from this room terrified, and when we found her out there unable to move, it was Kall , not her husband, who took her away.”

That horrible burning sensation flared in his chest at the thought of Kall helping Ariadne when it should’ve been him. The beast of a bond warred with the ugly guilt slinking through him, the two feelings wavering. He struggled to contain himself, still cowed by Margot’s words and silent judgment, and settled for flexing his fists and clenching his jaw to keep from saying something that would place him even more firmly in the category of idiot .

“If you plan to lead these people,” Margot said with a nod toward the dhemons still whispering on the far side of the room, “I suggest you do so by example. Feeding your ego and stoking that broken part of you will only damage you more. Heal yourself. Heal your marriage. Heal this Valley.”

Before he could reply, his grandmother left. She strode with such slow grace and confidence that even the trio of dhemons ceased their whispers to give her a respectful nod of their heads. After returning the gesture, she disappeared through the door and toward the belly of the keep.

Left alone, Azriel wilted. He scrubbed his face with his hands to consider all he’d done and learned throughout the night. Madan had tried to warn him against playing into his anger. When Azriel had claimed to just want to speak with the prisoner, his brother followed out of the war room, asking to be the one to question him. But Azriel hadn’t yielded, and in the end, he was grateful for Phulan insisting she join him in that cell, or he would’ve killed the dhemon.

Still, he’d been so blinded by his bond and desire for vengeance, he drove the one person who mattered most away.

What hurt most was that it’d been Azriel who frightened her.

“ Razer .”

The dragon had been quiet throughout the night, breaking his silence primarily to add small quips during the meeting. Now, his consciousness curled around Azriel’s like a cat stretching after a long nap. He prodded through memories, revealing the state of the dhemon Azriel had just left. The image swept through his mind again, and with it came the heavy weight of shame.

He’d lost control. He’d let the horrible monster loose and allowed the pent-up rage to get the best of him. He’d failed Ariadne.

“ Where is she ?” he asked through the vinculum, turning on his heel and marching from the great hall. When Razer did not respond right away, his heart throbbed again. She was hiding from him. And like a good friend, Razer would not reveal her location without her permission. “ Razer , please…where is my wife ?”

The cold night air struck him like a blow to the chest. He leapt down the steps, gaze sweeping across the small valley for any sign of her. Knowing full well what he would look like if he approached her in his dhemon form, he shifted without breaking his stride. The panic-driven need to find her numbed the bone-cracking pain, and he shoved the discomfort of oversized clothes and boots aside.

A shadow passed overhead, and Razer landed gracefully before him. The great blue dragon almost blended in with the night sky, but his amber eyes seared into Azriel through the dark. “ You fucked up .”

“ I don’t need another lecture .”

“ Well, get ready for one ,” Razer warned. “ Kall is pissed .”

Azriel didn’t reply as he hauled himself onto the dragon’s back and they took flight. He didn’t need to. Razer felt his flash of annoyance at the mention of his best friend. It came unbidden, that hot fury that accompanied any mention of the dhemon who’d grown so close to Ariadne.

Logically, he knew it was ridiculous. Kall would never seek to take her from him. He should be glad of their friendship. Proud that she had overcome her fear of dhemons so much that she could trust one such as Kall. Nonetheless, the bond couldn’t differentiate between a friend and a threat.

When Razer finally descended, Azriel found himself thanking his dhemonic heritage. Even in his vampire form, his blood ran hotter than Caersans and saved him from the blistering cold. It was, he’d always assumed, why they had survived for so long in the mountainous regions of the north and had even laid settlements in the Irem Tundra.

Ariadne, however, was not so lucky. As such, she stood near Bindhe’s head, which lay on the ground at her feet, her arms wrapped tight around her shivering body. The pale green dragon let out a huff of indignation at the sight of him, smoke curling from her nostrils. His wife leaned into the warmth of it, her wary eyes never wavering from him.

Between her and Azriel stood Kall, scarred face drawn taut and arms crossed over his chest. Azriel approached with caution. Bonded or not, he knew Kall well enough that his friend wouldn’t allow him to get away with anything he found reprehensible. And this? He knew what plagued Kall’s own memories. It was written permanently on his face.

“Kall,” he said, looking from the furious dhemon to the frightened vampire behind him, and continued in the dhemon tongue, “listen, I—”

But Kall’s fist slammed into his gut hard. Not anticipating the strike, Azriel doubled over and struggled for breath. His vision swam, and Ariadne’s squeal of alarm told him he wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

“You listen to me ,” Kall hissed, crouching down to look him in the eye as he heaved in a shallow breath. “If you ever do something like that to her again, I will personally fly her away from this place forever.”

That got his attention. Azriel lifted his lip in a silent snarl, baring his long fangs at the dhemon. “If you dare take her from me, I will hunt you down and pull you apart, piece by fucking piece.”

“You didn’t see her!” The words left Kall in a loud whisper as though he didn’t risk raising his voice any more for fear of setting off Ariadne again.

Images passed from Kall through their respective vinculums and landed in Azriel’s mind like lead. He watched from his friend’s perspective as he ran into Margot at the threshold to the great hall after hearing his name called by Sasja, who explained what had happened. A scream echoed from the dungeons, punctuating his grandmother’s words.

Then he heard the whimper. Kall had turned and found Ariadne tucked into an alcove. She sat in the corner, knees drawn to her chest and hands pressing over her ears. Tears streaked her cheeks from eyes closed tight.

When Kall had picked her up, she’d struggled. Kicked and hit. He spoke to her, soothed her, and left Auhla without looking back.

Azriel slowly straightened and stared past Kall. Beside Bindhe, Ariadne never took her eyes from him, though they scanned his body, snagging on every speck of blood.

“Fuck,” he breathed and pressed his fists against his eyes. Sasja had been right. He was an idiot. When he dropped his hands, he refocused on his friend. “Promise me something.”

Kall grunted in affirmation.

“If you have to take her away because I’ve finally lost myself…kill me,” Azriel said quietly and swallowed hard. Kall studied his face for any sign of humor or threat, so he drove his meaning home, “Please. I’m trying, Kall. I just… I can’t control it. But I’m trying. So if there comes a time she can’t stand to look at me, make sure I’m dead, so I can’t follow you.”

The hardened anger in Kall’s red eyes softened to pain. He nodded once. “I will.”

The two words were not unkind. Spoken with a sorrowful understanding, the dhemon knew well what Azriel asked of him. It would be a mercy to end Azriel’s life if he found himself too broken to function. Too damaged to be the man Ariadne needed him to be.

“Thank you.” He swallowed hard and nodded over his friend’s shoulder, switching to the common tongue to ask, “May I have some time alone with her?”

Kall hesitated. He searched Azriel’s face for a long moment, then turned to Ariadne, who nodded, before stepping aside. Bindhe moved in unison, leaving Ariadne’s side and moving to Kall’s. He mounted the dragon, and they left in silence.

Heat curled across Azriel’s back from Razer’s breath. “ Does she need warmth ?”

“ Yes . Please .”

Azriel didn’t move as Razer took Bindhe’s place, curling his neck around Ariadne and lying his head on the ground so his hot breath floated up to her in gentle curls of pale smoke. Likewise, she didn’t make to close the distance between them. She merely stared, those perfect ocean eyes rimmed with silver.

When she spoke, her quiet voice cracked on the words, “Did you kill him?”

The image of Phulan yelling at him to stop before it was too late rose to the forefront of his mind. He swallowed hard. “Almost.”

“Good.”

His breath caught. He hadn’t expected that response. “What?”

Ariadne laid a hand on the top of Razer’s head. A silent thanks to the dragon for providing the much-needed warmth on the cold mountain. She studied a missing scale near his horns before explaining, “I do not approve of what you did. It…frightened me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Let me speak.” She lifted her gaze to him again, a single tear sliding down her cheek. He snapped his jaw shut at the command, in awe at the power behind her words. “I have had a difficult time being here. It is not easy for me. Hearing that tonight did not make it better. It reminded me of… him .”

Icy hot shame rose in Azriel’s chest. He forced himself to continue staring at her despite the overwhelming urge to look away. As badly as he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, this was not about him. It was about her and the broken trust between them.

“I love you, Azriel.”

Gods. He didn’t deserve her love. Not after dragging her back to this place and reigniting her worst fears.

His throat lit like a fire with every inhale. He nodded, wanting—no, needing —to hold her and worship her like the goddess she was. To remind her of his depthless love. Undying devotion.

“How can I fix this?” He swallowed back the emotions threatening to burst forth, damming them behind a wall. “What can I do?”

She frowned. “Why did you do it at all?”

Azriel balked. I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe . He’d said those words to his brother not long before calling an end to the meeting and heading down to do just that.

“I needed information,” he said, voice scratchy. “And even though I knew that dhemon wouldn’t say anything, I went anyway. I didn’t mean for that to happen or for you to hear.”

Her hands fell to her sides as her brows drew ever closer. “And why did you not want me to hear?”

“You would’ve seen who I really am.”

“And who are you really?” Her voice was so quiet now.

Again, he forced himself to not drop his gaze. To take in her mounting confusion. “A monster.”

She swore under her breath. “I am mad at you, Azriel, but you are not a monster.”

Fuck. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear those words from her. To know she had yet to lose hope in him.

He grit his teeth for a long moment, trying and losing his inner battle. “I love you more than the blood in my veins. I am so sorry for hurting you. For frightening you. I don’t know what else to do.”

A silence stretched between them. It felt vast, like an endless ocean ready to swallow him whole. No matter how hard he treaded the water, the waves crashed over him, dragging him under. Each second that slipped by was an eternity.

“What changed, alhija ?” she whispered, edging a step closer. “You would never frighten me like this. What has happened to you?”

This is what you deserve .

Melia’s voice echoed in his mind. Not for the first time, he balled his fists against the phantom feeling of her too-soft skin pulling away from the bone. He braced himself for the shattered sensation that rippled through him, the memory of her decapitated head being pulled from his grasp. His pleas for death that went unanswered.

“I don’t know,” he admitted and finally hung his head, covering his face with a hand. He pulled in a long, fiery breath, and it burst from him in an exhale. “I thought when we were reunited that this would stop. But it won’t go away.”

In an instant, Ariadne’s soft touch swept over him. She peeled his hand away, damp now from the tears he’d hidden, and searched his face. “What are you talking about?”

“The bond broke,” he rasped, “when I thought you were dead. And I don’t know how to fix it. When I’m with you, everything is fine. I’m grounded. I’m safe. But it disappears the moment you’re gone. I can’t think straight. I can’t stop...”

Another stretch of silence, shorter this time, before Ariadne said, “You cannot stop what?”

“I get so angry.” The words sounded silly. The monster inside him purred at her touch, satiated by her close proximity. “I see only what could take you from me again. So yes. I did terrible things tonight. Because the moment I saw that man after what he tried to do to you, that part of me snapped.”

She cupped his check with a hand. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. If he could live in that moment forever, he would.

“Do not ever hide from me again,” she said, and when he snapped his eyes open, he met her hard and determined stare. “And do not break your promises. Tell me the truth of what you are shouldering, and let me bear it with you.”

Azriel nodded.

“Swear it to me.”

Swallowing past the knot in his throat, Azriel sank to his knees before her, clasping a hand in his and pressing his forehead to it. “I swear to you, my love. I will not hide it from you again.”

Ariadne bent at the knees and twisted to ease into his lap. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her. The tension in his body vanished, the vice-like grip on his stomach easing.

And for that moment, his world felt whole again.

The near-empty gallery wall stretched before Loren like a desolate expanse of powder pink. He inspected the three paintings he had left displayed from the manor’s previous owner: a family portrait of the Harlows and one of each Harlow sister. The first had been questionable. Markus Harlow’s hawk-like eyes seemed to follow him accusingly wherever he went. Yet keeping just one image of the late Princeps seemed necessary if he wished to coax Ariadne into submission.

Keeping the portrait of his future wife and sister-in-law seemed the most reasonable when he had ordered the removal of the other paintings. The history of the Harlows had obviously been tampered with in the past. Why continue to play along that Markus had not rewritten his life, effectively erasing his first family?

What he needed to know, however, was just how deep those secrets had been buried.

Voices drifted down the corridor from the foyer. Loren turned to greet his parents, led to him by the butler. As expected of all his subjects, even his parents bowed and curtsied before him. His monarchy began with him, after all. They were not to be treated as his reign’s predecessors.

“I am glad to have caught you before your return to Northcrosse.” Loren gestured for them to enter the dining room, where he took his seat at the head of the table, his father to his right and mother to his left.

Lady Giselle Gard’s red hair was pinned high on her head in a pile of curls. Her brown eyes did not sparkle as they once had when she looked up at him, though her careful smile still warmed him in a way only a mother’s could. Across from her, Lord Damen Gard remained as stoic as always, his silver hair neat as usual and icy blue eyes sharp.

“We are honored, of course,” his father said, accepting the wine poured for him by the pretty, voluptuous, redheaded servant he had transferred from the Nightingale manor and who refused to meet Loren’s eyes. He sipped it and hummed his approval. That he now possessed something Emillie Harlow once cherished made him giddy. What was her name again?

Ah, yes. Kyra.

His mother did not touch the wine glass after Kyra stepped back. She merely stared at it in silence.

Loren studied her for a long moment. “Are you well, Mother?”

“Yes,” she breathed and turned a painfully strained smile up to him. “Yes, of course, my son. Why would I not be?”

“She has been lonely,” his father explained. “Many Ladies of the ton have not been permitted to leave their homes as of late; the lack of entertainment within the Society has been a bit of a plague for them all. You know how the womenfolk get.”

Gossips, the lot of them. Loren knew well just how much they enjoyed getting together throughout the Season. Without any balls to keep their minds occupied, Caersan women often found themselves floundering for anything truly useful. They should be setting their minds and bodies into the service of their husbands. That, however, did very little for the maidens of his new court.

“I will loosen restrictions, then,” Loren said and laid his hand on his mother’s. “There should be a ball to celebrate my coronation. Would you like to host it?”

A light sparked in his mother’s gaze. It died as quickly as it lit as she said, “How soon?”

“Within the week.” He forced a smile. Appeasing his parents should not be this difficult. That they were not proud of his achievements in life confounded him. She should be looking at him with reverence and love, not lifeless disdain. “Will you stay long enough to do so?”

“A week may not be enough time.” She glanced at her husband as though worried he may not shield her from her son’s ire.

But his father did not disappoint as he jumped in to say, “A week is plenty of time. With the key members of the Society already within Laeton and no other appointments on their dockets, they will be thrilled to have a reason to celebrate. A return to the monarchy! How fantastic!”

The joviality of the words did not reach his father’s eyes. Nonetheless, Loren nodded. “Yes, I believe it is for the best. After all, a monarchy must remain strong, and to do so requires an heir.”

Stilling, his mother turned her wide brown eyes up at him. “Has the elder Miss Harlow returned?”

The question twisted something in Loren’s gut. He sucked on his teeth, nodding when Kyra returned and held out a platter of vegetables. The Rusan woman spooned them onto his plate before offering them next to his father.

“She has not,” Loren said after a moment. “I would much prefer her to be my bride over anyone else, though should I not be entertaining other potential options as well?”

His father clicked his tongue, accepting the potatoes after Loren’s were served. He sipped his wine again before saying, “That would be unwise.”

“How so?” Loren glanced toward the gallery, where he could see Ariadne’s portrait smiling serenely back at him. She was beautiful, and he had not imagined anyone taking her place until that moment. Waiting for a wife would be potentially disastrous. “Should I not be focused on securing my line with an heir?”

Perhaps choosing a different wife would make his life simpler. It would certainly take away the pressure of ensuring Ariadne’s devotion to him did not falter. Finding a Caersan woman who sought him would paint a harmonious picture before the kingdom.

Yet breaking Ariadne for his own gain would be more fun by far.

“The Harlows led Valenul for millennia.” His father cut the roasted duck on his plate with smooth precision. “I have exchanged correspondence with the Lords of the Society. They pledge their fealty to you, of course, but remain adamant that the Harlows should be honored.”

“Could I not achieve this with either of the Harlow sisters?”

With Alek Nightingale’s death and Emillie’s disappearance, there was the possibility of finding the younger of the two and taking her to bed instead. She was likely far closer to being found. He had put out a summons for her safe return to Laeton; someone was bound to discover her whereabouts and bring her to him.

Marrying Emillie had never been Loren’s plan, however. The intention was to use her as bait for the elder sister. Ariadne, after all, would not leave her sister to him.

“Again,” his father said after chewing his cut of meat, “such actions would be unwise. I strongly suggest waiting for the elder Miss Harlow’s return so that you may strengthen your seat on the throne.”

“And having her as my Queen would do so?”

“Having Ariadne Harlow beside you will solidify your claim,” his mother said softly. “There are whispers amid the Society of their Golden Rose having been enchanted by that horrible monster. They wish to see her redeemed, and there is no one more capable of such actions than the King of Valenul.”

Enchanted. A fascinating theory, to be sure. Loren had not considered the possibility. Could dhemons enchant others? Did their fae bonds have some form of control over them? It would certainly explain Ariadne’s sudden infatuation with the bastard. If she had been forced into such an arrangement due to a dhemon’s meddling, he would ensure Azriel Tenebra’s ugly horned head would be mounted on his wall.

“I believe you have inspired me, Mother.” Loren sipped his wine before digging into the food on his plate for the first time.

To his delight, that hope rekindled in his mother’s eyes. Too often, she drowned herself in the sorrows of losing her younger son or the disappointments prior to Loren’s kingship. He would remind her of his capabilities and ensure he could never be compared to Darien again. Living in his little brother’s shadow had been an embarrassment.

No more.

Loren Gard was King . He would prove it to everyone, particularly his future wife. Freeing her of that dhemon’s enchantment would be the first step. Then, he would have his Queen.