Eight…
Another inhale. The music pulsed around her, sweeping through her body like the steps of Kall’s movements.
Seven…
Exhale. Her feet moved, finding the pace of the song, so when Loren twisted, she was already gliding in that direction.
Six…
Ariadne let herself drift away from that moment. It was not Loren Gard with whom she danced, but her husband. Hermate.
Five…
The breath left her in a slow exhale, and she smiled at herself. This was what dancing was supposed to feel like.
Four…
Opening her eyes again, she kept her gaze averted so she could take in the faces around them rather than the one before her. Of all the people in the room, she did not want to see Loren.
Three…
Sabharni,ydhom.
Two…
She inhaled deeply and forced herself to look up at the man she hated most in the world with a pleasant smile. He returned her gaze with one of triumph as though by having her there in his arms, he had won the war already.
One…
And that only made Ariadne’s smile grow, for she could not wait to prove him wrong.
Chapter 4
Every second that slid by was enough to kill Madan. Every breath he took meant his sister was out there somewhere with the most vile man in Myridia, playing a game that could very well get her killed.
After Whelan took his half-eaten bowl of stew, Madan sat on his boulder with his face buried in his hand. Voices drifted from the camp as those gathered did their best to distract themselves from what was happening. Yet he had no chance of outrunning it all. With his heart split in too many directions, no matter which path he took, it led him towards fear.
Thinking too long about his partner had Madan’s blood chilling. Whelan was his heart and soul, and with the coming battles, there was no telling what might become of him. No amount of preparation, even centuries of raids and skirmishes, readied someone for a full-scale war. Not physically, mentally, or emotionally.
Switching to Emillie didn’t help. After spending time observing her interactions with the high fae spice merchants and especially their lycan guard, Madan knew what the two women were avoiding. There was no doubt in his mind that Luce had bonded to Emillie. That lycan never let her out of her range of sight or smell for long. Even the most minor threat to his half-sister’s safety had Luce pulling her away. If they weren’t careful, he feared they’d spiral together.
Brutis was no comfort. Try as the great dragon might, he knew Madan’s mind too well. They both feared what would become of them in the coming nights as well. All it took was one of Loren’s well-aimed ballista to put a permanent end to them both.
Then there was his most obvious concern: Ariadne. Given she had run off on her own without thinking through the consequences, there was a side of him that hoped she learned her lesson. It warred with the half that wanted nothing more than to tell Brutis to tear off the roof of that damn manor and get her out, book be damned.
Madan peeled his hand away from his face to look at the final piece of his fucked-up puzzle. It’d been a mere two hours since they’d force-fed Azriel the last potion, and yet he already stirred. Perhaps between his time in Algorath and the micro-doses he’d been taking for weeks, his tolerance was now too high. They wouldn’t stave off his aggression for much longer.
“They’re at the reception.” Brutis’s voice was quiet due to their distance. As much as Madan hated him being out there, they needed a mature dragon that could carry Almandine and keep her near enough to communicate with Ariadne.
“How is she?”
The silence that followed had Madan’s heart racing. Had everything been fine, Brutis would’ve told him so immediately. That his bondheart searched for the right words frightened him.
“She says she’s fine.”
That was not a comforting statement. It meant that Brutis knew otherwise and withheld the information to keep him from spiraling more than he already was. Thoughtful though it was…it didn’t help. In fact, it only made him feel even more out of control of what was happening. And Madan hated to feel as though he had failed to plan everything out.
As if his sister had given him the chance to properly plananything.
