“Correct.”
“Azriel’s power, I believe,” she said slowly, “is desire.”
Revelie snorted. “That would explain why there were so many dhemons almost running away together after your tattoos were finished.”
Heat rose to her cheeks at the memory. “I found myself rather…insatiable that night. I was almost certain it was the bond but wanted to be sure it was not Azriel’s magic.”
Without hesitation, Revelie shook her head with wide eyes. “Oh, no. That was most definitely the bond.”
“Did you feel the same way?”
“Gods, yes.” Revelie shook her head, eyes going distant as she recalled the events of the night from her own perspective. “I have never felt anything like it before.”
A knot loosened in Ariadne’s chest. Azriel had expressed his discomfort at possibly accidentally using his magic to influence her desire towards him and while she had reassured him that it was not possible, his concern had leaked into her own thoughts. The idea of being controlled in such a way…
Phantom hands—the very same she had worked so hard to keep at bay—ran up her sides and gripped her hips. She shivered, shoving them away and taking a deep breath to keep herself focused on the current moment.
“How did you resist him?” Ariadne asked, exhaling hard and forcing herself to look at her friend as a grounding point.
Accustomed to such moments, Revelie took her hand and squeezed hard. “I think it was easier for me since I have never had sex with him. But”—she cursed under her breath—“I admit that I almost gave in that night.”
“Why not celebrate the bond together?” Ariadne asked, now curious about her reasoning.
“I want it to be special.” Revelie smiled. “And nearly doing it against a tree in front of everyone felt wrong. I want him to understand, too, that when it happens…it is more than just the bond.”
Ariadne nodded. “And would you say it is more than the bond?”
“Before the ritual,” Revelie said after a moment of contemplation, “I already had feelings for him. It is hard to resist the way he looks after me.”
Mouth hanging open, Ariadne laughed again. “Looks after you? Madame Ives, the most independent woman I know, appreciating the way amanlooks after you?”
This time, Revelie joined in the laughter. She shook her head and covered her face. “I know, I know!” She dropped her hands again. “I suppose it has everything to do withwhoit is. Caersan men only wanted me to give them children. Jakhov just wants me to be happy.”
The simple sentence sobered Ariadne in an instant.
Yes, that was precisely what it was: Jakhov wanted Revelie to be happy, just as Azriel only ever sought Ariadne’s happiness. Now with the bond complete, she felt the same primal urges. Where she once believed herself to be satisfied with the level of care she gave him, nothing seemed to match what she wanted it to be anymore, and that meant only one thing: she had a whole new depth of love to share.
With the huge medic tent not currently used by Phulan, Azriel commandeered its massive space to gather his war council. A series of small tables sat end-to-end along the length of it with chairs spaced out around it in as similar a layout as he could manage to that ofAuhla. The ever-growing number of individuals who sat around its edge was a bit overwhelming, though he was grateful for each and every one of their devotions to his cause.
Azriel sat beside Ariadne at the far end of the tent, opposite the entrance, overlooking the rest of his council that settled into their typical places. All except for the one man who stood at theentrance, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his face paler than usual as though he were attempting to stifle the urge to vomit.
No one spoke to the dhemon. No one moved except to look to Azriel for guidance—as though he had been the one to extend the invitation for him to join when, in fact, he had no ideawhythe dhemon had even entered the tent. Rather than look foolish before the rest of the council, he opened his mouth, attempting to summon something wise or powerful to say. A question, perhaps, or demand for him to leave at once. Somethingkingly.
But it was Ariadne who spoke from his side, her voice stronger than he anticipated while facing down such an individual. She gestured to an open seat between Boti, the high fae commander, and Zeke, the elder lycan who stepped into Dahlia’s vacant position as his people’s military trainer. “Ehrun. Sit.”
“Why have you summoned me here?” His red eyes shifted between them like a caged hound at the mercy of his displeased masters.
Again, Azriel opened his mouth. Again, Ariadne spoke before he could think of a response. “You were the Crowe’s finest general—one my father spoke of with reverence. There was a reason for that, and I wish for your guidance as we plan for what I hope will be the end of this war.”
It was Madan who whipped his attention to Ariadne at that. “Youinvited him?”
Ariadne did not take her eyes off Ehrun as he picked his way to the seat offered to him, a cool resolve hardening her features. Before he sat, Ehrun placed a fist over his heart and inclined his head to her. She did not return any welcoming gesture, instead choosing to speak quietly to her half-brother. “Let us see what he has to offer us in repentance for all he has done.”
Golden Rose to Queen. Ariadne had changed so drastically since Azriel’s first official introduction to her. Where she once hesitated to speak up against authority—daring only once in hispresence to voice her opinions to her father and fiancé—she now commanded a room filled with people of varying power. Political, magical, and physical.
More than that, she stared down the man she hated more than anyone else in the world without flinching. It was akin to facing her greatest fears and demanding that they yield to her will. And they did.
“Thank you for gathering here,” Azriel said, reining in his awe for his wife enough to address the rest of the table. Their numbers had grown more than he could have hoped. Where once a mere eight had sat around the map-etched table back inAuhla, now double that looked to one another for reassurance that this would not be the last time they gathered.
