To her other side, Emillie stepped in with a wine glass in both hands, draped in a similar gossamer fabric as the two of them. The Noct hung between her breasts, radiating its strange coolness. She handed one glass to their friend and agreed, “Camilla would be proud.”
They laughed despite the pang of grief that still battered at Ariadne’s heart. They were correct, of course. With the crystal accents that sprinkled the room with rainbows as they caught the candlelight and vibrant colors displayed in massive bouquets of flowers from the Leus Plains, made even more audacious by the mages who grew them, the celebration was precisely as they planned: ostentatious and bold.
Just like Camilla.
“I think she would’ve liked your dresses,” Almandine added, the gentle swoop of her presence distracting Ariadne from theknot that had formed in her belly. “At least from what I have seen of her in your memories.”
“Oh, she would have loved them more than anything.” A smile peeled across Ariadne’s face. Revelie and Emillie waited patiently for the silent conversation to come to an end. With her free hand, she plucked at their skirts. “Almandine believes she would have enjoyed our choice in gowns.”
At that, Revelie scoffed and waved a hand, “Of course, doll! They arestunningand show just enough skin.”
Raucous laughter swept through them at her impression of their late friend, soothing the aches that Ariadne was certain they all had. The pain of loss could never truly disappear, after all. They had merely constructed the remaining pieces of their lives around the vacancies left by those dearest to them. For Ariadne, those gaping wounds, for Kall and Camilla, her father and Nikolai, were reminders of the love she shared with them—love that no longer had a physical home.
“I am quite certain,” Emillie added, assuming the same cadence as Camilla. “These people are not having nearly as much fun as they should be. Not a single couple has snuck off together. Can you believe it?”
“Devastating!” Ariadne chimed in, clutching at her throat. “One would think we were still burdened by the standards of the Society. Let them keep their stuffy ways, I say!”
Another round of merriment, then the bundle in Ariadne’s arms gave a twist. She tucked her free arm under the tiny miracle before sighing and declaring that she needed to take a step outside to soothe the little one. Revelie nodded in understanding, and though Emillie offered to help, Ariadne waved her off.
“Where is Luce?” she asked, looking through the crowd. “You should be dancing with her—or disappear with her for a while, as Camilla would insist!’
Color flushed Emillie’s cheeks. “She wanted to stretch her legs with Haen somewhere outside. If you see her, tell her I would love to…dance.”
Revelie giggled behind her wine glass, but turned her dark gaze across the floor to where Jakhov watched her with glowing red eyes. Taking a sip of her drink, she bid them both adieu before weaving her way between some high fae and mages towards her mate. Ariadne looked forward to their upcoming nuptials—a traditional vampire ceremony that Jakhov took no time at all to agree to.
Peeling away from the celebratory din, Ariadne immediately regretted her plan of action. The winter cold stood the hairs on her arms on end and racked a shiver down her spine before she could make it even a dozen paces outside. Each breath left her in puffs of white, though the shift from stifling warmth to frigid temperatures eased the squirming bundle in her arms.
“Alright, alright,” she whispered as she adjusted her hold on the tiny babe again.
Ariadne felt Azriel’s presence long before she saw him. The great blue dragon spiraled down in the distance alongside her own opalescent bondheart, now only half his size from her rapid growth. Their consciousnesses wove around her like a net of steady calm. The peace, though once a foreign sensation, had become a near-constant since their return to Monsumbra, where they established the new capital of the united dhemon clans.
“Is he coming?” Ariadne asked.
Affirmation rolled back through the vinculum from all three as Azriel dismounted Razer and started across the lawns to where she stood. His deep blue skin, flushed from flight, glistened from melting snow despite the flakes that clung to the outer strands of his black hair and attempted to pile on the curve of his horns.
“He was hesitant,” Almandine admitted. “But we insisted.”
A small wail from the bundle, along with a more insistent wiggle beneath the blanket, had Ariadne glowering at Azriel as he stepped onto the terrace. “My arms need a break. Besides, you are always able to calm her.”
Lies after lies. Ariadne’s arms were fine, and Azriel only seemed to rile up the little one more than anything, but his red eyes almost glowed with joy as he accepted the babe and hoisted her into his arms. The sight of him holding the tiny figure had her heart swelling in a way which she was not yet grown accustomed.
Through the vinculum, Razer gave an indignant huff. “Don’t listen to her.You’re a menace,and you know it.”
Almandine prodded at the blue dragon with amusement. “Be nice.”
“I understand that you’re still new here,” Razer said, “but you know better than to side with him at this point.”
Casting a glare out at his bondheart, Azriel said, “She speakswisdom,you overgrown insect.Perhaps you could learn from her.”
“For the last fucking time,” Razer grumbled, and even from afar, a handful of sparks could be seen drifting up from his nostrils, “go read a damn book about insects.”
“I don’t need to see more pictures of you.” Azriel grinned down at the babe, shifting the blanket away from her face so he could see her better. “I’d rather be looking ather.”
“The two of you need to have some sort of therapeutic getaway,” Ariadne sighed.
Both groaned at the idea, and before she could do anything but laugh, Razer stretched his wings and launched away from the manor. Azriel cast her a withering look before returning to the bundle in his arms and sticking his tongue out from between his sharp teeth.
Madan’s voice drifted across the terrace from the manor, dragging their attention toward the open doors. “One of these days, he’s not going to come back.”
