Emillie chewed her cheek. “I thought the same—”
“Em?” The question slammed into Madan hard, and he focused on keeping the connection steady as the word made its way through each link in their chain.
“Yes,Ari.” Emillie smiled sadly as she stared at the flames dancing before her. “I am here.But we can explain later when we see one another.Show me what you see.”
In a flash, the library swam into view, hazy on the edges and nothing more than rows and rows of books. Everything moved too quickly as Ariadne searched the titles, her fear seeping through the vinculum in waves that threatened to drown him. With Almandine so young, it didn’t surprise him that she would have difficulty filtering it out, but it was Brutis that Madan was shocked by. His bondheart’s weariness from near-constant flight prevented him from focusing enough to dam the flood.
“Slow down.” Emillie’s command had their sister coming to a standstill. “Have you found books on medicinals?”
Ariadne’s attention shifted to a different shelf where titles that fit Emillie’s question appeared. “A ritual is not medicine.”
“Not for vampires,” Emillie confirmed, swaying as she spoke. Madan swung out an arm, but it was Luce who grabbed her by the shoulders and held her upright. “But mages and fae use them for healing all the time.”
Understanding pierced through the vinculum. Ariadne spoke a few words aloud that Madan couldn’t make out before a blonde head bobbed into view, starting at the bottom shelves as Ariadne stepped onto a rolling ladder to begin at the top. She yanked a book from its place to look at the cover, just for Emillie to send back a resoundingno.
Again and again, the books came down… Again and again, none were correct. Seconds slipped by, and as the book continued to elude them, Madan’s heart began to thunder.
Loren set his half-drank glass of brandy on the table beside the central fireplace of his rooms and turned toward the double doors. The massive sitting room spread out around him, plush rugs of cream and gold framing the crimson velvet couches and chairs. His jacket draped over the back of the wingback nearest, having been shed the moment he stepped foot across the threshold.
The threshold heshouldhave crossed with his bride on his arm. It was there before the hearth that Ariadne should have turned for him to unfasten the buttons that ran down her back so that she could stand as she was meant to do: naked and acquiescent.
Instead, his new wife and the Queen of Valenul lingered with a pair of inebriated derelicts of the Society who threatened to drag her through the refuse of their reputations. A past Golden Rose who now operated her own business like a common Rusan? Unfathomable. A daughter of a new Lord Governor who spent the last decade allowing anyone willing to take liberties with her body as a direct rebellion against her family? Obscene.
Perhaps he needed to find a way to drive a wedge between them. Or, far easier, ensure a faster and more permanent solution—not unlike what he once planned for his own brother. Darien would not have lived long after his wedding had it not been for his untimely death for the same reason.
Because Ariadne belonged tohim.
Grinding his teeth, he crossed the room to the doors, snapping them open and stepping into the hall beyond with determination. His wife should be with him to consummate their marriage, as was her proper place. If her friends required any further assistance, there were plenty of servants to take care of their needs. Ariadne should be taking care ofhisneeds.
The only problem with the current layout of the castle was that it now took entirely too long to get anywhere. Theadditional wings and rooms created a maze in which anyone not accustomed to the layout could become lost. Perhaps that had been what happened to Ariadne, though that Rusan servant no doubt knew where to go.
By the time he reached the wing in which Camilla’s and Revelie’s rooms were located, a fiery knot had built in Loren’s chest. Though he had passed several maids closing the curtains as morning crept upon them, he had not seen any Caersans.
The door to Revelie’s room stood open. Loren hesitated at the entry, not because he felt the need to announce his presence prior to entering, but because he knew without checking that it would be empty. And that only caused the rage to build. Nonetheless, he stepped into the empty room and checked behind every door before storming across the hall and repeating the endeavor in Camilla’s suite.
When he reached the hallway again, the command to lock down the castle on his tongue, he ran smack into someone who had not been there before. He stepped back as the Rusan cowered before him, crying out in surprise and then curtsying low with a slew of apologies.
Loren glared as the redhead straightened. “Where are they?”
The woman was one he recognized—the same one he had taken from the Nightingale staff to lure Emillie Harlow back to Laeton. Alas, it had not worked, and yet the Rusan with her wide eyes and pale terror only made him more infuriated.
“Your Majesty?” Her voice cracked, and her cheeks flushed as she cast her gaze to the floor.
“Where is mywife?” Loren growled, then gestured to the rooms he had just searched. “She should be here, and yet, there is no sign of her.”
Hands shaking, the woman flinched as he waved a hand before her. Then she did the one thing that would have had him punishing a soldier in his ranks: she shrugged.
“Have you lost your voice, woman?” he snapped, face twisting into a sneer.
The redhead shook her head and squeaked, “No, Your Majesty. I apologize. I didn’t mean to—”
“If I discover,” he seethed, “that you are keeping information from me…I will ensure you never have the chance to lie to me again.”
The woman whimpered and wisely took a step back. “I would never lie to Your Majesty. If she isn’t here, I will have the entire staff search for her at once.”
“Do so.” Loren straightened the cuff of his shirt and looked further down the hall. “Inform the King’s Sword as well.”
“Immediately.”
