“What thefuck!” Whelan cried as he was wrenched backwards into the sky. “Azriel,youbastard!”
Another sharp phantom pain seared through him. Azriel screwed his face up against it; the onslaught of Rhun’s death, his own physical pain, and now Oria’s injuries had his stomach roiling in protest. As such, he shut himself off from the vinculum entirely. When he opened his eyes, he came face to face with a soldier raising his sword over him, point down.
Then a figure tackled the vampire from the side in a blur of white.
Azriel’s heart stuttered, and he hauled himself back up to find Ariadne with the skirt of her wedding dress cut off, sitting on the soldier’s chest, shoving a knife through the vampire’s eye. Behind her, a soldier looked on with uncertainty. Before he could decide what to do—attack or protect his Queen—Azriel dispatched him with a swing of his blade through the man’s neck, severing his head.
“Ariadne…” Azriel stepped between her and the next soldier, refocusing his sights on Loren, who took a sword from the vampire nearest him. “Ariadne, go to Razer and—”
“I will not leave youeveragain,” she said as she got to her feet, still gripping the bloody dagger. Between her ragged clothes, bruised face, and bared fangs, she looked like a ghostly and vengeful wraith.
And just like that, every drop of anger he had towards her vanished, leaving Azriel’s bond lighter than ever. She would not leave him. Not again.
Everything happened so quickly that Ariadne could not keep up. In a matter of minutes, Azriel arrived with three dhemons on his heels to rescue them, Revelie had been flown to safety by Lhuka, Gavrhil had succumbed to Rhun’s death, and Whelan had been unceremoniously dragged away by Anthoria. Between one second and the next, loyal men died—mere pawns in Loren’s wretched game—and their bodies paved the road for the King of Valenul to not only regain consciousness, but begin issuing orders for Azriel’s head to be delivered to him.
Still reeling from feeling Rhun’s death—a haunting experience Ariadne never wished to relive—she positioned herself, chest heaving, beside herrealhusband and watched with rising panic as the soldiers encircled them. Bit by bit, they were forced to shift away from the balcony windows. Away from where Razer could reach them.
Then the vampires parted, making way for their King. Loren walked forward, his bruised face more deadly calm than Ariadne had ever seen him. His eyes swept from Azriel, who steppedforward with the tip of his sword sliding along the blood-soaked rug underfoot, to Ariadne. Ice dumped into her veins as his lip lifted into a disgusted sneer.
“A bastard and a horn-fucking slut,” Loren spat.
The warning growl from Azriel reverberated from deep in his chest. “You don’t look at her. You don’tspeakto her.”
“Iownher,” Loren finished and lifted his sword. “That little bitch willkneelat my feet and beg my forgiveness before all of Valenul when this is all done, proving I can break even a dhemon’s enchantment.”
Azriel took a step forward, but Ariadne grabbed his wrist and said to Loren with more confidence than she felt, “Enchantment? You think he has poisoned my mind? No, Loren. Thislittle bitchwould die alongside hermatelong before you could ever touch me again.”
A shriek stopped her heart mid-beat. Ariadne whipped around to find Camilla being dragged backwards, kicking and hitting, by none other than Nikolai. The King’s Sword, who had attacked his own monarch, once again worked under his master’s command.
Azriel lurched back, slamming into Ariadne to avoid a lethal swipe of Loren’s sword. The cry had been nothing more than a distraction, and it worked.
As Azriel exchanged blows with Loren, Ariadne turned to the wall of soldiers around them. Choosing the shortest route, she lashed out with her dagger at the Caersan men before her. They blocked her attack without fighting back, and the ease with which they moved had her blood boiling. Her attacks were nothing but a game to them.
“Camilla!” Ariadne called as her friend broke free of Nikolai’s hold and rushed forward.
But Azriel’s hiss of pain behind her had Ariadne looking back again. Blood seeped from between her husband’s fingers as he held his abdomen. Whether from a slash or stab, she could nottell, but with how much blood he had already lost, any more could spell the end for him.
Azriel blinked hard as though to clear his vision, and that is when Ariadne realized the extent of his problems. He would not be swaying so much already if he were merely bleeding out. No. This mimicked those horrific moments in the Pits when he could hardly stand and focus.
Those damn potions…
Torn between her best friend and her husband, Ariadne growled in frustration. Beyond the soldiers keeping her locked up, Nikolai hauled Camilla back again. Her feet lifted off the floor as she squirmed and fought back, her golden hair falling from its perfect twist to hang in her face.
Another grunt of pain.
Fuck. Heart cracking at the thought of abandoning Camilla, Ariadne turned back to Azriel. His knees buckled, but he remained standing to block Loren’s next strike with a slow-moving slap of his sword. In an instant, Ariande was transported back to the duel that started everything between them. Loren’s skill with a sword outmatched Azriel’s, but it was her husband’s quick thinking and grappling that won him the fight.
No such reactions happened this time.
So when Azriel’s sword finally hit the ground, falling from his weakened grip, Ariadne rushed between them, scooping up the blade as she did to block Loren’s blow. Her arms shuddered under the strength of his swing, but she held firm.
“Remember your place,my pet,” Loren hissed.
Ariadne sneered back at him. “My place is here. Protecting him.”
“So be it.” Loren pulled his sword back, the blades shrieking as he did so. He raised his voice after that, addressing the room as he said, “Let it be known that your Queen died a traitor to Valenul.”
Several things happened at once the moment Loren completed his proclamation. A fresh chorus of screams started from outside, drowned out by a roar unlike anything Ariadne had ever heard before. A shadow passed the balcony like a streak of blood, and from it leapt a familiar figure. Fear radiated through the room, clinging to her skin like dew and seeping into her pores unbidden. It felt strange and foreign, forced upon her yet still all too real.
