Now it was Wintre’s turn to pale. He glanced at Nikolai, then stammered, “You…Your Majesty—”
“Make it so, General.” Loren stood, hands pressed to the table before him as he glared at the softened man before him. “I want this kingdom safe and for the road to be lined with the bones of these beasts when I bring home my wife.”
Chapter 17
With Phulan’s sudden departure to Algorath dragging Emillie and Revelie away, Azriel feared for Ariadne’s recent trepidatious tendencies. Now the night had come in which Madan and Whelan would also be leaving, taking with them their most valuable prisoner in the hopes of gaining a larger battle-ready cavalry. Soon, everyone Ariadne held closest would be gone, leaving her to flounder as he had floundered all those weeks enduring the Pits.
After bidding farewell to her sister and best friend, Ariadne had insisted she would be fine. Her training, now focused on speed and accuracy more so than brute strength, shifted from Lhuka’s schedule to Edira’s. The high fae woman had insisted she take on the task, saving Ariadne from needing to interact with any of the men inAuhla. Something about the change brought life back to Ariadne.
It also eased a twisted, dark place inside Azriel that hadn’t felt quite so strained since the night he’d attacked Kall.
Nonetheless, he was guiltily grateful for the sudden increase in time he could spend with Ariadne. With her sister and friends gone, she spent more time by his side. A part of him knew it was out of loneliness and wanted nothing more than to change that. The other side—the weaker side—felt a flood of relief.
Only Ariadne, after all, kept his head on straight. Therefore, her near-constant presence prevented him from devolving as quickly as he normally would. Typically, by the time he found his way back to their room, he had already begun to forget what he’d accomplished during his waking hours. Nothing pieced together properly, and he’d walk as though driven by nothing more than his desire for… Well,her.
They walked together, then, to say their goodbyes to Madan and Whelan. He held her hand, doing his best to grip her with just enough force to reassure her while balancing the part of him that wanted nothing more than to clutch his only tether to the world with all his strength.
As though sensing his internal struggle to keep his fingers from gripping too tight, Ariadne squeezed his hand back and leaned her shoulder against his arm. “I’m going to miss them, too.”
Her occasional use of the colloquial Rusan contractions had Azriel breathing a sigh of relief. For nights since her return from Laeton, she’d used nothing but the Caersan’s strict grammatical rules. That she felt comfortable enough to relax her stringent hold on the Society’s expectations meant she wasn’t lost in her own memories.
Finding her in a tub of her own blood had been horrific enough. Azriel’s sole desire became keeping her thoughts from wandering in that direction at any point.
“Are you going to be alright?” The question left him in a whisper, and they slowed to a halt together.
Ariadne chuffed. “Me? Madan has been your brother far longer than mine.”
“You know what I mean,” Azriel said, lifting her hand so he could kiss her fingertips.
A light blush swept across her cheeks, and for a moment, he saw her as they had been months ago: coming down the Harlow Estate steps to go for a turn about Laeton Park, where they could see their future amongst the people of the Society.
Though far less than a year separated them from that life, it felt much farther away now. Azriel couldn’t imagine what their life would be like had they remained in Valenul—what they’d be doing now had he killed Loren in the duel and taken his place on the Council. Perhaps the two of them would be blissfully happy, making a home out of the Caldwell Estate in Eastwood.
Perhaps Kall would still be alive.
It was all a dream now—unreachable and as quickly dissolving as a sugar cube in water. Such a life of calm and peace wouldn’t suit them. Eventually, the war would have found their doorstep, and they’d be flung back into the world of dhemons and battle.
“Margot and Edira have been good to me these last couple of days,” Ariadne said. “I am grateful for their company in the absence of Emillie and Revelie.”
“I’m glad.” Azriel brushed a stray curl back behind her ear. “I worry about…”
Ariadne bit her lower lip, the corners of her mouth curling in a grim smile. “I know. I will be alright. I promise.”
“Promise me,” he said, stepping closer and brushing his lips across her forehead, “you’ll come to me if you are…unwell. I want to help you.”
A strange thing to say with how unstable his own mind could be. Yet he understood the thrall that could overtake someone, drowning them in the past from which they could find no escape.He would rather her find solace with him than slip beneath the water’s surface.
“I promise.” The words left her with far more conviction than they had when she’d promised not to leave him after finding the Nightingale Estate empty. It soothed him in a way he didn’t realize he needed it to.
They set off again together, descending the steps to the entry hall where Madan, Whelan, and Ehrun waited together. The mated pair stood close while the third remained distant in both placement and temperament. No new dhemon magic washed off him, the collar about his neck holding back whatever Ehrun struggled to keep confined.
“Fear,” Razer said, his voice distant. “The magic feels like…fear.”
It’d been entirely too long since Azriel had heard from his bondheart. The dragon had left him inAuhlaand taken off for the mountains with Mhorn, where they moved the clutch almost daily. Razer’s sudden presence meant they’d journeyed closer to the dhemon keep once more—a welcome change.
“I have yet to witness the magic of another dhemon now reconnected,” Azriel admitted. “Do they all feel that way?”
“Are you daft?” Razer’s consciousness grew stronger. “I haven’t been here to check.”
