“I have it under control.” Ariadne swallowed hard, and this time, she took hold of Loren’s hands to peel them away from her. She entwined their fingers and held tight, considering if it was worth breaking his hands at that moment. “Later…please…”
To her everlasting relief, the carriage began to slow. With the sudden change in pace, she took the opportunity to shove her dress back into place and go about fixing her veil before her face. Only then did Ariadne realize that the next part of her union would not be as it had been with Azriel.
Her father, after all, was dead. Markus Harlow would not be waiting at the end of the path outside, his hawk-like eyes studying her from afar as she made her way to him, where he would remove her veil and tell her goodbye. There would be no embrace. No words exchanged. Nothing.
But you will not return the same.You never do.
What had she said in response to that? Ariadne could not recall her own words, only those that burned into her memory as she held back a flood of emotions. For decades, she had been impatient to find a husband. Then she wanted nothing to do with the prospect until the start of the most recent Season. Shethought Loren had been who she desired…until Azriel. Until her true husband captured her heart and soul and started her on the adventure of a lifetime.
If she could go back to that night, to hug her father one last time despite their animosity towards one another, she would.
Instead, the carriage lurched to a halt, and the door opened to Nikolai on the far side. Loren stepped down and held out his hand to her. She took it, followed suit, and stared down the path created by the applauding guests that lined either side.
No one stood at the end.
Heat pricked at her eyes, and Ariadne choked back the lump in her throat. This was not where she wanted to be nor whom she wished to be beside. She wanted to run and hide, but there would be nothing of the sort tonight. Not if she wanted to live long enough to make it back to the library.
“It is time to go, my pet.” Loren’s voice was low and firm, and he urged her forward when she did not take the first step with him. “Our dance awaits.”
Feeling as though she were a marionette on a string being led to her own demise, Ariadne started down the path. The guests fell in behind them as they passed. The Fletchers. The Kolsons. Lord Moone. The Hookes. Every member of the aristocracy was there, even those who had been in town for the Season alone. After all, they would have been just as trapped by Loren’s proclamation as Emillie said she and Alek had been.
A tear slid down her cheek as they reached the end of the path, and rather than face her family, she faced none other than Loren. It was he who lifted the diadem from her head and removed her veil before replacing the golden crown. He tracked the tear’s progress, his lips curling with a delight that made her blood run cold.
Heenjoyedher misery.
“You are stunning.” Loren swept his thumb across her cheek, catching the tear and vanishing it into the cold night. Then he held out the veil without taking his eyes from her, expecting someone to take it without being asked. Nikolai did just that, relieving hiskingof the burden of a gauzy piece of fabric. “Now come.”
For once, Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief that Loren did not, in fact, wish to hear her speak much more than the basic begging. She followed like the good little wife she had to be as he led her to a large building reserved for such Society occasions. The number of weddings she had attended within the walls over the decades was innumerable.
Yet each time she entered, it looked entirely different. The massive gold ballroom, lit by a half dozen chandeliers and adorned with roses turned gold, spread out before her from the large double doors. White and gold checkered tile stretched the length of the dance floor, with each gold square adorned with Valenul’s emblem. Banners hung from the walls, sparkling as the light autumn breeze picked up the ends and shifted them about.
On the far side of the dance floor were twin staircases, the rails of which were wrapped in golden leaves and more gold roses. It was there, at the top, that another large room opened up. Though Ariadne could not see it, she knew it would host the dozens of dining tables that she could only guess were laden with even more gold.
Did Loren need to flaunt his status as King to every guest?
“For my Golden Rose,” he whispered in her ear as though summoned by her thoughts. Well, that explained that.
Through the doors that lined the ballroom on either side of them, the Caersans of the Society flooded in, standing around and watching them as the music began. Following the sound of the finely tuned stringed instruments, Ariadne found them assembled in the alcove provided by the dual staircases.
And before she could contest, Loren held firm to her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor.
The last time she danced with Loren Gard, he had not only been a General, but she was a rather hopeless dancer. He did nothing to help with her inability to hold a rhythm with her feet. Instead, he allowed her to fumble and panic as he dragged her through the dance without sympathy.
Therefore, it did not surprise Ariadne when her heart picked up its pace in time with the music, and she took to staring at her feet once more. She stumbled and bit her lip to keep herself from crying from embarrassment. Unlike last time, there were far fewer people present who would help pick her back up at the end of this.
Sabharni,ydhom.
Kall’s words echoed in her mind. He always said them when she could not think during training. Rather than let her flounder and lose herself in her own mind, he had forced her to calm herself. Breathe. Remember everything he had taught her.
Rather than racing, her heart ached. It slowed.
Ten…
Sucking in a breath, Ariadne closed her eyes, imagining herself in her fighting gear with Kall beside her. He would kick her feet into position and make her repeat the steps again and again until she no longer tripped over herself. Until her body moved as it was meant to. He held her hands aloft, keeping them in those positions before her face, and helped her twist just right to get that perfect hook.
Nine…
She focused on Loren’s movements, imagining herself in Azriel’s arms instead. He never let her stumble. Rather, she felt as though she were floating when they drifted through a dance together.
