2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A riadne watched in mute horror as the crimson-clad soldiers yanked Azriel's arms behind his back. Shackles clinked, and they secured his wrists the moment his boots hit the ground. No offers of explanation. No more words exchanged. They flanked the Lord Governor, led by Captain Nikolai Jensen, with firm grips on both his arms.

They had not even reached the outer limits of Laeton before being stopped. The highway was still dotted with the farms that encircled the capital's outskirts. They had been so close to escaping the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of the Society. So close to being free to live as they truly were. With him in chains, no one would forget. Not a second time.

Azriel lifted his head high, same as his arrest outside the Court House. "What's the meaning of this?"

Though months had passed since the first incident, Ariadne could not assuage the rising tide of panic at the memory of Azriel disappearing into the prison. Of Azriel reappearing on the raised platform where he had been forced to reveal the scars littering his body. Of all the blood pooling at his feet.

Nikolai allowed a slow and wicked smirk. His brown eyes glinted in the moonlight as he turned his attention to Azriel. "You have been summoned to the Princeps."

Heat flooded Ariadne's veins. She launched from the carriage. "We dined with my father just yestermorn. He gave us his blessing."

"Circumstances have changed." Nikolai nodded once to his soldiers, and they pushed Azriel forward. He resisted, the shackles' clang grated against her ears, summoning images of Azriel's back splitting open and the sharp pain of her own lessons at the hands of Ehrun.

"He is a Lord Governor," she rasped. "Treat him as such."

Nikolai's smirk broadened. "He is an enemy of Valenul until proven otherwise."

Azriel grunted as they pushed again, and this time, he continued onward. "So much for the laws. I'll be fine, my love."

The soldiers marched him away, and Ariadne grabbed her old Elit's arm. The same arm she had once drank from under the careful supervision of her father. She searched his pale face, webbed with blue lines that mirrored her own as a symbol of their place amongst the elite Caersan vampires. "Please. I know this is from Loren. Let him go ."

"Now, now, my Lady," Nikolai said and swept his short brown hair back from his forehead. "What are you going to do? Kill me and hide my body in a basement?"

Ariadne's stomach curled. He knew what she did. He knew it had been her blade that cut through the guard's throat and she who dumped the bodies down the steps into that vile cellar. A torture chamber, more like it, from which she had rescued her secret half-brother, Madan.

When she did not respond right away, Nikolai pushed past her and followed the soldiers to the prison wagon they pulled out from a side road. Despite the darkness of the night, Ariadne saw everything as clear as day thanks to her pure-blooded Caersan eyes—even if the colors were a bit muddled. It was the same wagon that brought Azriel back to the Harlow Estate after his lashings. The door opened, and this time, when her husband stepped in, he wore the finery of the Society, not the bloodied remains of his bare skin.

"Are you taking him to the prison?" Ariadne croaked, unable to focus on anything but Azriel's green eyes glowing from behind the iron bars.

Nikolai did not so much as look back at her as he mounted his stallion and turned to face down the highway. "The Harlow Estate."

Then, as fast as they had appeared, the soldiers vanished into the night.

Ariadne stared at where their crimson cloaks faded into the distant shadows. She heard nothing but the roaring of her blood in her ears. Despite the summer night's warmth, an icy chill crept into her bones.

If Loren still controlled the military despite his revoked status as General, they were in more trouble than Ariadne could begin to comprehend. The soldiers continued to listen to his commands and, worse, looked to him for orders. He had stooped to torture and murder to acquire information about Azriel. Though Madan would never reveal the truth of his half-brother's fae heritage, she could not be certain Loren had not pieced it together himself.

Of what she knew of the ex-General, it was that he would never give up, and Azriel had humiliated him not once but twice. While he may have let the duel go, the embarrassment at the Teaglow's ball would be too much. Vengeance remained all he had left.

"Astra," Ariadne breathed and when no one moved, she took a light-headed stumble toward her gray-speckled mare behind the carriage. Louder, she said, "I need Astra."

The Rusan backstepper shot into action, face wan and shoulders tense. He untied the lead and exchanged the rope for reins with shaking hands. The straps of the saddle, already buckled for use, were tightened and set to the correct adjustments in a matter of moments, thanks to his practiced fingers.

"Meet me back at the Harlow Estate," she said as she swung up and into the saddle. "I will fix this."

How? By the gods, how would she be able to keep Loren from exposing Azriel? She could only pray no one listened to him. After all, no one would listen to a word she said, and even if they did, they would not heed her. But she would never forgive herself if she did not try.

Ariadne turned Astra back the way they came and shot off down the highway. All semblance of tranquility brought on by their tumble in the carriage had waned. They had not made it far from the capital, but the time it would take to turn the carriage around and lumber back to the Harlow Estate would be too long.

What she would do once she arrived, Ariadne had no idea. Perhaps her father would see reason before her arrival and demand Azriel be released immediately. He had no reason to believe her husband to be anything but the upstanding Lord Governor of Eastwood Province that he had been the last several weeks. Loren had no proof of anything, be it the slaughtered guards or Azriel's hidden dhemon parentage.

By the time she rode up the drive to the Harlow Estate, the prison wagon stood empty. She leapt from Astra and collected her travel skirts to dash up the front steps where the front doors were left wide.

Azriel knelt in the foyer, Loren standing over him and facing her father, the single most powerful vampire in Valenul. The former's silver hair, tied back by a crimson ribbon in solidarity with the soldiers around the perimeter, glinted in the light of the chandelier. The latter stood across from him in stark contrast, his dark brows pulled low over golden, hawk-like eyes that snapped in her direction.

Ariadne shoved past the soldiers nearest her husband and sank to her knees beside him. His shackles had been removed, likely by her father's command. "Did they hurt you?"

A quiet grunt in response, and Azriel turned over his arm to expose the small cut on his wrist. Blood trickled from the opening—the lack of healing from his impure bloodline—yet her breath did not catch at that. Small black webbing stretched out from the wound, pulsing in and out of sight in time with his quickening heartbeat.

She had seen that once before on Madan's arm when she half-carried him from the cellar. Liquid sunshine had been cut into his hand, and though it had not killed him the same as true sun exposure's aegrisolis, his flesh had slowly decayed. But Madan was a Caersan, not a half-blood vampire like Azriel. By all accounts, it should not harm him in the same way.

"My Lord Princeps," Loren said, his voice rich as molasses. "It is with a heavy heart that I come to you with grave news."

Was he trying to kill Azriel? That would be treason. What, then, could the liquid sunshine do to Azriel?

Ariadne stared at the webbing. He had to survive, even if she had to cut his hand off, same as their shared brother. She searched her memories for something—anything—that would give her the answer. Every conversation, every interaction, every detail could be a clue.

"What lies have you conjured now?" Ariadne demanded, finding her tongue before her father could reply and looking up at Loren with venom.

Loren chuckled and stepped aside to look down at her. "You know as well as I that it is he who has lied this entire time. A wolf in sheep's clothing."

So he planned to expose Azriel. If he believed for even a second that anyone would listen to him after everything he had done, he was more unhinged than she thought. Between his abuse and the attempt to drag Azriel into a fight, her father would hear none of it. Not without solid proof. Proof he did not have—

Azriel grunted again and doubled over, clutching his wrist to his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, the air hissing between his teeth. Something was going terribly wrong with the way his body was processing the mage poison.

"You have overstepped, Mister Gard," her father announced and stepped closer to her and Azriel, his brows drawn taut. "Again."

"I believe you will want to see this." A slow grin crept onto Loren's face. His cold, sapphire eyes never left Azriel as he pulled a small, glowing vial from his pocket with a gloved hand. He winked, then tucked it away again.

Ariadne's heart stuttered at the sight of the liquid sunshine. Seeing the vial again dragged her right back to that night in the cellar. Right back to when she had almost touched it. Right back to what she had seen: the dead shifter fae, half-turned and still chained to the wall. Loren had not taken Madan to torture the truth from him…he had abducted him as an experiment . The shifter fae had been half-vampire and an integral part of Loren's findings.

Liquid sunshine forced transitions.

"Azriel," she whispered and laid a hand on his face. He tried to pull away, jaw flexing and eyes shut tight. "Azriel, listen to me. You can stop this."

The whimper, like nothing she had ever heard from him before, tore through her heart. He curled in on himself again, his entire body shuddering from the strain of containing the shift.

"This is treason ," her father snarled above her, and she could only imagine the fury on his face, for she did not look away from her husband. Around her, soldiers shifted uncomfortably. "You have all falsely accused and arrested a Lord Governor without cause. Titles, ranks, and positions will be stripped—"

"Patience, my Lord Princeps," Loren cut in. "I would never request Captain Jensen or any of these fine gentlemen to put their positions on the line if I were not positive in my accusation. This Lord Governor is, in fact, one of our greatest enemies: a dhemon soldier from the Crowe's ranks."

Ariadne whipped her gaze up as her father paused, golden gaze sweeping from Loren to Azriel. "And why, pray tell, would you say such a thing?"

"Do not listen to him," Ariadne said and slid her fingers into her husband's shaking hand. She gave it a tight squeeze. The gesture, common between her and her sister, Emillie, had made its way into every aspect of her life. Now Azriel received the same comforting touch. "Loren is a snake, determined to ruin Azriel since their meeting."

Loren chuckled again. The sound grated on her ears. "Oh, my Lady , you know as well as I how true my words are, but this is not your place to speak. Let the men talk. Gods, Lord Caldwell, what ails you?"

Azriel shuddered and shook his head. Still, he did not reply. Instead, the now-familiar sound of cracking bones made Ariadne's heart drop. She gripped his hand tighter, but he pulled away with a groan to cover his face as he breathed, "I'm sorry."

Tan skin gave way to midnight sapphire. His body jerked from the growing bones, and black horns spiraled out from his skull. The fine Caersan traveling clothes stretched to their limits as his body expanded to its larger frame.

No. This could not be happening. Not now. Not in front of so many witnesses.

Before Ariadne could say or do anything, rough hands wrapped around her upper arms and dragged her back. She gasped, stomach lurching into her throat as her feet scrambled to find purchase on the marble floor. For a heartbeat, she froze like she had mere weeks ago when Ehrun dragged her and Madan from the carriage. Froze and watched as her husband looked up at her with pleading ruby eyes. His chest heaved from the effort of fighting the transition.

"Gods have mercy," her father hissed in her ear. His grip tightened on her arms before shoving her behind him. As though he needed to protect her from the dhemon now kneeling in his foyer. " General Gard. You spoke the truth from the beginning."

The metallic song of swords being drawn echoed through the foyer. In an instant, a dozen sharp tips pointed at Azriel's throat, daring him to move. Amongst those holding the blades, Nikolai shook his head and murmured, "Monster."

A victorious spark lit in Loren's eyes at the sound of his title returned to him. The corner of his mouth kicked up, and he turned that wicked gaze to Azriel. "As I said, my Lord Princeps: a trickster and an enemy. My only regret is the delay in my evidence."

A fire flared to life in Ariadne at that. She lurched forward, held back by her father's outstretched arm. "You fucking bastard!"

Azriel's eyes widened, fear shining in them. Not for him. For her. "Ariadne—"

"You no longer speak to her." Loren stepped forward and gripped the horn nearest him to jerk his head back. "By the laws of Valenul, your marriage never happened. Miss Harlow is no longer your concern."

Ariadne moved faster than her thoughts. She shoved past her father and slammed a fist into Loren's face, exactly how Azriel taught her outside the Bistro. Reeling back to strike again, fingers wrapped around her wrist and, for the second time, she was dragged away. This time, Nikolai's arms wrapped around her. The Captain protecting his General.

Her husband lurched forward, and for a moment, she believed he would break free. Loren held fast to the horn, yanking him back before pressing a long knife to his throat. A thin trickle of blood snaked down Azriel's neck beside the just-closing puncture marks from her fangs.

"Take your hands off him!" she screamed, writhing in Nikolai's hold. Heat stung her eyes.

Loren did no such thing. He ignored her, as he always did, and looked to her father expectantly. "With your permission, my Lord."

"Father, please!" Ariadne tried, and failed, to break free again while her tears succeeded. They streamed down her cheeks from the fear. "Please! I love him, I love him !"

Markus Harlow, Princeps of Valenul, did not look at her. He did not so much as acknowledge her pleas—the same words she had used to sway him after the duel. Nor, though, did he give his General leave to cut open her husband's throat. Rather, he stared at the dhemon before him with a vacant expression. What thoughts and memories swirled behind his golden eyes?

One, she knew, was of a young boy with black hair and his mother's green eyes. A young boy who called him Father despite knowing his mother's lies. A young boy General Harlow had tried to kill, only to be saved by a dhemon—the Crowe.

When at last he spoke, the two words left on a breath: "Arrest him."

"No!" The fire built in her veins, and Nikolai lifted her, scrambling to reach Azriel, off her feet. Imprisonment meant being under Loren's watch. It meant nights of agony. The sound of a whip and the clanking of chains.

Somewhere beyond her screams, her father gave a second command to lock her away. At that, Azriel surged forward with a roar. Whether from her cries or the threat of their separation, she did not know. She did not care. All she knew was that he would fight.

And so would she.

She kicked and twisted, but Nikolai held firm. He hauled her backward to the stairs so she could see as the soldiers surged forward, surrounding Azriel and cutting off her view of him. He roared again, and a soldier's scream sputtered short as blood rained from his gaping neck. The second soldier's arm broke in Azriel's hand.

Then, someone took hold of his black horns, and he disappeared beneath the sea of crimson cloaks. At first, a deafening silence descended. Her heart thundered in her ears as fear sank its vicious claws into her gut. They would not kill him. Not without permission from their Princeps.

Right?

When the soldiers peeled away, she understood why Azriel no longer struggled. A wide, metal collar wrapped around his neck and pulsed with a low, iridescent light. His body hunched, rigid and bound by an ancient fae magic woven into the iron.

There was a time, not too long ago, that Ariadne would have cowered at such a sight. Blood coated the dhemon's mouth, and those red eyes seemed to glow as they swiveled to bore into her. Pleading. His lips parted with unspoken words.

What did he want to say? All she wanted to hear were the words he had spoken in the carriage: Until the very end , my love . It felt so long ago now.

"My Lord," Loren said, "it may be dangerous to keep him alive. I must insist—"

Her father shook his head and held up a hand. "I have questions for him first."

First . For a word meant for beginnings, it felt so final. It tore through Ariadne's heart with a promise. A promise that, once those questions were answered, Azriel would be of no more use to him. A promise that Loren would get what he had wanted for so long: Azriel's death.

"Very well." Loren nodded to the soldiers, who attached a long chain to the fae collar. "Take him away."

Ariadne lurched forward again, and Nikolai grunted at the sudden momentum. He steadied himself with a hissed curse before taking another step upstairs. She swung her elbow around, connecting with his temple, and shoved a hand into the pocket of her dress. The split, hidden inside the skirt, gave access to the dagger on her thigh—even if she still could not wield it with much dexterity.

"You have ruined everything ," Ariadne snarled and pulled the blade free. Though both her father and Loren looked up at her, she did not know to whom she spoke. They were equally at fault. "After everything he has done for me? I hate you."

Unlike when she had uttered the words to Azriel mere weeks ago upon her discovery of his dhemon blood, she meant it now. Neither Caersan at the foot of the stairs had done in a year what her husband succeeded in a fraction of the time. Where they ignored and belittled her, treated her like a fragile doll and lost their tempers, Azriel did the opposite. He listened and heard her words. He acknowledged her past without making her feel lesser for it, and when it threatened to shatter her into a million pieces, he reminded her of her strength. Her fortitude. Her worth. And he had never, not even as her villain so long ago, laid a hand on her with the intention of causing pain.

Azriel, once the catalyst of her nightmares, had long since become the architect of her dreams.

" You are the true monsters." Ariadne twisted in Nikolai's hold and shoved the dagger into the Captain's thigh. His shriek of surprised pain echoed through the foyer.

Below, Azriel lurched back as the soldiers tugged him away. He watched her in wide-eyed shock from the open doors, a twin to the expression painted on her father's face. Nikolai released her when his leg gave out, and she ripped the blade free before rushing down the stairs, reaching for her husband.

Halfway across the foyer, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and gripped her wrist—hard. With a yank and twist, the hilt slipped from her grip, and Loren growled in her ear, "I tried to warn you, Miss Harlow . Now you will watch him hang at my side like a good little wife."

Ariadne writhed against him. Above the heads of the soldiers, a vicious snarl put Azriel's wickedly sharp teeth on display, but his body locked up again as he tried to move back to her. Hot tears of heartbreak and frustration ran down her face. "Let me go!"

"General," her father said behind them, "release my daughter."

The strong arms slipped away, and she stumbled before falling hard to her knees. "Of course, Princeps."

"I will never forgive you," she breathed as Azriel disappeared behind the prison wagon doors again, head ducking low to avoid hitting the roof with his massive horns. Her fingers curled in her lap, and she imagined picking up that dagger to shove it into Loren's heartless chest.

"Excuse me?" Her father's low rumble, closer now, pushed through the pounding in her ears.

"I hate you both." Ariadne pushed to her feet, eyes trained on the wagon as it started down the estate drive. "I hate you, and I will never forgive you."

With that, she picked up her skirts, and turning back to the stairs only when the soldiers were out of sight, shoved past both Caersan men. Emillie stood at the top, face pale and hand gripping the railing hard. Ariadne's heart cracked again, a fresh wave of tears rolling down her cheeks, as she hurried to her old rooms on the second floor—the suite she had once abandoned and now sought for the strange comfort of terrifying memories.

Emillie could not feel her legs. Her white-knuckled grip on the banister remained the only thing that kept her upright as the massive black horns spiraled out from Azriel's head. His skin flushed blue, and when he looked up at Ariadne, those red eyes dripped icy dread into her gut.

A dhemon knelt in the foyer of her family home, just as terrifying and deadly as those who had ambushed them in Laeton Park. The newest Lord Governor, the very man who had protected them from the monsters that fateful evening, was one of them.

Yet her sister did not appear alarmed. After Ariadne's abduction and subsequent torture at the hands of the dhemons, Emillie expected a greater reaction. Terror. Horror. Betrayal. Anything except what occurred as Nikolai dragged her away from the half-vampire.

Please! I love him, I love him!

Emillie watched in stunned silence as Ariadne screamed, Azriel fell beneath the sea of crimson, and their father's expression shifted from shock to cool calculation. Even after the dhemon disappeared out the front doors, he did not hide his disgust. Her sister's sudden, violent outlash only underscored the aberration of what occurred until her father turned those vibrant gold eyes up to her.

"No one is to know of this." Though her father studied her for a reaction, the volume at which he spoke signaled that he spoke to the entire manor. Staff, visitors, and family fell under his jurisdiction. Even Loren.

The reappointed General stepped forward. "I must insist we dispose of him before anyone else discovers his treachery. The longer we wait, the more likely he is to resume his vampire form and poison the minds of others."

"Not yet." Her father pulled his gaze away, giving her leave to suck in a shuddering breath, and turned back to Loren. "He has gone this long playing the part. He would not risk exposing himself to others."

"If I may ask," Loren pressed, "about what do you wish to interrogate him?"

Something dark crept across her father's face. From her vantage point, Emillie watched every inch of him stiffen at the inquiry. He glanced up at her and said, "It is a personal matter."

"To do with the elder Miss Harlow?"

Miss Harlow . As though her sister had never even seen Azriel, let alone fallen in love with and married him. Though Emillie was not well-versed in Valenul's more complex laws, she could not pinpoint one which stated Ariadne's marriage should be annulled. Everyone of import had witnessed it for themselves less than a month ago. Though, given her father's aptitude for erasing marriages from history, she doubted it would be impossible.

Her father clasped his hands behind his back. "It is none of your concern."

The front doors swung open again, and Alek Nightingale swept into the foyer. The Lord Governor of the Waer Province to the west of Laeton turned every head in his direction no matter where he went. Whether it be due to his handsome features of long black hair and matching eyes or the dark rumors surrounding him since taking up his mantle, it did not matter. He commanded attention and never let it go to waste. His grand entrance into the Harlow Manor was no exception.

"Apologies for the intrusion." A slow smirk twisted his full mouth as he shifted his hooded obsidian gaze from Princeps to General to her. "I had come to escort Miss Harlow to town as scheduled when—to my utter surprise—I saw a prison wagon leaving the estate. Are you all well?"

Emillie's stomach dropped. They were due for a promenade at Laeton Park, arranged by her father. The shocking events of the evening had driven the very public engagement from her mind.

"Quite." Her father turned to her and held a hand out expectantly. "Daughter."

It took sheer force of will to pry her fingers from the banister. They did not respond right away and shook like a leaf in the wind when, at last, they fell to her sides. Her feet, likewise, refused to move at first. She merely stood and stared at them all.

" Emillie ."

Her father's stern tone sent a sharp shock through her, and before she knew what she was doing, she stood at the foot of the stairs. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning out Alek's greeting as he swept up her shaking hand and kissed her fingers.

The Caersan men spoke amongst each other, her father and Loren deflecting any questions by Alek regarding what occurred. Emillie paid them no heed. Her mind whirled with inquiries of her own. What did Ariadne think of Azriel? How long had her sister known of his true heritage? Was he as dangerous as Loren and her father were making him out to be?

No. No, he could not be if Ariadne trusted him. If Ariadne loved him even after seeing what he turned into.

Then the events preceding the Gard's Ball a fortnight ago slammed into focus. Azriel had appeared rather haggard and did not eat during their early morning tea. Though her sister blamed it on Madan's disappearance, she had arrived back at the Harlow Estate quite suddenly, not long before dawn, looking shaken and disturbed. Emillie wrote it off at the time as a lover's quarrel.

Now she understood.

Ariadne had discovered Azriel's true fae lineage—not high fae as they had believed upon their meeting—but horned. A dhemon and descendant of the God of the Underworld, Keon, himself. The same monsters who had carried her away into the mountains.

No wonder she had been so distraught.

I love him, I love him!

Those words, those screams of desperate terror, played through Emillie's mind again and again. They dug their claws into her heart and soul and tore out the piece of her that feared the dhemon now carried away by a prison wagon. He had protected them both time and again from the monsters of the mountains. Azriel was not their enemy.

To her father and Loren, however, he remained so.

Emillie looked up to Alek, his wicked black eyes seeking her out even as her father informed him of Loren's reappointment to General. He had captured a dangerous criminal, they claimed. Someone who deserved no empathy for the vile deeds he committed.

Yet despite their cunning narrative, the quirk of Alek's mouth relayed just how much of it he believed. He bid farewell to her father and the General, then held out his arm to her. Together, they exited the manor to find the Caldwell carriage at the foot of the steps with no one inside.

"Odd," Alek murmured, that sharp gaze locking onto the traveling trunks still strapped to the carriage.

Behind them, her personal guard, Sul, followed at a distance. She mounted her mare with Alek's assistance, brought about by Thom the stablehand, and they departed from the Estate. To her relief, he did not attempt to fill the silence by drumming up memories of their childhood as he was wont to do.

Instead, she filled it with a proposition.