8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

E millie stared, expressionless, at her reflection the evening after her engagement celebration. Nothing but an echoing silence reverberated in her mind.

The doors to her suite opened, and she watched in the mirror as her maid, Violet, entered with quiet steps. The small Rusan vampire had honey-brown hair and pretty emerald eyes. She curtsied upon approach only to hesitate at the sight before her. Violet bit her lip, the tip of her fangs making a quick appearance before she righted her expression and continued forward.

A vicious bruise wrapped around Emillie's eye—the only lingering mark from her father's violent outburst after the celebration. She had never before been subject to his brutal beatings. Nearly fifty and one hundred years of peace had reigned between them, kept intact by her sister's safeguards. In an instant, that peace shattered.

Every ounce of respect vanished the moment the back of his fist collided with her face in the foyer after the final guest—Alek —had departed. She had not expected it. Had not seen it coming. He had moved fast as a viper and struck without warning.

The servants had scattered like roaches in candlelight, silent with alarm. Her vision flickered from the impact. No one witnessed as he had stood over her, crumpled on the floor and sporting a wound so great it would have cracked a human's skull.

"You lying little brat!" he had screamed, finally free to let loose with Alek gone. Her fiancé had spent the entire night by her side. His departure had been slow, only irritating her father more. "Where the fuck did Ariadne go?"

But she had not replied, refusing to speak of her sister's whereabouts. In response, he dragged her back to her feet and shook her by the shoulders, spraying blood from her leaking nose across her gown. Again and again, he demanded an answer. Again and again, she refused. Even when his hand had cracked against her face a second time, splitting her lip, she only glared at him.

Ariadne's words echoed in her mind: You are one of the bravest people I know .

Now Violet carefully powdered Emillie's cheeks and eye, hiding the bruise beneath the makeup. The Rusan's thin, quick fingers braided her hair into a crown and pinned it into place without a word. By the time she stepped back, Emillie appeared almost normal.

"Thank you," she said quietly and turned to look at Violet. "Will Penelope be here in the morning?"

Violet froze, gaping at her for a long moment before saying, "No, Miss. Penelope has been…relieved."

Icy dread curled in Emillie's gut at the words. Ariadne's maid had been helping her get ready for bed every morning for weeks, stopping only when Azriel's true heritage was revealed and her sister had returned. Though she did not need the assistance, the companionship had been welcomed. For her to leave so suddenly…

"What do you mean?" Emillie searched the Rusan's pretty face for any indication. When Violet hesitated again, she pressed, "Please tell me."

"The Princeps has sent her away," Violet explained, her shaking fingers smoothing her skirts. Her voice cracked as she continued, "She will not be returning."

Gods, no. If her father sent Penelope away, there could only be one reason for it: she had been an accomplice to Emillie's plan to get her sister out of the manor and spent many nights pretending to care for Ariadne while knowing full well what had occurred.

If he knew about Penelope…

"And Thom?" Emillie swallowed hard, not wanting to know but needing to nonetheless.

Violet shook her head at the mention of the stablehand, her brother, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Thom is gone."

Gone . A horrible, finite word. Emillie's chest compressed. The stablehand had not wanted to help her at first. It had been her pleas that broke him down bit by bit. He had tried so hard to stay out of the mess she concocted.

"He was let go as well?"

Another shake of her head. "No, Miss. Thom is…the Princeps…"

Emillie was going to puke. She launched to her feet and wrapped her arms around Violet. The Rusan shuddered, burying her face in Emillie's shoulder, and heaved in a gasping breath. There was nothing for her to do but hold the woman who had spent so many years taking care of her alongside Penelope and Thom.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, regretting having dragged the Rusan's brother into her web of lies.

When Violet's tears eased, she stepped back with a grim smile. "Thank you, Miss."

"Please call me Emillie," she said. She tired of the distance between Caersans and Rusans. The social hierarchy had never sat well with her, and between her short stint at the Drifter's Inn and Bistro with Kyra and Azriel's status as a half-dhemon, it only muddled more. No Rusan she met had ever been as cruel or unjust as some Caersans.

"I can't…"

"Even if it is only in private," Emillie added in a rush. If her father heard a servant call her anything other than her title, he would have a fit.

Violet scanned her face for a long moment before giving her a quick nod. "Alright…Emillie. I believe Misses Dodd and Ives will be along shortly. I'll show them to the drawing room."

"Thank you, Violet." Emillie smiled weakly. "Truly. For everything."

By the time she reached the bright drawing room, Revelie and Camilla had indeed arrived. Both sat on a couch facing away from the door, whispering between themselves. They turned when she entered before leaping to their feet.

Revelie reached her first, throwing her arms around Emillie and pulling her close. The gardenia fragrance that always lingered around her friend filled her nose as Revelie said, "By the gods, Em! What has happened?"

Next, Camilla held her tight. "There have been rumors, doll, but no one seems to know. When your father kept intervening at the celebration last night, we were not certain what to think."

The engagement celebration had been a blur all the way up to the moment the door closed behind Alek and her father's hand collided with her face. She had remained glued to her fiancé's side for fear of her father's rage, and each time her friends attempted to pull her away, the Princeps had been there to tell them no .

"He has gone to the Court House for the night," Emillie reassured them, and they settled into their seats. Lavender black tea and small cucumber and dill sandwiches spread out across the low table. "So much has happened."

"Do tell," Camilla pressed as she plucked up a sandwich and chewed politely.

Emillie shook her head. "First, tell me what you know."

With a scoff, Revelie sat forward. Gossip and rumors were her specialty as the leading Caersan seamstress in Laeton. She picked up her teacup, dark eyes sparkling with interest as she silently collected her thoughts. After a quiet sip, she dove in, "Some have said Lord Caldwell has run away. Others say he has died. Still more have combined both rumors, saying he left Ariadne and the Princeps killed him for being a rake."

Emillie's jaw dropped. "Absolutely none of that is true."

But Revelie held up a finger. "The official word from the Council is that the Lord Governor died protecting Ari from dhemons on their way out of the Central Province. According to this missive, his widow has been sent to Monsumbra to see that Madan is placed as the new Lord Governor and to collect her things."

None of that made sense. Caersan women of the Society had no control over anything political and would never be expected to pack their own trunks for something as simple as a move. That Ariadne was, in fact, gone did nothing to help matters. Only one thing was remotely true: her sister was in Monsumbra.

At least…Emillie prayed nightly to Keon that she had made it there safely.

"So?" Camilla asked, looking between them. "What is the truth?"

She opened her mouth to speak and froze. Her gaze flickered to the door, beyond which Sul no doubt stood. It had been weeks since her first suspicion that the personal guard's allegiance was with the General, so she had not risked speaking to him about anything of import. As though his demeanor gave her reason to relax enough to do so.

Emillie beckoned her friends closer and leaned in herself. In a whisper, she told them everything.

Loren glared at the family portrait hung at the end of the gallery leading to the dining room at the Gard Estate. His father stood stoic, one hand on his mother's shoulder. She looked out at Loren with sad eyes—the same sad eyes he had known all his life, as though she already knew the horrible fate of her younger son, seated on her lap. His brother, Darien, with round cheeks and bright, sapphire eyes, appeared to be the only one with a foolish glint of hope on his face. And to his mother's left, Loren's younger self glared right back at him, his jaw set tight.

Not much had changed for any of them, it seemed, aside from Darien's untimely death.

Even as his mother called his name from behind, Loren knew what he would see upon turning: a woman with half the life left in her after losing her son. He did so and was met with her warm embrace—the one and only place he had ever felt at home. Her vibrant red curls cascaded down her back, not a hint of gray in any of it. She was still young, possibly too young for his father upon their marriage six and a half centuries ago.

"My son." She cupped his face and smiled up at him, though it did not quite meet her eyes. It had not for over a year now. "I am glad you came."

"Of course, Mother," he said and kissed her cheek.

" General Gard." His father's voice rumbled from down the gallery, and Loren turned to him. "I admit I had been concerned you would never again hold the title."

The corner of Loren's mouth twitched into a smirk. "The Princeps saw the errors of his ways, it would seem."

"And yet it took you over a week to grace our doorstep in that uniform again?"

"Busy picking up the pieces left behind by incapable leadership." Loren grasped his father's forearm in greeting.

His father, however, squeezed back harder than normal. "Do not be so foolish again."

Loren fought back the urge to wince at the tone. His father had been furious after his outburst at the Teaglow ball and spent the weeks following berating him for his slip. He had deserved every agonizing night of it, but he prevailed nonetheless.

"Of course not, Father," he said with an incline of his head. Only then did Damen Gard release his hold and step back.

"To dinner, then."

The three of them entered the dining hall where his father pushed his mother into her place before taking his seat at the head with Loren to his left. As they ate their roast beef and potatoes, fresh summer fruits and vegetables, they spoke of trivial things. The engagement celebration from the night before, potential Caersan debutantes still available, and upcoming weddings as various vampires of the Society found their matches.

None of it interested Loren in the least. Not since his own ruined engagement, then Alek Nightingale stealing away Emillie Harlow. He had hoped to see Ariadne at her sister's celebration, yet the elder Miss Harlow had been nowhere to be seen.

To say Loren had become suspicious of her absence put it lightly. The sisters had always been around for one another. During Ariadne's recovery after her rescue from the dhemon keep, he had found Emillie's constant presence irritating. He had wanted Ariadne for himself, and yet where one sister went…the other followed.

"Have you called on any Caersans?" His mother peered at him from over her wine glass, snapping him from his thoughts.

Loren shook his head. "As I said earlier, I have been quite busy."

"I imagine investigating the attack on the late Lord Governor has had you quite tied up," she continued and laid a hand over her husband's as though reassuring herself that he was alive and well.

"Not in the slightest."

His mother's brows furrowed, and she glanced at his father, who said, "Is it not your jurisdiction?"

Heat pumped outward from his chest. He had expected more from his parents. Loren sat back to survey them both, his lip curling in a sneer. "You do not honestly believe the Princeps' lies regarding that half-breed's disappearance?"

For once, his father paused and looked at him, puzzled, as his mother gasped from his dig at the man they believed to be dead. "I am certain I do not know what you mean."

"Azriel Tenebra is alive." Loren looked between his parents with smug satisfaction as they gaped back at him. Stunned to silence. Good. "He is a traitor and it was my exposing him which bought me favor with the Princeps to regain my rightful position as General."

His father scoffed. "He had been a thorn in my side from the moment he stepped foot into that Council Chamber…but that does not mean he is a traitor, Loren. Explain."

"During my…relief," Loren said, spitting out the final word as though it were a rancid bit of food, "I took it upon myself to do a little digging into Tenebra's family history. The information I gleaned had been most upsetting."

"Quit speaking in riddles, boy."

Loren reveled in their suspense. He sipped his wine casually and ate a bite of food, all while his parents did not move an inch. If his mother breathed at all, he would have been surprised. Like every other Caersan woman, she was but a sponge for juicy gossip.

"What I speak of tonight," he said, looking his mother in the eye, "must not be repeated anywhere. Until the moment is right, of course."

His mother had the audacity to look affronted. "You have my word."

"Everyone knows he hails from the fae," his father said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "This will be of no surprise to anyone and hardly news to the rumor mills."

"But which fae?" Loren could not suppress his triumphant smirk. "For no one had any record of him or his father in L'Oden."

And as suspected, the color drained from his parents' faces as the realization dawned on them both. His mother gripped his father's hand hard. She always had a soft spot for Ariadne, and the very accusation he was making only spelled trouble for her almost-daughter-in-law. What horrors had she endured at the hands of someone so vile?

Loren could not dwell on it. If he were to one night marry Ariadne Harlow, such images would not bode well for him. Though she had made it abundantly clear she had no desire to wed him, he now had his sights set, and he was determined to break that wild mare.

"This is a bold accusation," his father said, "and would require quite a lot of evidence."

He cocked his head, the smirk widening. "As it so happens, I had the time and means to experiment a bit prior to bringing my findings to the Princeps. It did not take much convincing at that point."

"What do you mean?" his mother breathed, still holding onto his father as though he were her last tether to this world.

"Liquid sunshine does no harm to half-breeds." Loren sipped his wine again. "But it forces those with shifting abilities to transition into their other forms."

His father gaped. "That bastard turns into a dhemon ?"

"Now you understand," Loren crooned. "He is a liar. A traitor. A fucking enemy of this kingdom, and I saw to his fall from grace."

"You have done the Princeps a great service," his mother said, then shook her head. "Poor, poor Lady Caldwell."

Loren held up a hand. "Mother. Her marriage was by no means legal—the Princeps said so himself. Miss Harlow will do."

His mother blanched. "But then…she is ruined."

"That is precisely why you must not speak of this to anyone." He cast his parents a meaningful stare. "Miss Harlow was quite distraught when all of this was revealed to the Princeps. She will require a new husband as soon as possible."

Now his father pierced him with a hard look, his lips thinning. "And you intend to be that husband? To a soiled woman?"

"I intend to follow through on my original promise to the Princeps."

"And if she will not have your hand?" His mother watched him warily, no doubt remembering the reactions at the Teaglow Estate. At least he had successfully hidden the Caldwells' massacre of their guards at their ball from them. Threats from the General motivated soldiers more than the prospect of their Lord Governor discovering the truth.

"If my discussions with the Princeps continue as they have already," Loren explained, "there will be no room for dissent from Miss Harlow."

His father sipped his wine, and Loren could almost hear the thoughts churning in his mind as he considered everything. No one had touched their food in quite some time now.

"What is your fascination with the Harlows?" his father finally asked. "I saw you dance with the younger Miss Harlow at our ball as well."

Loren swirled his wine and studied his father. "You were the one to teach me how to advance in the Society. Why settle for the future as a Lord Governor when I can be the High Lord Governor?"

"The Princeps is still quite young." His father studied him. "You plan to remain General for that long?"

A slow smirk curled Loren's mouth again, and he emptied his wine glass. "Never fear, Father. I have a plan."

"Loren…" his mother breathed, her eyes widening at the unspoken threat. "What—"

"All in good time, Mother." Loren poured himself another glass, his father merely gaping at him incredulously. He fixed a meaningful stare on the elder Gard. "I expect your full support moving forward."

His father did not respond for a long moment. When at last he spoke, he did so with a curt nod. "Of course, Son."