Page 64 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“General?” A frown formed between Nikolai’s brows. “Is everything alright?”

“I trust no one else.” Loren tapped the empty lapel awaiting the new patch. “You are my eyes, ears, and voice. Check in with our prisoner, collect our earnings, and then take your new station at Monsumbra.”

Now Nikolai looked perplexed. “Monsumbra is not what I expected.”

Loren gave him a sharp look. “Eastwood is in the hands of a sympathizer. We must keep a close watch on any movements. Report back all you see.”

Colonel Jensen hesitated, his brown eyes darting to the door as though afraid another officer had overhead, then nodded. “Of course, General. I leave at dusk.”

“Celebrate tonight,” Loren said with a small smile. “You have earned it.”

Chapter 16

With only a little over a month left to the Season, Emillie was not surprised by Alek’s insistence on hosting a ball. Since he now had secured his future wife in her, he no longer posed a threat to the other Caersan men seeking brides. Once an engagement was announced, breaking it off for any reason would be considered…suspicious. And suspicion of such a nature had no place in the Society.

Some might begin to think the man was, perhaps, a rake whose unfaithful ways had been discovered. That, however, would be unlikely. In most cases, it would be considered the woman’s fault.

What is wrong with her? They would say. Others might speculate she had not been as pure as they thought. Even worse, rumors would begin to circulate around both involved and no one would wish to associate with them or their families. At least for a while.

Emillie was determined for such gossip to never occur. So Violet helped her into a new lavender gown made by Revelie, paid for by Alek during one of their excursions into town, and pulled her hair up into a pile of curls atop her head. Her makeup, as usual, remained refined and enhanced her natural features.

By the time she made her way to the foyer where her father waited, his golden eyes searing into her with resentment, her lobes felt heavy from the earrings she had made to match her engagement choker, and her wrist glittered with jewels. If she were to be the bride of a Lord Governor, then by the gods, she would look the part. Something about her appearance softened her father’s gaze for a heartbeat before his brows creased again.

“Good evening, Daughter.” He held out his arm, lips pressing into a thin line. His curly brown hair swept back from his face, and the shadow of a beard graced his jaw. Though the fashions of Valenul changed slowly, they always happened during the Season.

Emillie took his arm without a return greeting and breathed in his familiar woody scent. Her heart throbbed. Memories of warm hugs and laughter accompanied that smell. Those were now a thing of the past—a past that was quickly slipping away from ever re-emerging.

Since their altercation the night of her engagement ball, nothing had been the same between them. He did not trust her. She did not trust him. She followed the protocols of the Society to save her own reputation and that of her sister, still said to be in mourning. If nothing else, they each wore a mask to fool those they kept at a distance.

“If anyone asks,” her father said as they settled into the waiting carriage outside, the door shutting behind them with a snap, “your sister is still in Monsumbra. She will return by the end of the month.”

She focused her attention outside the window. In private, she had no intention of giving him the same respect she would show at the ball. “And her plans when she returns?”

This had become a game to them. Like a chess match in which both players had the same goal—retain their reputation as much as possible—by playing their parts in very different ways. His was to plant the information amongst the lords who did not know better. Hers was to quash rumors with the same story.

Emillie hated it.

“Look at me.” His voice was low and dangerous and not one to be trifled with.

Turning her gaze to him, Emillie curled her fingers into the skirt of her gown to hide the way they shook. She would defy him at every turn for what he had done to her. For what he had done to Ariadne. If she arrived at Alek Nightingale’s Laeton manor with another bruise, there would be trouble, and he knew it. So she leveled her equally challenging glare at him and waited.

“When I find your sister,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper, “she will marry General Gard as was intended originally. We are merely fortunate that a Caersan such as he would still take interest in her. This is the plan, and you will be happy for them both. Understood?”

Emillie snorted and shook her head, returning her attention back out the window. “She will never marry him.”

Her father shifted, clearly agitated. “She will even if I have to drag her into the temple and chain her to him.”

If she could open the carriage door and throw herself onto the road beyond without consequences, Emillie would to get away from him. The implications of what he said disgusted her. That he would deem his own daughter so insignificant that he would barter her away like an object made her skin crawl. She was suddenly very grateful for Alek’s open mind and willingness to take her away from him.

Because being married to a man with a questionable reputation felt safer than belonging to her own father. How had so much changed in so little time?

“I do not think you will have the chance,” Emillie said after a pregnant silence between them. She did not look to see his reaction but could feel the fury rippling from the other side of the carriage. “If you ever see Ariadne again, I will be surprised. She will never forgive you.”

He shifted forward, the seat creaking with his movement. When he spoke, he was much closer than before. “Neither of you understands the seriousness of what happened that night. If anyone discovered what that bastard was—”

“Azriel Caldwell has a name,” Emillie hissed and swallowed hard. “And when he gets free, I hope he kills you.”

Only then did Emillie look her father in the eye to drive home the seriousness of her statement. She had no desire to ever fall under his possession again, and she knew full well that Ariadne would rather die than return to Laeton under such circumstances. So Emillie prayed her sister stayed away. That she remained safe. That wherever she was, Madan had prepared her for what came next—whatever it might be.

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