Page 104 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

By the way they moved through Monsumbra, Madan wasn’t surprised to hear this. “He assured us the latest recruits would continue their training in the area.”

“This is far from true.” Oren shook his head with a curled lip of disgust. It was, perhaps, the first time Madan had seen the Caersan displeased about anything. “They are running amok.”

The wheels of Madan’s mind turned. He’d certainly been taken off guard by the surge of the army in the area in such a short amount of time. He had to give Loren credit for the swift execution of his plan…or had the plan been in motion long before it’d been agreed upon by the Council? The latter was far more likely, and it made Madan’s blood boil.

“I will speak with their commanding officers and write to the General.” Madan looked between them, moving to fold his hands in his lap until his right connected with thin air, and he was forced to rest his only hand on his thigh. “I’m not pleased with the way this has been carried out, nor does it build trust for the General.”

Veron leaned forward on his arms. “I have long since ceased trusting General Loren Gard. I advised against his appointment all those decades ago to the Princeps but was ignored.”

Interesting. Madan leaned onto the elbow of his amputated arm. “Is that so? May I ask why?”

“Loren was always conniving, even as a boy.” The older Lord pinched his lips. “I could see well before his transition the Caersan he would become. If we are not careful, he will destroy Valenul.”

He’d always intrinsically liked Veron Knoll, even from afar. Now Madan understood why he was drawn to the vampire: they were allies without even realizing it. He cocked his head to the side. “Do you suspect foul play?”

Veron’s dark eyes glittered with a fierceness his body had long forgotten. “I suspect there is a game afoot, and we are not privy to the rules. We must be careful.”

“How do we keep our people safe?” Oren asked, worry furrowing his brow.

“Prepare for the worst.” Lord Knoll sat back again, sitting a little straighter now. “Prepare for war.”

Chapter 24

After so many days woken by his circadian rhythm alone, Azriel groaned against the morning sun filtering through gossamer curtains. He recoiled from the light and threw an arm over his eyes to block it out.

Until, of course, he realized the softness of the bed, the easy warmth of the room, and overall comfort he felt.

Something was wrong.

Azriel’s abdominals contracted hard to bring him upright in an instant. The bright room swam around him with the scent of florals and lemons. A mixture of Melia’s signature citrus and…the scent from a faded memory. One of dark curls, blue eyes, and a gentle hand leading him to this room where he—

Someone stirred beside him, the sheets rustling. He whipped his head around, stomach clenching in the worst of ways. He couldn’t remember what happened. Couldn’t remember anything except for the high fae getting beaten again and again. The drink that made his head swim. The way the bond had screamed at him.

Screamed a warning.

Azriel threw himself from the bed. His tunic was gone, and he was so very naked. He cupped himself with his hands before snatching the sheet he’d left behind to tie about his waist, exposing the one who’d been beside him.

“Come back to bed.” The mage yawned, her lithe, tan body stretching across the mattress. She smirked up at him. “Looks like the potion wore off. Perhaps now you can do all those things you’d tried so hard to do last night.”

Sharp teeth and fangs bared, Azriel took a step away. His back slapped the wall. What had he done?

A liquid fire pumped through his veins, fueled by the bond to Ariadne. If he’d done anything at all, it hadn’t been because he’d wanted to do so with this woman. It’d been because he’d thought she was his wife.

Oh, gods. Gods. His wife! The woman he put above all others. The one he’d do anything to protect, even from himself. The one he’d betrayed, now in more ways than one.

If he’d fucked this mage…he couldn’t live with himself.

“Fuck you,” he grit out, that fire churning within him until it blazed into an inferno. He’d kill her, then he’d kill Melia for doing this to him. It was worse than the Pits—worse than death.

“That’s precisely what I want you to do,” the mage said, crooking her finger at him. “Come now. Be a good dhemon, and let me use those horns as handles.”

The very thought of such things was enough. Azriel charged forward, grabbing the edge of a bedside table as he moved and hurling it at the woman. She shrieked, stopping it midair with her magic.

Then the door to the room burst open, and Paerish stalked in as though waiting just outside the door for the first sign of trouble. Their eyes shot from the woman on the bed, suspending the table above, to Azriel as he snarled at her. The guard dragged their curved blade from its sheath and leveled it at him before saying, “Step away.”

Azriel launched at Paerish. They swung the sword, and he threw himself forward on his knees to avoid the blade, grabbing their forward ankle and shoving his head against their inner leg. The guard stumbled, then fell with a surprised yelp. It was enough of a distraction for Azriel to yank the sword from their grip and reel back.

With no shoes, he didn’t dare try to kick the fallen guard. Instead, he did exactly what had happened to him. He slammed his bare foot down on Paerish’s femur hard enough to hear a blood-chilling crack.

---