Page 112 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“No.” Ariadne held firm to the rail before her. She would not leave until she knew he was alive. That he would make it out of the Pits, and she would see him again.

Phulan cursed. “Stupid girl, she will know.”

“She will not.” Still, she did take her eyes from the fight.

Azriel advanced, his injured leg nearly buckling a second time. He pulled the dagger from his thigh, having determined it to be the least lethal to remove, and snarled at the fae again.

All around her, the onlookers were beside themselves. No one had anticipated the turn of events. Everyone had cashed in on their bets of who would win—and they had all assumed Azriel to be a dead man.

Not tonight. Not anytime soon, if Ariadne had anything to do with it.

The fae attacked first, a dagger flying from his grip. Azriel twisted out of the way, his gaze clearer than it had been and leagues more focused. As the fae swiped out with a second dagger, Azriel lunged forward on his good leg, gripped the back of the man’s knees, and yanked his legs out from under him.

Before his opponent could right himself, Azriel pinned him with his huge body. The fae tried to scramble away, feet pushing in the sand but finding no purchase. He bared his sharp teeth and elongated fangs, then buried them in the man’s neck.

This time, he did not let go until the fae stopped moving.

“It’s time to leave,” Phulan whispered, her breath tickling the shell of Ariadne’s ear as the crowd erupted with noise again.

Azriel stood on unsteady legs and turned in place, searching the crowd. Then he stopped, his brows arched with worry until he found her.

For a heartbeat, Ariadne felt whole again. For that one singular moment, she felt that chasm in her chest close. Nothing else mattered in all of Myridia—in all of the world—except for the way he looked at her then. As though he had found his reason for living again.

All too soon, it slipped away. The chasm split wide as he swayed and turned his attention to another. He laid a fist over his heart, a motion she had not seen him do since his nights as a guard, and bowed. Blood still dripped from his mouth, though not nearly as much as before.

Ariadne followed his line of sight to Melia Tagh. The Desmo did not look impressed. She stared at him, then turned to look at who had just convinced him to choose life.

Their gazes connected, and in that moment, Ariadne knew Phulan had been right.

Chapter 27

Alek Nightingale’s manor was, as always, pristine. The midnight blue foyer and herringbone floors spread out around Emillie like a night sky and forest floor. After entering the home weeks prior to his ball, she now found it strange to consider the place to be her new home. Calling a manor other than the Harlow Estate anything of the sort did not sit well, yet she still found herself thankful to have escaped that particular nightmare.

At least now her father could no longer threaten her very existence for information about Ariadne. Information she would not give him even if she had it.

“Welcome, my Lady,” said the butler at the door, who took her cloak. His pale skin stood out in contrast to the faintest markings of distant Caersan heritage on his jaw and his dark chestnut hair. “My name is Rene. May I be of any assistance as you settle in?”

Emillie glanced at Alek, who entered behind her and handed off his own cloak. The rain and thunder continued as the front door closed. “May I see my rooms?”

Something flickered in Alek’s eyes before he gave Rene a small nod.

The butler smiled and gestured to the stairs. “Right this way, my Lady.”

She had gone so long under the title of miss that Emillie did not respond right away. There had been many nights she dreamt of holding the title and many more in which she had written off the very prospects of it ever occurring. At least willingly.

After a moment of hesitation, Emillie followed Rene up the elegant staircase to the second floor, where he led her down a long corridor filled with portraits of the Nightingale family. She did not linger on any of them. There would be plenty of time to get familiar with each face and learn their names.

“Lord Nightingale’s suite is just there,” Rene said and pointed to the double doors at the end of the corridor. He stopped before another set of doors on the left side of the hall. “He requested we ready the Lady of the House’s suite for your personal space. A bath has been drawn for you. Will you require your handmaid?”

Emillie’s heart leapt. “My maid?”

“To assist you out of your gown.” Rene’s cheeks colored, but he did not balk. “And to prepare you for the Lord Governor.”

As though she were a meal to be consumed. If she had any say in the matter, there would only be one who had the privilege of indulging in her…and it would not be Alek. Kind though he had been, she could not get her mind off Kyra.

Gods, they were under the same roof. Emillie wanted so badly to see her again. To learn everything there is to know about her—her life and body alike.

“Who is my handmaid?” She hoped the question sounded innocent enough, though the words rushed from her on a breath.

---