Lady Lyra turned, her violet robes whispering against the marble. The translucent wall showing Val—the Prime Nexus—addressing his court solidified back into black stone. The faint echo of the binding chant was cut off, leaving the chamber silent but for the chill in the air.
Kaelen, the massive, scarred Demon, stepped forward to take Ezra's arm. His grip was firm but professional, devoid of the crude anger of the riders.
"This way, Miss Finch," Kaelen rumbled, his voice like stones tumbling in a deep cave. "Your quarters are in the western spire. It offers an excellent view of the elemental gardens."
Ezra did not pull away, choosing to match their measured pace. She allowed the Demon to guide her, channeling her defiance into acute observation. As they moved through the labyrinthine halls of Veridia, Ezra noted everything: the cold fusion of materials (stone and metal, water and fire, woven together by magic), the subtle sigils carved into door frames, and the complete lack of guards—a sign that the walls themselves were the true sentinels.
"You understand the nature of the Binding?" Lady Lyra asked from ahead, not looking back. Her tone was academic, as if discussing the details of a property transfer.
Ezra kept her voice level. "It is the marriage that fulfills the prophecy. It grants Valerian—the Prime Nexus—the Creatrix Regium's power."
Lady Lyra finally stopped before a towering door crafted from dark, smooth wood that looked deceptively soft. She turned to Ezra, her Fae eyes holding a detached amusement.
"It is more than a marriage, Miss Finch. It is the core law of Veridia's sovereignty," Lyra stated. "When the souls of the two individuals merge, the life force becomes one and indivisible. Should one party be destroyed—through violence, or even simple disease—the other will instantly perish as well."
Ezra froze, the full weight of the announcement slamming into her. This was not a power grab; it was a pact of ultimate interdependence.
"The death of one means the death of both?" Ezra whispered.
"Precisely," Lyra confirmed, nodding. "It is why Valerian is so fiercely confident. He seeks not a queen, but a co-dependent life anchor. He binds his eternal, forbidden existence to yours. Should the King manage to strike him down, the Creatrix Regium—and the power Valerian seeks—is instantly lost."
And if I kill him, Ezra thought, her mind instantly seizing the tactical advantage, I die too. But so does he.
The full implications settled like ice in her stomach. If she truly is the Creatrix Regium, the combined power would be immense, but their fate would be fused. If she is merely the Fae-Lesser Vampire she believes she is, Valerian is risking his immortal life on a massive, prophetic mistake.
"Then Valerian is not merely arrogant," Ezra said, tilting her chin up. "He is either desperate, or foolishly certain in his belief that I hold power that will match his own."
Kaelen squeezed her arm gently, pulling her forward. "He is never foolish, Miss Finch. Now, let us prepare you."
The door slid open, revealing a chamber of surprising, opulent warmth. It was decorated not with cold marble, but deep velvet, a massive, soft bed, and a bathhouse fed by geothermal springs—a blend of human comfort and elemental magic.
"Your dress is prepared," Lyra said, gesturing to a simple, white silk nightgown laid out on the bed. "Rest. The Nexus requires you in his private dining chamber before the hour is out."
As Kaelen finally released her arm, Ezra entered the room. Her eyes went immediately to the single window, which offered a breathtaking, terrifying view of Veridia's elemental architecture.
As she walked to the window, Ezra realized her chamber was high in a spire, the stone seamless and sheer. Escape was impossible. She pressed her forehead to the cold pane, looking out over the chilling, luminous city. Just then, her gaze dropped. Directly below her window, she saw a cluster of Demon laborers carving a massive, black stone sigil into the plaza. It was the same symbol that was on Valerian's signet ring—the marriage marker. And lying carelessly discarded next to the workers, as if it were worthless human trash, was her tattered prophecy scroll, dropped from the height of the tower. Ezra suddenly realized the truth: Val didn't steal the scroll because he needed the words; he took it and discarded it to prove to Ezra that his certainty was absolute, and her "proof" was meaningless.