The sight of her discarded prophecy scroll—her only human tether to proof and reason—was the final, cold lash of Valerian's cruelty. He hadn't bothered to read it; he had simply needed to demonstrate that her frantic research and self-belief were irrelevant. His will, and the power of the prophecy he commanded, superseded all.
Ezra stepped away from the window, the image of the scroll lying in the dust stinging her eyes. She felt the heavy defeat, but refused to collapse under it. He may own the city, but he does not own my mind, she vowed, forcing her shoulders back.
Her priority was survival and strategy. She quickly scanned the elegant, warm chamber. The opulent furnishings were a deliberate contrast to the cold marble hall, a psychological comfort meant to placate his "possession." The walls were seamless, the door solid; a direct attack was impossible.
She went to the bathroom, dismissing the beautiful geothermal bath for a quicker necessity. She unclasped the velvet pouch containing her Elixir Vitae—three precious vials of dark, potent sustenance. The elemental heat from Valerian's touch had warmed them but had not compromised the contents. She pulled one vial out and drank it swiftly. The rush of cold, vital energy through her system was instantaneous, sharpening her mind and reinforcing her physical resilience. She was no longer running on adrenaline and fear; she was operating on her true, if minor, Vampire strength.
Next, she shed the torn, travel-stained black challis dress. It felt like shedding her old life. She retrieved the simple, white silk nightgown Lady Lyra had provided. It was soft, impractical, and precisely the kind of submissive garment a prisoner was expected to wear. Ezra donned it, but secured her empty, heavy velvet pouch—now a small, weighted weapon—within the high neckline, a tiny, concealed piece of defiance.
She glanced at the massive clock on the wall. She had less than thirty minutes before the summons. She spent the rest of the time pacing the perimeter of the room, analyzing the Fae-Witch runes subtly woven into the door frame, trying to decipher the nature of the spell locking her in.
A sharp, single knock preceded the opening of the door. Kaelen, stood there, impassive.
"The Prime Nexus awaits, Miss Finch," he stated.
"Lead the way," Ezra responded, her voice calm and steady.
The journey to the private dining chamber was brief but telling. They traversed a hall carved from what looked like pure crystal, which hummed with latent elemental Air, and passed through an open gallery where Ezra could see the elemental waterfalls Lyra had mentioned—water harnessed and forced upward by sheer elemental will.
"A beautiful prison," Ezra observed coolly to Kaelen. "Though perhaps excessive for one Fae-Lesser Vampire."
Kaelen glanced at her, a rare flicker of curiosity in his eyes."The lord built Veridia for the Creatrix Regium, Miss Finch. Everything here is merely waiting for its true sovereign."
They stopped at a low, ornate door of carved mahogany—a jarring piece of human aristocratic furniture amidst the raw magic of Veridia. Kaelen opened it, revealing the dining chamber.
The room was not vast like the throne room, but intimate, designed for two. A table for two, set with antique silver and fine china (rescued, Ezra noted, from some hapless former noble family of Atheria), sat before a massive hearth where a cold, smokeless elemental Fire burned.
And there sat Val, the Prime Nexus, already at the head of the table.
He had changed from his travel clothes into a severe, dark velvet smoking jacket, looking less like a conqueror and more like a gentleman prepared to entertain an intimate guest. He rose as she entered, a gesture of archaic, human courtesy that felt profoundly unsettling in this place of absolute power.
"Miss Finch," Val greeted, his eyes sweeping over her in the silk nightgown—a look that was possessive but not lecherous, more like a curator assessing a prized artifact. "Please, sit. I abhor the pretense of starvation. You must maintain your strength for the imminent Binding."
Ezra walked to the chair opposite him. She noted the plates were filled with food: roasted fowl, wine, and a plate of fresh fruit. All were excellent examples of human cuisine. She refused to look afraid, pulling her chair out herself and sitting down.
"I appreciate your concern for my well-being, Valerian," Ezra said, using his first name deliberately, a small act of equalizing defiance. "But before we discuss the fate of our souls, perhaps we can discuss the current political climate. My father intends to inform the King that you have kidnapped the supposed Creatrix Regium. Are you prepared for an army of mortals to breach your borders?"
Val picked up his wine glass, his eyes holding hers. "The King will do nothing but issue threats and tremble," he scoffed, taking a slow sip. "He knows that any attack launched on Veridia will be met with the full, destructive force of the elements. Furthermore, he knows the fatal truth of the Binding."
"And that truth is?" Ezra pressed, pretending ignorance.
"That the souls merge, and the death of one means the death of both," Val confirmed, his expression chillingly calm. "If the King sends his men to execute me, your death will be the immediate, collateral damage. You are now the single greatest deterrent to human attack. A human army cannot fight destiny, Ezra."
He pushed a plate of sliced fowl toward her. "Eat. You are hybrid, but you possess the strength of a human mind. You are the perfect instrument of prophecy. The ritual is scheduled for the next night of the new moon. Until then, you will be well cared for. Do you understand your terms?"
Ezra picked up her fork. She had no intention of eating, but she matched his cold composure. "I understand the terms of my possession, Valerian. But you mistake competence for compliance. I will be ready for the Binding. And I will ensure that the moment our souls merge, you regret every single second of your Nexus's Possession.
Valerian set his wine glass down, a genuine, unsettling smile touching his lips for the first time. "I accept the terms of your defiance, Ezra. But you have overlooked one final thing." He reached beneath the table and produced a small, silver-plated object—a simple gun. It was a human revolver, identical to the one she had carried. "You have no need of this now," he said, and with a silent thought, the heavy silver of the gun instantly liquified into a puddle of molten metal that sizzled on the floor. "The King will not kill you, Ezra. And I am the only other person in this world with the power to end your life. Do you truly believe that in a binding of fate, I would allow you to hold the final, fatal weapon?"