The sudden, chilling tenderness of Lord Valerian's command—"For the next function, you will wear the green"—shook Ezra more profoundly than any threat of force. A command based on her style, on the recognition of the color that highlighted the subtle Fae energy she fought so hard to conceal. It was a terrifying form of intimacy.
As the elemental shift ended, Lord Valerian stepped away, leaving Ezra standing alone in the cold, black antechamber. He had vanished, but his intent remained, draped over her like an invisible shroud.
Ezra moved back into her private chamber, the silence there now charged with a new, complex tension. He wasn't just observing her actions; he was analyzing her preferences and dictating her very presence. The velvet black dress she had chosen to project distance and resistance was now deemed insufficient. The green, she knew, was a visual declaration of the Fae sovereign lineage he was claiming.
The following morning brought Lady Lyra, not with a sigh of annoyance, but with a look of severe, almost competitive approval.
"You have managed to engage the Lord's interest, Miss Finch," Lyra stated, gesturing to the emerald green gown now laid out on the bed. It was a masterpiece: heavy velvet that flowed like liquid water, embroidered with shimmering silver thread that seemed to pulse with trapped light. "The green. It is the color of the ancient Fae courts. You will wear it, and you will understand that The Lord demands perfection."
Ezra submitted to the dressing ritual with cold detachment. As the Fae attendants cinched the intricate corset and secured the heavy skirt, Ezra found herself studying her reflection. The green did what the black could not; it made her skin glow with unnatural pallor and brought a dangerous, luminous depth to her eyes. She looked less like a victim and more like a captured war prize of immense value. It was a transformation from a solicitor's daughter to a sovereign.
"Where is the function tonight, Lady Lyra?" Ezra asked, her voice tight as the corset.
"Not Atheria," Lyra replied, adjusting a silver clasp on the gown. "The King's cowardice was sufficient. Tonight, we solidify the claim here, in Veridia. You will attend the Council of the Four Corners—the last required meeting before the new moon. Here, you will be introduced to the most ancient leaders of the Demon, Witch, Vampire, and Fae courts who have sworn fealty to the Lord."
This was critical intelligence. This was not a social event; this was a political ratification. The four leaders represented the very components of Lord Valerian's composite being—and the last barrier to his complete stability.
"And will they be convinced that a simple, Fae-Lesser creature is truly the Creatrix Regium?" Ezra challenged, testing the Fae's loyalty.
Lyra looked at her, and for the first time, her expression held a strange mix of fear and conviction. "The Lord has never been wrong, Miss Finch. And the convergence of the prophecy is absolute. You are the anchor."
Ezra was escorted not by Kaelen, but by two anonymous Demon guards—a sign that her personal safety, and the security of the Lord's claim, was now paramount.
The Council meeting was held in a massive, cold chamber deeper within Veridia. The space was circular, with four distinct elevated platforms where the leaders of the ancient courts sat in judgment. The atmosphere was heavy, saturated with power. The air vibrated with raw elemental energy, making Ezra's skin crawl.
Lord Valerian stood at the center, radiating cold authority. His gaze instantly locked onto Ezra as she entered, and a flicker of possessive approval crossed his features at her compliance with the green dress. He did not touch her or offer his arm; instead, he commanded her presence with a single, compelling look.
He spent the next hour addressing the Council, not about political loyalty, but about stability. He spoke of the Binding as a geometric necessity, a means to end the inner chaos of his composite being, ensuring that the Abomination would never again threaten to devour itself.
"The Creatrix Regium is here," Lord Valerian finally announced, turning to the Council and gesturing toward Ezra. "Observe the vessel."
The four ancient leaders assessed her with cold, merciless scrutiny: the massive, horned Demon leader, the pale, calculating Witch matriarch, the aloof, crystalline Fae elder, and the ancient, silent Vampire master.
When the formal address ended, Lord Valerian did not dismiss Ezra. He brought her to his private viewing gallery overlooking the Council chamber. The space was intimate, featuring a single, low chaise lounge and a small table set with chilled wine and silver goblets.
"The wine is safe, Ezra," Val stated, pouring a glass. "You require the liquid sustenance to manage the psychic weight of this chamber. The sedative, I have learned, is counterproductive to your... spirit."
Ezra accepted the goblet, not out of trust, but because the intense atmosphere was indeed taxing. "You are learning that your possession requires certain concessions, Lord Valerian."
"I am learning that the Creatrix Regium requires a firm hand, not a gentle one," Val countered, watching her intently as she drank the chilled wine. "The Council accepted the necessity of your bloodline. Now, we discuss the fate you chose tonight in Atheria."
"I chose to protect my family," Ezra retorted. "And to remove myself as the King's target."
"No," Val corrected, his voice dropping to a low, intense hum. "You chose me. You chose the certainty of my ownership. Tell me, Ezra: when you publicly claimed me as your protection, was there any hesitation about the Binding? The fatal co-dependence?"
Ezra met his gaze, refusing to let the power of the moment weaken her resolve. "There was no hesitation about the logic, Valerian. If you die, I die. If I die, you die. It is the only bargain in this world that forces your cooperation. I intend to live forever, and to do that, I must ensure you never make a mistake."
Lord Valerian's face remained impassive, but Ezra's enhanced senses caught the almost imperceptible tensing of his jaw—a reaction that was not rage, but an internal, complex emotion. He was listening, absorbing her calculated ruthlessness.
"You speak of eternity," Val said, leaning closer, "but you have not accepted the full terms. You will require my blood. Your Vampire nature demands sustenance, and once the Binding is complete, only the composite blood of the Abomination will sustain you. You will be reliant on my life force, and my will."
"And what of your reliance on me, Valerian?" Ezra challenged, putting her goblet down. "Does the prophecy speak of the Lord being reliant on the Creatrix Regium's heart? Does it state that her absence will leave you vulnerable?"
Val paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if she had touched upon an unexpected vulnerability. "The Fae aspect of my convergence... it requires the sovereign anchor. It requires you to stabilize the chaos. Without you, the composite power fractures."
Ezra watched him closely, noting his slight evasion. He had confirmed his reliance. But she noticed something else—a small, involuntary gesture he made when speaking of the chaos: his hand went instinctively to the heavy, metal collar lying on a velvet cushion in the corner—the ceremonial collar Kaelen had been crafting.
Ezra knew the collar was meant for the blood transfusion and the Binding ritual. She now had to know exactly how this item connected to the Abomination's stability. Before she could ask, Lord Valerian rose suddenly, his gaze intense, and stepped toward the exit. "The next session will be tomorrow," he announced. "We will discuss the logistics of the blood transfer." He stopped at the threshold, turning to look at her, and his eyes held a new, deeper possessiveness. "Tomorrow," he stated, his voice a low command, "you will no longer wear the green. You will wear the blood red, Ezra. The color of true possession."