Vera's POV
The pain was instantaneous and absolute.
It wasn't a sudden, sharp stab; it was a devastating, deep, wrenching sensation, amplified tenfold, that originated in my chest and spread like molten iron through every vein. I fell to my knees in the salon, my hands flying to the front of my gown, clutching the space where my heart fought to maintain rhythm.
Valeriu struck him.
I didn't need Caelen's frantic message or the distant clang of steel echoing faintly from the Catacombs. The amplified echo was the only messenger I needed. It confirmed what I had seen in Lucien's eyes—the full, terrible reality of the ritual blades.
The pain didn't fade; it lingered, throbbing, leaving my whole body trembling with shock. It felt like my very essence, the vital energy of the Blood Princess, had been siphoned off in a violent, messy withdrawal.
He's aiming for quick, shallow hits to drain me.
I gasped, fighting for breath, forcing my mind to clarity. I pushed away the image of Lucien stumbling, of Valeriu's smug triumph. I had promised him a kinetic barrier, a shield fueled by this agonizing feedback loop. I couldn't fail him now.
I closed my eyes, focusing entirely on the point of impact—my heart. I pulled the raw, burning pain toward my core, channeling the shock into a deliberate act of will.
I am the Queen. I command the blood.
I forced the crimson power that resided deep within my belly—the terrible, magnificent source of the curse and the throne—to respond. I didn't send it out to heal; I sent it out to listen. I projected a shimmering, subtle barrier, a membrane of pure Sanguinara power that extended from my heart, through our unbreakable blood bond, and settled directly over Lucien. It was a shield of instinct, fueled by my pain.
The room swam, and a film of sweat broke out across my forehead. The effort was crippling, but the trembling subsided. I was ready.
The reprieve lasted only seconds. The second blow landed, a soundless crack that snapped my focus.
This time, the pain was a blinding flash, a white-hot spike that made me cry out, driving the air from my lungs. Valeriu had hit him harder, aiming to incapacitate. I doubled over, my vision tunneling to a single point of blinding, red agony. It felt like my ribs had shattered, not his.
He's pushing me to yield! He wants the pain to be too much!
I fought the instinctive urge to give up, to shout the surrender command that would stop the duel and save my life. I knew that would instantly hand the kingdom and the cure over to Valeriu.
No. I am the shield.
I seized the amplified echo—the sickening, burning energy—and drove it outward again. I focused on the shape of Lucien, on his posture, on his desperate need for defense. The crimson power, driven by sheer, retaliatory fury, slammed against the pain, solidifying the invisible kinetic barrier around him.
A deep sense of exhaustion washed over me—the energy draw was catastrophic—but beneath it was a profound, cold satisfaction. I knew, without seeing, that the shield had deflected the force of the blow. Lucien had been hurt, but he hadn't fallen.
I forced myself up, shaking violently, and sank onto the nearest velvet settee, pulling the Blood Diamond from my hip. I clutched the cursed artifact, the smooth, cold stone grounding my frantic energy. I needed to analyze the duel, even as I was participating in it.
Valeriu is fighting my mind, not Lucien's blade.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the psychic link. I could now feel more than just pain; I could feel Lucien's emotions: rage, focus, and a sickening wave of self-recrimination every time he was forced to rely on my amplified suffering.
The next few minutes were a blur of staggered agony.
A sharp spike—Valeriu's blade grazes Lucien's arm. I countered with the shield. A dull, grinding ache—Lucien strains defensively. I countered with stabilization. A crushing, sickening pressure—Valeriu delivers a kick to the side. I screamed, channeling the pain into a burst of protective power that repelled the force.
Each blow weakened me further, draining my vitality, but the shock of each hit was being converted into pure, reactive defense. I was using the curse against the curser.
Then, there was a lull. A long, agonizing silence.
I opened my eyes, panting, staring wildly at the closed door. What was happening? Had Lucien fallen? Had Valeriu exposed the Neressa truth?
The lack of pain was more terrifying than the shocks had been.
Suddenly, a massive, overwhelming wave of elation and triumph slammed into me through the bond. It was Lucien's emotion, raw and undeniable.
He's landed a blow.
But the elation was immediately followed by a bone-deep sense of shock and intense, paralyzing pain in my left arm. It felt like the bone itself had been cleaved in two.
I screamed, the agony tearing from my throat. I collapsed off the settee onto the floor, clutching my useless left arm. The pain was immense, worse than any of Valeriu's previous strikes.
No. Lucien didn't aim for the kill. He only disarmed him.
I realized the horrifying truth: the amplified echo was proportional to the severity of the wound inflicted. And the pain I felt was not from a cut—it was from the amplified agony of Valeriu's own arm being crippled.
If Lucien were fighting for my life, he would never aim to kill Valeriu. He was too honorable. But the amplified pain of crippling Valeriu's arm—a wound needed to end the duel without killing—was nearly enough to cripple me in turn.
I lay on the cold stone floor, my left arm useless, the Blood Diamond having clattered uselessly away. My breathing was shallow, my body seizing up. I couldn't move, couldn't speak the surrender.
I'm going to die here. I'm going to die from my Consort's victory.
I felt Lucien's desperate, frantic surge of fear through the bond, the immediate realization of what his tactical strike had cost me. He had won the physical battle, but he had lost the mental one.
Just as my consciousness began to dim, a low, powerful voice cut through the air in the salon, seemingly coming from the very stone around me.
"Enough. The debt is settled."
The pain instantly vanished. The agonizing echo was gone, replaced by a profound, sudden vacuum of sensation.
I looked up, dazed. The room was empty. But the feeling of ancient, commanding power lingered—a voice that spoke with the authority of the Sanguinara lineage, a voice that belonged to only one person.
My father. King Aldric.