Lucien's POV
The moment Caelen laid the dead, dry Carpathian flower on the table, I didn't need a map to know where Valeriu was. The Catacombs.
It was the perfect, calculated move. He knew we'd seek the ultimate power nexus to perform the Virelith Anchor ritual, and he knew it was the only place where the ritual could work. He hadn't escaped to flee; he had escaped to set a trap.
I looked at Vera, her face pale with exhaustion, but her eyes burning with a terrible, resolute focus. She was the Blood Princess, and she would not be denied her cure or her husband.
"We move now," I stated, pushing away from the table. "He wants to interfere. He won't wait."
"Wait, Lucien," Vera commanded, her voice surprisingly steady despite the weight of her injured arm and the recent revelations. "He knows the risks of interference. The text says it will kill both of us. He wants us dead, yes, but he also needs to reclaim the Serpent's Heart and the legacy of his courts. He won't risk destroying the entire nexus."
"He will if it means preventing the Virelith Anchor," I countered, strapping on my harness. "The moment my blood begins to stabilize your curse, his entire legal argument—that your line is fundamentally flawed—dissolves. He wins nothing if we succeed."
Celene, ever the meticulous planner, stepped forward. "We have to assume he intends to ambush the transfer moment. The ritual requires intense concentration from both of you. A simple interruption, a loud noise—that's enough to destabilize the exchange and kill you both."
"Then we will run the ritual with full security," I decided, looking at Caelen. "We need a diversion, a perimeter, and a sacrifice."
"I volunteer for the perimeter," Caelen said instantly. "I know the Catacombs better than anyone alive. I can tie up his mercenaries."
"No," I shook my head firmly. "Valeriu is expecting Caelen's tactics. He needs to think we are fighting the main engagement elsewhere."
I looked at Celene. She was not a fighter, but she was sharp. "Celene, you are the most familiar with the Carpathian Covenant. You will monitor the outside lines. If Valeriu tries to broadcast the Neressa truth as a distraction, you counter it immediately with the affidavits we secured from Vela. Distract the politicians."
Celene nodded, her face tight with resolve.
I turned back to Vera. "We go alone, Queen. You and I. We will run the ritual immediately. It's the only way to avoid a protracted battle and limit the risk of interference."
"If we go alone, he only has to deal with two targets," Vera argued, moving toward me. She reached up with her good hand and rested it on my chest, directly over my heart. "But he doesn't know the most crucial part of this ritual, Lucien."
Her eyes locked with mine, filled with fierce, absolute devotion. "The Virelith Anchor requires the permanent infusion of the Consort's life-force—a shared sacrifice. Valeriu, with his arrogance, believes he only needs to kill me. He will not anticipate that the ritual is designed to make both of our bodies necessary for its success. We will use the transfer itself as our defense."
It was a reckless, beautiful idea. It meant putting both our lives into the ritual, making us both necessary for survival. It was the ultimate forced proximity in the face of death.
"Let's go, Mēra viressa," I breathed, taking her hand.
The descent into the Sanguinara Catacombs was chilling. We moved fast, Vera holding the ancient Virelith Anchor tapestry while I carried my longsword and the necessary ritual tools Celene had prepared.
The Catacombs smelled of millennia of preserved death, but tonight, there was a faint, cloying scent of Carpathian grave flowers—Valeriu's calling card.
We reached the central, circular nexus—the ritual stone where the Sanguinara bloodlines were first consecrated. It was a cold, massive slab of obsidian, carved with the serpent sigil.
"He's here," I murmured, my hand tightening on my sword.
"He is," Vera agreed, setting down the tapestry. She didn't look around; her focus was absolute. "He will wait until the transfer begins. We have to be fast."
I secured the perimeter with warding spells Caelen had taught me—weak, but enough to slow an initial attack. I then turned to the ritual stone.
Following the instructions on the tapestry, I laid out the tools: the specialized silver basin, the oils, and two small, obsidian knives. The ritual required pure blood from the heart of the Consort, transferred directly to the Queen's core.
Vera began the first chant, her voice clear and strong despite her exhaustion. I watched her, memorizing the steps. The moment the transfer began, I would be defenseless, my life-force flowing out of me and into her.
I knelt opposite her across the stone slab. I unsheathed one of the obsidian knives. "If anything moves, Vera, you stop the chant immediately. You save yourself."
"If you stop the transfer, Lucien, the ritual is corrupted, and both of us are dead," she countered, her eyes fierce. "We finish this, or we die together."
She was right. There was no middle ground.
I placed the tip of the knife over my heart, the thin obsidian blade feeling terribly cold against my skin. I began the ancient Virelith Anchor chant, my voice deep and resolute, invoking the long-dead warriors of my bloodline to compensate for the Sanguinara curse.
As the chant deepened, my vision tunneled. I felt the powerful, magnetic pull of Vera's core—the Blood Princess power, raw and consuming, preparing to receive my life-force.
I cut—a shallow, clean slice over my heart. My blood, thick and potent, welled up and began to flow, pooling into the silver basin. I pushed my consciousness out of my body, focusing entirely on the ritual, on the purpose: Anchor. Stabilize. Protect.
The transfer began immediately. I felt a tremendous, dizzying pull, my strength draining rapidly. My body weakened, my senses dulled, but my focus on Vera's stability became absolute.
It was in that moment of profound vulnerability, when my life-force was halfway between my body and hers, that Valeriu Sangeu made his move.
A dark shadow detached itself from the recess of a nearby sarcophagus. Valeriu was holding a long, ornate blade—not a Ritual Blade, but a custom-forged, high-speed assassin's tool. He moved with impossible speed, silent as death, sprinting directly toward the ritual stone.
He wasn't aiming for me. He was aiming for Vera to kill the conduit and destroy the transfer simultaneously.
I couldn't move. I was defenseless, my life-force flowing out. I could only watch, paralyzed, as Valeriu raised his blade high for the fatal, interfering strike.
"No!" I roared, the sound weak, desperate. My life, my love, was about to be extinguished by an enemy I could not fight.