Vera's POV
The Royal Chamber had never felt so hostile. Though the air was physically clear—scrubbed of the duel's residue and Valeriu's dark presence—it was thick with skepticism and simmering rebellion.
I sat upon the throne, my splinted left arm resting carefully on the velvet cushion, a visible scar of the war we'd just won. Lucien stood beside me, unnaturally stiff, the physical price of the Virelith Anchor evident in the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes. He was the picture of a strong Consort, but the visible effort of his strength was the very thing the council elders seized upon.
I had ordered this assembly immediately after formally naming Celene as Regent, knowing that silence would only fuel Barthus's fire.
Lord Barthus rose first, his face a mask of meticulous, righteous anger. He ignored Celene, the newly appointed Regent, and addressed me directly.
"Your Majesty, the court is satisfied that the Carpathian threat is eliminated," Barthus began, his voice cold and deliberate. "However, the legitimacy of this court is not settled by the death of a rival. It is settled by the line of succession. We require immediate, irrefutable confirmation that the Queen is capable of producing a stable, Sanguinara heir."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Every eye in the room was fixed on my belly.
"The Blood Curse is now public knowledge," Barthus pressed, leveraging the fear Valeriu had sown. "Your Majesty has recently undergone a private, unsanctioned ritual—a ritual that visibly drained the King Consort's vitality and resulted in your own severe injury. We demand to know, on the record: is the Queen now physically capable of fulfilling her primary duty without risking the collapse of the crown?"
The question was blunt, brutal, and entirely legal. He wanted me to admit that the Virelith Anchor was a desperate patch, not a permanent cure. If I faltered, he had the grounds for a vote of no confidence.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my weight against the throne, channeling my focus away from the throbbing ache in my arm and into my voice.
"Lord Barthus," I said, my voice cutting through the tension, clear and firm. "You confuse my duty with my function. My duty is to ensure the stability of Shadowhold. My function is to secure the line."
I glanced at Lucien, and he placed his hand lightly on my shoulder. His gesture wasn't a show of support; it was a physical communication of the Virelith Anchor's steady, quiet power—a power that now belonged to us.
"The curse, as you call it, was the instability of the lineage," I continued. "Valeriu Sangeu was defeated because he did not understand the true nature of the Sanguinara power. That instability is settled."
I raised my chin, projecting absolute confidence. "The Virelith Anchor has permanently infused the Sanguinara line with the necessary counter-balance, ensuring a foundation of unwavering loyalty and strength. The line is not only stable, Lord Barthus, it is stronger than it has been in centuries."
My statement was true, technically. The curse was gone. But I avoided the crucial detail: when or how the heir would arrive, or the devastating risk that conceiving still might carry, given the fragility of the ritual.
Barthus scoffed, unwilling to yield. "Your Majesty speaks in poetry. The council requires proof. We require a timeline. When can we expect the heir?"
He was pushing for a definitive date, a contract that would immediately put immense, fatal pressure back on me.
I looked directly at Barthus, letting a cold, absolute silence stretch between us. This was the moment I cemented my new authority—the authority that had faced the ghost of my father and the blade of my enemy.
"Lord Barthus, I am Queen," I stated, my voice dropping to a low, powerful register. "I have secured this kingdom from both internal and external threats, corrected the corruption of the previous reign, and stabilized the core of the Bloodline—all within a fortnight of my coronation."
I stood up fully, ignoring the pain, relying entirely on the magnificent balance the Anchor provided.
"I will not be governed by the whims of a traditionalist clock. The Act of the Anchor, which Celene is drafting, will fully codify the new foundation of this monarchy. The line is secure, and the future is guaranteed."
I didn't give him a date. I gave him a vow of stability.
"Until that Act is ratified, the stability of this realm rests on the Virelith Anchor and on the loyalty of the King Consort. I have given you the solution. Now you must trust the crown that fought for its survival."
"And if the Act is insufficient?" Barthus pressed, though his voice wavered slightly under my cold gaze.
"Then you will face a Queen who is no longer cursed," I countered, resting my hand on Lucien's arm. "You will face a Queen who is strengthened by the permanent loyalty of the King Consort. And you will face a Queen who has already proven she will not yield to threats—be they foreign princes or disloyal council members."
I delivered the final blow, sealing the assembly.
"The council is dismissed. The next item of business is the ratification of the Act of the Anchor."
I sat back down, signaling the end of the public confrontation. I had won the skirmish, but the tension in the room was palpable. Barthus had retreated, but he hadn't surrendered. He still saw the need for an heir, and until I provided one—or an airtight, legal alternative—he would continue to challenge the very heart of my, and Lucien's, new reign.