Vera’s POV
Lucien’s collapse hit me like a blade driven straight through the bond.
It was not a pain. It was an absence—a sudden, terrifying thinning where his presence should have been solid and responsive. The bond flared wildly in protest, and before I had fully registered what was happening, my body was already moving, power surging ahead of thought.
“Open the corridor,” I snapped, not caring who heard me.
The guards did not hesitate. The palace seemed to fold inward, distances compressing as though the building itself were intent on delivering me faster to the point of rupture.
Beneath my urgency, Avrora stirred sharply, her awareness flaring in response to my fear.
Easy, I told myself as I ran. Do not let her learn this rhythm.
Lucien lay in the antechamber outside the western archive hall, half-supported by a pillar, his body shaking violently.
Sweat soaked his hair and collar, his skin flushed with fever that had nothing to do with illness. His eyes were open, but unfocused, flickering between recognition and a stillness so unnaturally calm it made my stomach lurch.
“Lucien,” I said, dropping to my knees beside him.
The sound of my voice seemed to pull him partway back. His gaze found mine, glassy and strained, and his fingers twitched as though trying to reach for me but forgetting how.
“Vera,” he whispered, and then his expression shifted again, smoothing into something too serene. “You shouldn’t be here. This is… unnecessary.”
Fear roared up through me, hot and immediate.
“Stay with me,” I said firmly, cupping his face and forcing his attention back to me. “Whatever this is, you do not get to drift through it alone.”
He gasped, his body arching as another tremor tore through him. The bond pulsed violently, disordered and dangerous, and I felt Avrora answer with a surge of power so sharp it made the air crackle.
“Summon the healers,” I ordered, my voice ringing with authority I did not soften.
They arrived in moments, too quickly and quietly, their fear bleeding into the room before they even spoke. They hovered at the edge of my vision, hands shaking, eyes darting between Lucien and me as though deciding which danger was greater.
One of them began to kneel.
I felt the Blood Monarch surge in approval, instinct urging me to let it happen, to make obedience permanent and efficient. The command rose fully formed in my throat, sweet and terrible.
Kneel. Obey. Fix him. I swallowed it back with brutal effort.
“Stand,” I said instead, forcing the word into law rather than instinct. “All of you. You will treat him according to medical protocol, not ritual hierarchy.”
The healers obeyed, slower now, visibly relieved by the boundary I had drawn. One knelt beside Lucien, fingers hovering uncertainly over his wrist before finally making contact.
“He is burning,” she said, voice tight. “And yet his pulse is irregular. It is as though two rhythms are competing.”
Lucien’s eyes rolled back briefly, then snapped forward again, locking onto me with sudden clarity. “I pushed too hard,” he said hoarsely. “The network… it resisted.”
I leaned closer, my forehead nearly touching his. “You do not get to explain yourself while you are breaking apart. You get to survive first.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, fragile and human. “Still commanding me.”
“I always will,” I replied. “Just not like this.”
The healers exchanged glances, their fear sharpening into something close to awe. One of them dared to speak:
“Your Majesty, this appears to be an Anchor feedback crisis. His attempt to reverse the current may have destabilized his internal equilibrium.”
“Can you stabilize him?” I demanded.
“We can mitigate the fever,” she said carefully, “and prevent immediate organ failure. But the deeper disruption…” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “That lies within the bond itself.”
I felt Avrora stir again, restless and attentive, as though listening to the conversation with unnerving interest. I pressed a hand to my stomach, grounding myself even as fear threatened to overwhelm me.
“Do what you can,” I said. “Now.”
They worked quickly, administering cooling draughts and grounding sigils that steadied Lucien’s body even as his mind continued to drift dangerously close to that too-calm stillness. I stayed with him, one hand never leaving his, anchoring him with touch and presence.
The doors opened without announcement. I did not have to look to know who it was.
“Your Majesty,” Darius said smoothly, his voice carrying calm authority into the fractured space. “I felt the disturbance.”
Every muscle in my body tightened. “You were not summoned.”
“This situation does not afford the luxury of protocol,” he stepped closer with infuriating ease.
Lucien’s eyes flickered toward him, and the bond reacted instantly, tightening in a way that made my breath hitch. Avrora’s power surged in response, sharp and territorial.
“Get out,” I said, my voice low and dangerous.
Darius regarded Lucien with open assessment, his expression shifting into something like concern. “He is destabilizing himself. The Anchor was never designed to be reversed by a single bearer.”
“You will not touch him,” I said.
“I do not intend to,” Darius replied calmly. “I intend to share the burden.”
“You are proposing,” I said slowly, “to insert yourself further into a bond that has already been compromised by your presence.”
“I can prevent his collapse,” Darius countered. “Your consort is attempting to become a counter-anchor without adequate distribution. That kind of strain leads to vessel hijack.”
My heart lurched. “You are lying.”
“I am stating a structural reality,” he said. “One you already fear.”
Lucien groaned softly, his fingers tightening around mine. “Vera… don’t listen…”
Darius did not look at him. “If he continues alone, the stillness will consume him. You have seen this before. You know what it becomes.”
I did know. The memory rose unbidden—Lucien’s vacant eyes, his voice stripped of warmth, something ancient peering through him like a lens.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice barely steady.
“To stabilize him,” Darius said simply. “I’ll absorb part of the Anchor load so his body can recover. This does not require intimacy but alignment.”
“And what do you gain?” I demanded.
His gaze lifted to mine, unwavering. “Access and trust. The knowledge that when the realm asks who kept your consort alive, my name will be spoken.”
Rage flared hot and blinding. “You are using his suffering as leverage.”
The healers shifted uneasily, their fear thickening the air. One of them whispered, “Your Majesty… he may be right. We cannot counteract the bond instability alone.”
Lucien’s grip weakened, his body sagging despite the healers’ efforts. Panic surged through me, sharp and ferocious.
I could end this, the Blood Monarch whispered. One word, and he kneels forever.
I crushed the thought down with everything I had.
I looked at Lucien, at the man who had chosen to become more than a vessel, who had risked himself to protect me and our child from a world intent on tearing us apart.
“I will not lose you,” I said softly, fiercely. “Not to this. Not to them.”
Then I looked at Darius, and the realization settled into me like ice water, shocking and unavoidable. I might need him.
Not because I trusted him or wanted him anywhere near Lucien or Avrora. I might need him because Lucien’s life was unraveling in my hands, and the world had narrowed to a single, brutal truth.
If Darius could stabilize him, even temporarily, I would have to consider the cost.
And I hated how much that terrified me.