He looked up at Valeris with eyes too young for war.
"I—I bind myself to you, Queen Valeris. I don't want to die."
There was no poetry in his words. Only fear.
But fear was enough.
He bled. He burned. The circle closed.
The binding was done.
And in that moment—a whisper crossed the chamber.
Soft. Wrong.
A shadow passed behind the priest. The candles flickered. The air rippled like heat off steel.
Asher's hand went to his sword.
Too late.
The priest's eyes rolled back—and then burst into black flame.
The ancient man screamed—no, something inside him screamed—and his body cracked like a shell, splitting open as shadow poured from his chest like ink.
"What the—!" Asher leapt forward, blade drawn.
Valeris snapped her hand upward, throwing a shield of soulfire across the circle.
The shadows recoiled—but not before the sigils on the nobles' hands flared again. Darkened. Twisted.
Elias collapsed, clutching his chest, convulsing. The other two screamed as their brands smoked.
