The shadow on the bed remained for hours, a shifting, silent blot of pure Demon energy, an extension of Lord Valerian's subconscious power. Ezra did not sleep. She maintained her cold, defiant stillness on the floor, using her Vampire senses to track the perimeter of the room, forcing the shadow to be the one to yield its energy.
Just before the blue-white light of Veridia's day cycle began, the shapeless guardian dissolved, retreating back into the stone. Ezra had won a minor skirmish, confirming her resilience was already taxing the Lord's control.
A few hours later, a sharp, insistent knock signaled the arrival of Lady Lyra, followed by two Fae attendants carrying a chest of clothes.
"The Lord has granted you a reprieve from solitude," Lyra announced, her voice crisp. "You will accompany him tonight."
Ezra, who had retrieved the discarded silk nightgown and sat calmly on the edge of the bed, raised a brow. "To what event, Lady Lyra? A parade of his conquests?"
"To the King's Diplomatic Ball in Atheria," Lyra corrected, ignoring the insult. "A sanctioned event that allows a neutral display of power. The Lord is announcing his claim publicly, silencing the King's whispers, and proving to the mortal nobles that his acquisition is both legitimate and presentable. You will cease wearing that peasant's attire."
The Fae attendants opened the chest, revealing gowns of astonishing workmanship—silks embroidered with elemental runes, velvet stitched with silver thread, and diamonds mined from Veridia's deepest veins. Ezra saw a perfect emerald green gown that would flatter her skin and make her mixed lineage shine, and a severe black velvet dress that would return her to the safety of a human façade.
"I will take the black velvet," Ezra stated immediately.
Lyra sighed, an almost human sound of annoyance. "The Lord selected the emerald green. It emphasizes your Fae sovereignty."
"Then the Lord must understand that his possession is an extension of his will, not a puppet for his vanity," Ezra countered, rising. "I will wear the black. It conveys appropriate seriousness for a political statement."
Ezra had already begun the process of dressing before Lyra could respond, forcing the Fae attendant to assist her under duress. The dress was heavy, intricate, and restrictive, but Ezra used the stiffness of the cloth to anchor her composure. She pinned her hair up precisely, eschewing the opulent jewels for simple silver pins—a continued statement of refusal.
When Lord Valerian arrived to collect her, he wore formal black attire that made him seem impossibly tall and powerful. He paused at the doorway, his eyes taking in her choice of the severe black velvet. He offered no comment, only a slow, thoughtful nod.
"An astute choice, Ezra," Val finally commented, offering his arm. "It allows the mortals to underestimate the depth of your sovereignty. Come. We have a society to intimidate."
The journey back to Atheria was swift, facilitated by Lord Valerian's elemental control of space. They bypassed the slow, human transport and arrived in a private, guarded courtyard near the palace.
The King's Diplomatic Ball was a suffocating collision of human aristocracy and veiled supernatural power. The air was thick with perfume, nervous gossip, and the faint, cold scent of hidden magical wards—the King's desperate attempt to protect his court from the very guest of honour.
As they entered the crowded ballroom, the music faltered, and a ripple of silence followed their presence. Lord Valerian was the epicenter of power, and Ezra, the woman on his arm, was the prize.
Throughout the evening, Ezra played the role of the beautiful, reluctant captive. She greeted the few nobles brave enough to approach with cool politeness, but her real focus was on Val.
He did not speak much, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back—a gesture of ownership and guidance. But Ezra began to notice the small, subtle indicators of his attention:
When the air became too stuffy from the heat of the crowd—a discomfort that would tax her cold-adapted Vampire nature—Val would subtly shift his position, and an impossibly small, cool breeze would drift over Ezra's shoulder, easing the pressure.
When a renowned, gossiping socialite approached them, asking pointed, personal questions, Val did not silence her with words. Instead, Ezra felt the sudden, localized pressure of Elemental Earth shift near the woman's feet, causing her to stumble slightly and retreat with a flustered apology. The Lord had deflected the intrusion without uttering a single, overt threat.
Later, when Ezra, thirsty from the heat, reached for a glass of sweet, spiced punch—the kind she often enjoyed at her father's social calls—Val intercepted the cup with a quick, silent movement. Without a word, he signaled a Demon attendant who instantly replaced it with a glass of pure, chilled spring water—a cold, simple drink that Ezra actually preferred due to her heightened senses and her recent mistrust of sweetened liquids.
He wasn't performing for the crowd; he was managing her environment with cold, intense efficiency. He was observing her discomforts and preferences not with kindness, but with the meticulous care of a master preserving a crucial artifact.
He sees me, Ezra realized, a tremor of unnerving awareness running through her. Not just the Creatrix Regium, but the individual beneath the prophecy. He knows what I like, and he is eliminating every variable of discomfort.
This level of possessive attention was far more unsettling than any grand threat. It proved that Val was studying her, and his certainty in the Binding was built on more than just ancient scrolls.
As the evening wore on, the King of Atheria, pale and sweating despite the cool ballroom, finally approached them. He didn't look at Lord Valerian, but directly at Ezra. "Miss Finch," the King said, his voice trembling slightly. "I offer you the Crown's protection. Leave him. We will shelter you."
Before Ezra could respond, Val tightened his grip on her back, his eyes flashing with a cold, territorial rage. He leaned close to Ezra, speaking softly enough for only her to hear, his breath chilling her ear:
"Tell the King, Ezra, that the protection you desire is not something you flee toward, but something you are already seated upon. Tell him that my claim is absolute, and that my patience for his defiance ends tonight."