"I warn you, my lord..." Darian muttered weakly. There was a hint of frustration in his voice as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
Lucian’s jaw tightened. "What?"
Darian didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flicked toward Seraphina lying pale and motionless on the bed, her skin still dusted with frost. "You nearly froze her heart, Lord Lucian," he said, voice low but edged with anger. "Look at her... her flame can barely flicker. Another second of that, and she would’ve shattered from the imbalance."
Lucian frowned, not liking the edge in his tone. "You said no intimate intercourse, not marriage!" he snapped, clutching the front of Darian’s white healer’s coat and dragging him closer, "You never said vows could kill her."
Darian stumbled but didn’t pull away, his composure cracking. "I—I’m not sure either, my lord," he stammered. "I only knew that once you accepted the vows, she would be marked. But her pulse started fading the moment the flame sealed. I’ve never seen anything like it."
Lucian’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping low. "Then find out what’s happening. Now."
Darian hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Seraphina’s still form. "My lord... I think it’s because she was never meant to be marked."
Lucian’s expression hardened. "Explain."
"Actually when I examined her earlier, her flames were rare..." Darian gulped, "And—"
"It was like the flame you read in the text book?" Lucian seemed to read what he was going to say next.
"The other doctor who checked on her said the same thing..." His eyes flickered up coldly. "Tell me... is this the rare flame that was supposed to exist only in the royal clan of phoenixes?"
Darian froze, his throat working as he struggled to find the right words. "It’s... possible," he admitted finally, his tone barely above a whisper. "But that lineage has been gone for centuries, my lord. The last bearer of that flame—"
"Was burned out of existence," Lucian finished for him, his voice like a blade. "I remember the stories."
He then fixed his gaze sharply on Darian, narrowing his eyes. "But she’s Lady Celeste. It’s possible, isn’t it?" His tone wasn’t a question. It was a test, a deliberate prod meant to draw out the truth.
Darian hesitated, the tension in his shoulders visible. "Hmm... my lord, actually, the Blazes were not truly of royal blood," he said carefully. "They were elevated after the fall of the true royal clan. When the Phoenix Court collapsed, the Blaze family was the only surviving line from the second generation... raised up to fill the void."
Lucian’s eyes flickered dangerously. "A replacement, then."
Darian nodded slowly. "Yes. They inherited the name, the duty, but not the true flame. The real royal bloodline was said to have perished in the fire that consumed the capital centuries ago. The rare flame... her flame... shouldn’t exist at all."
Lucian’s gaze darkened as he turned back toward Seraphina’s still form, his voice dropping low. "Aha..." A faint, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
The room fell into heavy silence, the faint hum of ice in the air mixing with the weak pulse of fire that still clung to her body.
"So, you’re saying that since she’s from the Blaze family," Lucian drawled, "the rare flame is impossible... and there’s a chance you misread your results?"
Darian swallowed hard. "No, my lord. I checked carefully. Her flame is... too refined, too pure. It shouldn’t belong to the Blazes, but I can’t explain it otherwise."
Lucian’s smirk deepened for just a second before fading into an unreadable calm. "Hmm. Interesting."
Darian shifted uncomfortably, unsure if he had said something wrong. "Should I continue examining her condition?"
"No," Lucian said softly, his gaze still fixed on Seraphina. "Just keep her stable. I’ll handle the rest."
"But—but Lord Lucian, you know she’s in danger."
Lucian’s eyes snapped toward him, sharp and cold enough to silence the air. "Then keep her flame or whatever you need... to make it come back," he said, his tone like frost. "When I return, all I know is that she’s awake. Do you understand?"
Darian swallowed hard and nodded quickly. "Y-yes, my lord."
Lucian didn’t say another word. He turned right away and strode toward the door, he slipped back the button of his suit and turned the knob. As the door opened, the chill of his aura spilled into the corridor.
Outside, Sebastian straightened immediately. "The car is ready, my lord..."
Lucian gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. "Good. To The Oracles."
"But..." Sebastian’s ’but’ made Lucian’s steps stop instantly.
"What is it?" He glanced over his shoulder and gave him a sharp gaze.
"My lord, you know... The Oracles foretelling, seemed to be—"
"Right?" Lucian turned sharply, his voice low. "She’s not dead. So tell me, Sebastian... How could it be right? I kill my own bride?"
Sebastian froze, lowering his head quickly. "Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t mean—"
"Enough," Lucian said coldly, straightening his cuffs as if brushing the thought away. "You think I would believe a foretelling made by those who hide behind riddles?"
Sebastian immediately fell silent, sensing the sharp edge in Lucian’s tone. He followed behind as Lucian strode down the hall, each step echoing like ice cracking under pressure.
Outside, the evening was heavy and cold. Probably sensing the emotions of the people here. The driver bowed the moment Lucian appeared, but neither he nor Sebastian said a word as Lucian slipped inside.
The door shut, sealing in the chill of his presence.
The city lights thinned as they drove, replaced by mist curling over the dark road. The further they went, the dimmer the world became until the glow of the capital was just a blur in the distance.
Finally, the car slowed before a gate made of dark stone. Strange runes glimmered faintly along its edges, pulsing with blue light. Two guards stood before it, their heads bowed low as Lucian’s window lowered.
"My lord," one of them greeted carefully. "The barrier is still sealed. The Oracles remain confined as ordered."
Lucian’s gaze was unreadable. "Open it." Google seaʀᴄh NoveI~Fire.net