The council gathered three nights later beneath the old opera house ruins beneath Prague.

Not the public building tourists photographed above ground.

The real structure underneath.

Older tunnels.

Older stone.

A hidden chamber originally built during plague years when nobles needed somewhere private to negotiate survival while the city collapsed overhead.

Apparently vampire politics never evolved beyond dramatic architecture choices.

Seraphina stood beside Lucien at the entrance balcony overlooking the underground council hall while voices echoed sharply below through candlelit stone arches.

Every major vampire house had sent representatives.

And every single one of them stared at her openly.

Some with curiosity.

Most with disgust.

A few with visible fear.

Lucien noticed immediately.

His hand brushed lightly against the small of her back once while guiding her forward through the chamber.

Tiny gesture.

Grounding.

Protective enough that several council members stiffened visibly after witnessing it.

Excellent.

Nothing says healthy diplomacy like ancient predators reacting to casual affection like political terrorism.

Morvena approached them first.

“You’re late.”

Lucien glanced toward the crowded chamber floor below.

“No,” he replied calmly. “They’re impatient.”

Morvena pinched the bridge of her nose briefly.

“I genuinely miss when your emotional problems only involved assassination attempts.”

Seraphina almost smiled.

Almost.

The atmosphere down there felt wrong.

Too tense.

Too sharp around the edges.

Word of the sanctuary attack spread quickly through vampire territories. So had the rumors afterward.

Lucien protecting a hunter publicly.

Lucien invoking Night Law for a Blackthorn heir.

Lucien nearly starting a civil incident after Cassian’s capture.

And now—

Lucien arriving with Seraphina openly beside him instead of hidden away somewhere strategic.

Political suicide apparently.

A tall vampire noble near the central platform watched them descend the stairs with obvious disapproval.

House Vale.

Seraphina recognized him from earlier council sessions.

Beautiful in the unsettling way old predators often were.

Silver hair.

Tailored black suit.

Eyes like sharpened coins.

He looked at Seraphina the same way people looked at unexploded bombs.

“How symbolic,” Vale drawled once Lucien reached the lower floor. “A Van Helsing walking freely among us.”

Lucien didn’t slow.

“She has a name.”

Vale’s mouth curved faintly.

“And history.”

There it was.

The room tightening again.

Seraphina felt dozens of eyes tracking every movement now while whispers spread softly through the chamber edges.

Hunter.

Blackthorn.

Traitor.

Consort.

God.

That last one made her pulse stumble embarrassingly hard.

At the center platform, the council leader finally rose from her seat.

Lady Isolde.

Older than most kingdoms.

White hair braided with silver chains down her back and pale eyes sharp enough to carve through lies before they formed completely.

The entire chamber quieted instantly when she spoke.

“Lucien Valerius,” she said calmly. “You understand why this council was called.”

Lucien stopped directly before the platform with Seraphina beside him.

“Yes.”

“And yet you brought the hunter anyway.”

Lucien’s gaze remained steady.

“Yes.”

The chamber shifted restlessly afterward.

Seraphina crossed her arms tighter.

No one bothered pretending this meeting involved diplomacy anymore.

This was judgment.

Isolde studied Seraphina carefully for several long seconds.

Not cruelly.

Worse.

Historically.

“You resemble Aurelia.”

The statement landed like dropped glass through the room.

Several council members visibly stiffened.

Lucien went completely still beside her.

Seraphina’s stomach twisted.

So they all knew.

Of course they did.

History never disappeared fully among immortals.

It just waited underground until someone reopened the grave.

Vale spoke again from the left council tier.

“And we all remember how that ended.”

Lucien looked toward him slowly.

The chamber temperature seemed to drop immediately afterward.

“Careful,” Morvena muttered under her breath nearby.

Too late.

Vale stepped forward anyway.

“Ancient law exists for a reason,” he continued coolly. “Hunter consorts destabilize territories. They compromise secrecy. They invite extinction.”

Seraphina’s jaw tightened hard.

Consort.

Interesting how nobody asked her opinion regarding the matter.

Isolde lifted one hand slightly before the argument escalated further.

“The Night Accords forbid permanent attachment between ruling vampires and sworn hunters.”

Seraphina blinked once.

Then quietly:

“You have laws specifically about this?”

Morvena looked deeply tired suddenly.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Lucien closed his eyes briefly like someone preparing for inevitable catastrophe.

Vale’s expression sharpened with satisfaction.

“The law was written after Lucien’s last disaster.”

The chamber erupted into overlapping murmurs immediately afterward.

Seraphina stared at Lucien.

Lucien stared directly ahead with the exhausted expression of a man watching six centuries of personal trauma become public legislative policy.

“You’re telling me,” she said slowly, “your failed relationship became vampire constitutional law?”

Cassian would’ve laughed himself unconscious hearing this.

Several council members looked scandalized by her phrasing.

Lucien looked vaguely like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Morvena actually covered her mouth briefly.

Not hiding amusement quickly enough.

Vale ignored the interruption entirely.

“The law exists because love makes immortals irrational.”

His gaze shifted pointedly toward Lucien.

“Recent events support that conclusion.”

The sanctuary chamber attack.

The public confrontations.

The rescue mission.

Everything.

Lucien had become visibly reckless protecting her.

And the council noticed.

Of course they noticed.

Isolde’s voice remained calm.

“The council requires clarity.”

There it was.

The real demand underneath all this political theater.

Distance yourself from the hunter.

Publicly.

Before fear inside the council became action instead.

The chamber fell silent waiting for Lucien’s response.

Seraphina suddenly became intensely aware of her own heartbeat.

Not because she doubted him.

Because she knew exactly how much pressure sat on his shoulders right now.

Political stability.

Sanctuary survivors.

Ancient laws.

Fear.

History repeating itself again.

Aurelia all over again.

Lucien looked toward the gathered council members one by one.

Then toward Seraphina briefly.

And God—

the expression in his eyes nearly ruined her emotionally right there in front of everyone.

Not hesitation.

Never hesitation.

Just exhaustion at realizing the world intended punishing this again.

When Lucien finally spoke, his voice remained very quiet.

Which somehow carried farther than shouting ever could.

“I will not abandon her to satisfy frightened people pretending fear qualifies as wisdom.”

The chamber exploded instantly afterward.

Voices overlapping.

Council members rising from their seats.

Vale swearing sharply under his breath.

Morvena muttering something that sounded suspiciously like:

there he goes ruining diplomacy again

But Seraphina barely heard any of it.

Because Lucien stayed exactly where he was beside her while political chaos erupted around them.

Steady.

Certain.

Publicly choosing her anyway.