The assassination attempt happened twenty-three minutes after the council adjourned.

Which honestly felt politically efficient.

The underground opera corridors had mostly emptied by then, though distant arguments still echoed faintly through the upper chambers where vampire nobles continued tearing each other apart over treaties, sanctuary losses, and Lucien publicly detonating six centuries of diplomatic caution in under thirty seconds.

Seraphina walked beside Lucien through one of the lower marble passageways leading toward the eastern carriage tunnels while Morvena stayed behind attempting damage control.

God help her.

“You realize half the council wants to kill me now,” Seraphina muttered.

Lucien adjusted the cuff of his black coat calmly.

“Only half?”

“That wasn’t reassuring.”

“You survived Blackthorn politics. Vampire aristocrats are dramatically easier.”

Seraphina glanced sideways toward him.

“You say that like someone who’s personally murdered several aristocrats.”

Lucien looked genuinely thoughtful.

“…define several.”

She stared.

Lucien almost smiled.

Almost.

But the tension never fully left him tonight.

She noticed that too.

Since the council confrontation, something restless lingered beneath his composure. Not fear.

Possessiveness.

The public challenge changed things.

No more secrecy.

No more pretending this was temporary.

Every noble in the chamber now understood Seraphina mattered enough to destabilize Lucien openly.

Which made her a target immediately.

The realization followed them through every corridor like a second shadow.

They descended another staircase toward the lower tunnel exits.

The opera foundations stretched endlessly beneath Prague’s old city, all candlelit stone and ancient water channels built centuries before electricity existed.

Too many blind corners.

Too many ambush points.

Seraphina’s instincts sharpened automatically.

“So,” she said quietly while checking the silver knife hidden beneath her coat, “how many ancient laws did you break tonight exactly?”

Lucien answered without hesitation.

“Technically? Four.”

“Technically?”

“One of them was already unconstitutional.”

“There are vampire constitutions?”

“There were vampire revolutions.”

She blinked.

“You know what, never mind. I don’t have enough emotional energy for immortal politics tonight.”

Lucien’s expression softened slightly at that.

Then immediately hardened again.

Too late.

Seraphina noticed the shift.

“What?”

Lucien stopped walking.

The tunnel fell silent around them.

No footsteps.

No voices.

Nothing.

Wrong.

Seraphina’s hand moved toward her weapon instantly.

Lucien’s gaze lifted slowly toward the dark archways ahead.

“They’re here.”

The first attack came from above.

Silver wire snapped downward from the ceiling arches aiming directly for Seraphina’s throat.

Lucien moved before she fully registered the motion.

One hand caught the wire barehanded midair.

The sanctified silver burned instantly against his skin.

He didn’t even flinch.

Three assassins dropped from the shadows immediately afterward.

Not Church operatives.

Worse.

Vampires.

Council-trained.

Seraphina saw the realization hit Lucien in real time.

And whatever restraint remained inside him vanished completely afterward.

The nearest assassin lunged toward Seraphina with a silver blade.

Lucien intercepted him so violently the impact cracked marble pillars nearby.

The assassin barely had time to scream.

Seraphina spun toward the second attacker just as gunfire exploded through the corridor.

Silver rounds shattered stone beside her head.

She rolled sideways behind a collapsed column and returned fire immediately.

One shot.

Miss.

Second shot—

impact.

The attacker staggered backward clutching his shoulder.

Then Lucien reached him.

God.

Seraphina had seen Lucien fight before.

This looked different.

No elegance.

No measured restraint.

Just ancient predator rage stripped entirely clean of civilization.

The second assassin hit the wall hard enough to crater marble.

Lucien’s hand closed around his throat immediately afterward.

“You aimed at her.”

The words came out soft.

Deadly soft.

The assassin struggled desperately against the grip.

“She fulfills the prophecy—”

Lucien slammed him into the wall again.

Stone shattered outward violently.

“What prophecy?”

The third assassin attacked from behind.

Seraphina saw it first.

“Lucien!”

Too late.

The blade sliced across Lucien’s back before he turned fast enough.

Black blood stained his coat instantly.

Seraphina shot the assassin twice center mass.

The vampire stumbled.

Didn’t fall.

Ancient.

Strong.

He smiled through blood anyway.

“You think this ends differently than Aurelia?” he hissed toward Lucien. “The council remembers what happened last time.”

Lucien went terrifyingly still.

Not calm.

Worse.

Focused rage collapsing inward hard enough to become lethal.

The assassin laughed weakly.

“She’ll betray you too.”

Lucien killed him before the final word finished leaving his mouth.

No hesitation.

No warning.

One brutal movement.

The corridor fell silent afterward except for Seraphina’s uneven breathing and the distant drip of water echoing through underground stone.

Bodies cooling.

Blood spreading slowly across shattered marble floors.

Lucien stood motionless in the center of the destruction.

Back bleeding.

Hands burned from silver wire.

Eyes still fixed on the dead assassin like violence alone hadn’t satisfied whatever fear tore through him tonight.

Then Seraphina realized—

he wasn’t angry they attacked him.

He was furious they touched her.

The possessiveness of it hit hard enough to steal breath briefly from her lungs.

Lucien turned toward the surviving assassin still choking weakly against the broken wall nearby.

The vampire looked terrified now.

Good instinct.

Lucien crossed the corridor slowly.

Every step deliberate.

The assassin tried speaking again through blood.

“The prophecy says the holy daughter will destroy—”

Lucien grabbed him by the throat before the sentence finished.

“Who ordered this?”

Silence.

Then weak laughter.

“The council fears her.”

Lucien’s grip tightened.

“Answer carefully.”

The assassin’s eyes shifted toward Seraphina.

Hatred.

Fear.

Superstition.

“She carries Aurelia’s face,” he whispered hoarsely. “And you already look at her the same way.”

Something inside Lucien snapped completely after that.

Seraphina saw it happen.

Not metaphorically.

Visibly.

Centuries of restraint shredded instantly beneath terror disguised as rage.

The assassin never finished screaming.

By the time silence returned fully to the tunnel, blood covered half the corridor walls.

Lucien stood in the middle of it breathing too slowly.

Too evenly.

Like violence calmed something monstrous inside him instead of feeding it.

Seraphina crossed toward him carefully afterward.

Not afraid.

Never afraid of him when it mattered.

Lucien looked at her immediately the second she approached.

And God—

the fear in his expression hurt worse than the massacre.

Because beneath all the rage and blood and slaughter—

he looked terrified she might recoil from what he’d become protecting her.

Seraphina reached for him without hesitation.

One hand against his face.

Warm fingers brushing lightly beneath blood-spattered skin.

Lucien closed his eyes briefly beneath the touch.

The corridor around them smelled like silver and death and prophecy.

And somewhere far aboveground, vampire nobles still argued politics while ancient history repeated itself underground in blood and fear and love sharp enough to ruin empires again.