Page 64

Vulmar breaks the final seal with one claw.

The sound is small, almost lost beneath the vibration of the spire. He tips the cylinder and withdraws a sheet of metallic parchment. Age has darkened its edges from silver to black. Lines of archaic script cover both sides, cramped around the royal mark.

He lays it before me and places two stone weights across the corners.

"Read the third provision."

The letters use older forms I recognize only from apothecary recipes copied before the breeding program began. I follow them slowly, translating each rigid phrase.

"Where a demon assigned a human breeder forms an exclusive bond governed by affection rather than lineage duty," I read, "and where conduct shows devotion beyond contractual protection, such bond constitutes treason against the preservation and purity of demon blood."

I stop.

Vulmar waits.

"Affection is treason."

"Affection joined to exclusivity and demonstrated devotion."

"That distinction will comfort us greatly."

"Law offers precision, not comfort."

I read the provision again.

Contractual protection is permitted because the Council expects Draxon to preserve its intended lineage. He can provide rooms, medicine, and armed escorts. He can take my body under the authority they created.

He cannot love me.

Not if anyone can prove it.

My thoughts turn toward the maintenance corridor, his body shielding mine from the collapsing ceiling. Toward the temporary workroom where he allowed me to treat his carapace and touched the edge of my bruise with impossible care. Toward last night, when the distance between obligation and choice became impossible to defend.

No single memory proves a legal definition.

Together, they form a pattern Korgath would recognize.

"Continue," Vulmar says.

I force my eyes to the next section.

"Upon judgment by the Council of Seven, the offending demon forfeits all titles held by blood, appointment, conquest, or service. Lands and household authority return to the Crown. Military and court station are revoked."

The script blurs. I blink until it sharpens.

"The human?"

"Read."

"The breeding assignment is dissolved. The human returns to Council disposition for reassignment according to viable lineage need."

My stomach turns cold.

Draxon would lose House Obsidius. The arena. Every guard, servant, and holding under his protection. I would return to the same Council that selected me for him, ready to be placed wherever another bloodline required.

"There is more," Vulmar says.

The final lines occupy less space than the penalties concerning property.