Page 102 of Haunted Crowns
A gasp rippled through the chamber.
Some nobles stiffened, while others watched with quiet, dangerous hope that Dragov would cast her out.
Eris’s pulse slammed against her ribs. It should have taken by now.
Stephan’s gaze snapped to her, terrified. His breath came shallow. He wanted to shield her, to take the sanctum’s wrath himself, but he couldn’t.
The priest did not move. He was waiting. They all were. The sanctum felt alive, sentient, as if it were weighing her soul.
Then the sigil burned. Not gently, like Stephan’s. It scorched. Pain licked through her, merciless, like molten iron, as if the old gods had seen her soul and chosen suffering as the price.
Eris barely suppressed a gasp as her spine locked, fighting the instinct to recoil. The sigil sank into her skin, but the burn stayed, punishing, as if it did not fully belong.
The chamber exhaled. Lady Selene pressed a hand to her chest, lips parting as if she had witnessed something unholy. Lord Hadrian’s fingers twitched against his robes, knuckles white.
Yori’s jaw tightened, eyes darkening as unease etched every line of him.
Raphael stood still, neither tense nor surprised, just watching. Measuring.
Stephan’s pulse roared in his ears. Watching her suffer while he stood powerless was agony.
Eris lifted her gaze, and for the first time, she saw fear in his eyes. They were both afraid.
She swallowed. The weight of what had almost happened pressed heavy against her ribs. The sigil had taken, but the flames had hesitated, and so had fate. She couldn’t help but think:
Am I unworthy of this throne?Of him?
Then his fingers brushed hers, gently.
He knew. Of course he did.
With that single touch, he silenced the storm. Nothing else mattered except the unshaken love between them, the truth that he was here and always would be.
The priest turned to them. It was their turn.
The dagger gleamed beneath the spectral flames as it was placed between them. Stephan reached first. He lifted the blade, his eyes never leaving hers. The cut was swift and clean, and his blood fell.
He passed her the dagger. Eris took it with measured grace, but when the blade kissed her palm, the sting was sharp and immediate. Her fingers twitched.
Stephan saw, and his throat worked.
Then together they turned to the chalice. Their blood merged, binding, an end to who they were before.
The priest lifted the chalice. His voice echoed, deep and ancient, through the chamber:
“Per cruorem, fatum ligamus.”
(Through blood, we bind fate.)
The room shivered. The nobles leaned forward.
“Corporibus imperium, animis aeterna memoria.”
(To our bodies, the realm. To our souls, eternal memory.)
Stephan and Eris lowered their heads and drank.
The first taste was metallic, thick with power. Then came heat.
