Page 137 of Haunted Crowns
Stephan hit the cobblestones while his horse screamed and bolted. Pain detonated through his chest as his ribs cracked.
The Lycan landed hard, claws raking, jaws gaping for his throat.
Stephan snarled as he twisted and drew the dagger from his belt. Steel plunged into flesh, and blood sprayed. The Lycan choked, jerked, and fell still. Stephan shoved the body aside and ran.
Bodies littered the palace steps—guards, nobles, and Lycans alike—while blood pooled in rivers. Heat clawed at his lungs as smoke turned the air to ash. But he kept going. He tore up the stairs, flames licking at his boots, the stench of burning flesh thick around him.
Then he slammed into the wall as pain ripped through his side. He staggered, pressed a hand to his stomach, and felt it come away slick with blood.
He had not even felt the claws tear through him. But it did not matter. He had to find her.
He pushed through the pain and climbed, his vision narrowing, his body failing. But his mind was locked on a single word—Eris.
If only he had stayed, as she had begged him to, he would be there already, fighting to protect her. Now he might be too late.
Stephan crashed through the chamber doors and stopped breathing. Bodies lay across the marble floor. Fallen warriors and slaughtered royalty surrounded him—lives extinguished before the sun could set. Flames devoured walls, banners, and history, reducing everything to ash.
At the center of it all, Eris knelt, still. Her gaze stayed fixed on the body before her.
Yori.
His severed head lay near his blood-soaked tunic.
Eris did not move. She stared, empty, as if the world had ended and nothing else remained.
“Eris!” Stephan’s voice broke through fire and ruin, hoarse with desperation.
She did not react. Behind her, a shadow moved. A Lycan stepped forward, blade raised, prepared for a clean execution.
Stephan froze. She was too far. He would never reach her in time. He shouted her name with everything he had left.
“ERIS!”
She did not turn.
The blade came down.
But from the flames behind her, a shadow surged forward. It was Raphael, bleeding and broken. His uniform was soaked and torn, slashed open at the chest. And yet, he moved faster than any dying man should. His blade struck the assassin’s with a single, ruthless arc. Blood splattered across the marble as the Lycan crumpled at Eris’s feet.
Then Raphael fell. His breath was shallow and uneven, each draw more fractured than the last.
Eris turned. “Uncle!”
She reached him before he collapsed, catching his weight in her arms. Her hands cradled his face—once unshakable, now pale and fading.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
His fingers brushed her cheek. It was a father’s touch, given one final time.
His voice came thin, cracking through the smoke. “Live, Eris.” His gaze blurred, but his resolve held. “Take care of Stephan. He will need you more than ever.”
A sob tore from her throat.
“No. No!”
Stephan dropped beside them, hands locking around Raphael’s arm. “Father—come on. We need to move.”
Raphael shook his head and spat blood. The effort cost him. “Take her. Get out.”
