Page 2 of Haunted Crowns
Eris stood, walking slowly to the window. Her fingertips traced the cool glass. Beyond the towers, dusk was blooming, and somewhere out there, the royal car might already be winding its way through the palace gates.
“He’s been gone so long... to places I’ll never see, because they never let me leave this place,” she whispered. “Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he’s met someone. Someone... normal.”
Artina tilted her head. “And if he hasn’t?”
Eris turned, cheeks flushed, her smile small and crooked.
“Will you stop already? Stephan and I are just... friends. That’s all.” She laughed lightly, but not entirely convincing. “I’m definitely not clinging to a marriage promise from an eight-year-old boy while we were both knee-deep in mud.”
And then, as if summoned by memory, the door burst open.
Stephan Dragov stepped into the room like he owned the air. Towering and broad-shouldered, his uniform fit like armor stitched in silk. Dusk kissed the sharp line of his jaw and the tousled fall of shoulder-length dark hair. His obsidian eyes, cold to most, only ever softened when they found her. His long black coat swept behind him, the Dragov crest catching the last of the sun like a flare of gold.
Lord Marshal Cazar followed, stiff and starched, the King’s High Military Adjutant, every step echoing with officialdom.
“Your Highness,” Cazar intoned, voice clipped. “His Majesty requests your presence in the throne hall. He says—”
“I don’t care,” Stephan said flatly, not even slowing. “I’m seeing Princess Eris. My father will wait.”
Eris turned, and the moment she saw him, her breath vanished. She didn’t think. She just ran.
“Stephan!”
“Eris!”
Before she could second-guess it, she leapt toward him. Stephan caught her without hesitation, hands firm beneath her thighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck, just like they used to when they were young enough to pretend they weren’t royalty, just two children on a dare.
But they weren’t children anymore.
He was all heat and muscle beneath his uniform, breath warm against her neck, his hold rougher than she remembered. She felt every inch of him. Broad chest, strong arms, the solid weight of him pressed against her. His scent—sandalwood, rain,something darker—wrapped around her like a memory she hadn’t let go.
They froze there, suspended in the kind of silence that said far too much. His closeness burned. And it was too much.
After a beat too long, Eris let herself slide down, her feet landing softly. She smoothed her skirt, tucking a curl behind her ear as a flush crept up her neck. Her gaze dropped.
“I—sorry. That was... impetuous. As usual,” she said with a crooked laugh. “If any of our relatives had seen that, they’d have dropped dead from the shock.”
From the corner, Artina smiled complicitly, then slipped out, closing the door gently behind her. Privacy, at last.
Stephan stood still, as if still catching up to her presence. His hands had lingered too long, his breath uneven. Then, low and unguarded: “Let them. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
Silence bloomed again, heavier this time. Her breath caught, but not from surprise. Their eyes met, and for one suspended heartbeat, the world narrowed to just this room, just the space between them, so charged it felt like glass drawn tight between two fingers.
Her heart thundered. She couldn’t breathe. So she stepped back, smiling a little too brightly.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said, her voice light but edged with something raw. “It feels... impossible. How long do I have you?”
Stephan’s voice dropped. “Just a few minutes. Half an hour if I’m lucky.”
The light in her eyes dimmed. “That’s barely anything.”
“I know.” He exhaled. “We’re en route to Kaltafiri. My father didn’t want me to stop. Said there was no time for sentiment.”
“But you stopped anyway?”
“I told him I wouldn’t cross the border without seeing you. Even if it was just to say hello.”
Eris folded her arms, frowning. “Uncle Raphael is a tyrant. Honestly, that man never gives either of us a break.”
