Page 66 of Haunted Crowns
The silence was thick with unspoken accusations. When Raphael finally spoke, he did not raise his voice; he simply exhaled and turned to Stephan.
"She hid it from us," he said, pausing. "She hid it from me." His gaze sharpened. "And so did you."
Stephan didn’t flinch. “I had no choice.”
Raphael stepped forward. “No choice?” His voice was ice. “You are my son. The heir to this house. And you chose to conceal a political catastrophe from your own blood?”
“She trusted me,” Stephan said, jaw tight. “I would not betray that.”
“And yet, she betrayed us.”
The words hit like a lash.
“Fraternizing with Lycans?” Raphael’s voice rose. “Do you understand what you have enabled?”
Stephan’s hands curled into fists, but he stayed silent.
Raphael’s cold voice dropped, precise. "And now she is bruised, battered, humiliated. Was it worth it?"
Stephan looked away, the truth cutting deep.
Yori stepped forward. His voice was measured, but not without feeling. “They are young, Raphael. And deeply in love. That should count for something.”
“This is not about love,” Raphael snapped. “It is about duty.” He turned to Yori, his eyes hard. “And you—you let your daughter run wild. And now this is the result.”
Yori’s face remained unreadable, but his hands clenched at his sides.
“You let her think she was untouchable,” Raphael continued. “You never held her accountable. And now she has paid the price. You coddled her. Raised her without discipline. And now she is broken. She is a disgrace. Just like…” His voice faltered, only for a moment. Then it hardened. “Just likeshewas.”
The silence that followed was sharp as a blade.
No name was spoken, because none was needed.
Seraphina. The stain on the Dragov legacy that could never be erased.
Stephan’s voice broke through, savage. “Say that again, and—”
Yori cut him off, voice rising like thunder. “Don’t you dare call my daughter a disgrace.”
Raphael didn’t blink. He ignored the warning, turning instead to Stephan. “I hope,” he said coldly, “you are not still considering marrying her. She is unfit to be queen. Unfit to be your wife.”
Stephan flinched from doubt. Not of Raphael, but of Eris. The library had shaken them, cracked their certainty. Would she still want this—them?
Raphael saw the flicker of doubt. “You hesitate.”
Stephan straightened. His voice was quiet, but solid. “My choices are mine. You will not control them.”
Raphael exhaled, tone laced with contempt. “Is this your queen? A girl who endangers herself? Who allies with our enemies?”
Stephan’s breath stuttered, but his voice was steel. “What Eris and I decide is ours. No one else’s.”
Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “Pathetic,” he muttered. “Love will get you both killed.”
He did not shout. He simply delivered the truth like a blade. The words lingered, tightening like a noose, until a sound broke through the tension: an engine roaring in the distance.
All three men turned sharply. A car was arriving. Eris.
The conversation died mid-breath, disintegrating like dying embers. Without a word, they moved toward the entrance, their steps urgent, their thoughts heavy with the unspoken.
