Page 72 of Haunted Crowns
Yori leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "What if this is the time for change?"
Eris blinked at him, stunned.
"You and I were called visionaries once," Yori continued. "We broke tradition in the name of progress, and we were nearly cast out for it."
Raphael’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Yori’s gaze darkened. “When we split the throne, to hold up a kingdom too fractured for one crown, they called us radicals. When we legalized vampirism, they called us heretics. When we banned human hunting and built the blood banks, they called us weak. And yet, despite the resistance, we built something stronger." His voice dropped, deliberate. "Maybe it is time we step aside, and let Eris and Stephan do the same."
Raphael ran a hand through his hair, frustration and exhaustion etched into every movement.
"Even if you are right," he muttered, "the Firstblood Council will never accept Eris’s idealism. They will eat her alive."
Yori was silent for a moment, then smiled, knowing. "Then we do not give them a choice. We bind them to her."
Eris frowned. "What?"
Yori tapped lightly against the table, already a step ahead. "We bring forward the Crimson Vow. For both Stephan and Eris. We present it as a demonstration of loyalty, a way to silence doubts about Eris’s allegiance. No one will oppose it."
Raphael’s expression flickered. Stephan stiffened. Yori pressed on.
"Once the oath is taken, the Council will drink from their blood. And once they do, the magic in our blood will bind them inescapably, by blood, by legacy. They will not be able to deny them as sacred leaders."
Eris’s eyes snapped to Stephan, uncertain. She did not have to speak. He met her eyes and nodded, decisive.
Raphael leaned back, processing. It was dangerous, but it could work. Pride and fear warred inside him, but in the end, survival won. Slowly, he nodded.
"Fine," he said, authoritatively. His gaze locked on Eris and Stephan. "Then it is decided. Tomorrow, Yori and I will announce to the Council that you will take the Crimson Vow, proving your loyalty to the House of Dragov and the Firstbloods."
Eris opened her mouth to protest, breath catching in her throat, but Raphael lifted a hand.
"You are dismissed," he said, with finality.
Eris stood rigid, the words crashing over her like a second blow. Bound by duty she had not chosen. Bound by blood she could not escape. Her jaw clenched, swallowing the protest burning in her chest, because here, survival demanded silence.
Yori stepped forward, brushing her cheek with a whisper of comfort. "Go rest," he murmured. "Everything will be fine."
She hesitated. She did not believe him, but she nodded. The room felt too small, the walls too close, until a steady hand found hers. Stephan.
"Let’s go, Eris," he said.
She breathed, once, and followed.
“They say distance dulls love. But my hunger for you haunts me.
I want you like war, like ruin.
You’re not mine. But by the gods…you will be.”
Private Note—Stephan Dragov, Diplomatic Quarters, Koranvelt
Chapter 15
Stephan pulled Eris through the dim corridor, his stride purposeful. The weight of the chamber still pressed on them: Raphael’s fury, Yori’s intervention, the lines that could never be uncrossed.
At the base of the grand staircase, they stopped. Sconces flickered against marble, casting long shadows. The silence between them thickened, heavy with all that remained unsaid.
Stephan turned to her fully. His warm hands found hers, steady, an anchor.
