Page 83 of Haunted Crowns
Leaving you this morning felt like severing something vital, like stepping away from the very air I breathe.
If I could have stayed, if the world had been kind, I would still be there, tracing my fingers along your skin, watching the sunlight spill over you like a jealous thing trying to claim you for itself.
But I had to go. And though I could not wake you with a kiss, know this: I left every piece of myself with you. You are woven into every thought, every heartbeat. And no distance can change that.
And before you accuse me of writing this just to make you swoon—yes, I know you. You would have been utterly inconsolable waking without some grand, poetic proof of my love.
So here it is. Read this. Smile for me. And know I will return to you soon.
Yours, always
Stephan
She held the letter to her chest, eyes closed, as if she could hold the shape of him through the page. The words still echoed. Gods, the words. Every line was him. Measured. Aching. Love shaped in ink. At the bottom, a flicker of his humor. The final line tugged at her lips. A soft, breathless laugh slipped out, tangled in disbelief and too much love. She wiped her eyes, but the tears had already come.
“Damn you, Stephan,” she whispered. He always knew.
And somehow, in the hush of morning, she did not feel alone. Not while his words still held her.
She sat there for a moment longer, the letter pressed to her heart. Then her breath steadied. Her spine straightened.
Love had stitched her back together. Now it was time to act.
While the kings brokered strategy and Stephan steered the weight of war, Eris was already moving. She could not wait for decree or approval. The pack needed to see her, alive and unbroken, and she needed to see them. She needed to see him: Kareon.
Through the bond, she knew he had felt all her suffering. She had to go, not for politics, but for faith. She was the one they believed in, the one they would follow through ash and blood. If she faltered now, their hope could collapse.
She would not let it.
With a sharp breath, she pushed open the stables' doors. Her mare stood waiting, dark eyes flicking toward her in quiet recognition. Just as Eris reached for the reins, a figure stepped into her path.
Cassiel.
He stood rigid, arms crossed. Beneath the disciplined exterior, something coiled, restless and edged in frustration.
“Eris,” he said, voice low with warning. “Stephan put me in charge of your security. His orders were clear: You do not leave the estate.” His gaze hardened. “Especially not alone.”
Eris tilted her head, a smirk curling her lips. “Poor Cassiel. I will have to scold Stephan for assigning you such a dull, thankless job.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her stance was all defiance.
Cassiel dragged a hand through his hair. “Oh, fantastic. That will really help when he skins me alive.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where exactly do you think you are going?”
“The Den.”
His entire body stiffened. “Absolutely not.”
Eris met his glare with something sharper. “You are welcome to try and stop me,” she said, swinging into the saddle without breaking stride. “But I promise, it will not be easy.”
Cassiel swore under his breath, frustration radiating off him like heat. He stared at her a beat longer, then exhaled, defeated. “Damn it, Eris.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, already imagining the reckoning Stephan would deliver. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine. But I am coming with you.”
Eris smirked. “I assumed that was implied.”
Cassiel muttered something she didn’t catch, but he mounted without further protest.
With one last glance at the estate, at the place where Stephan had held her, Eris pushed past the ghosts and urged her mare forward.
The woods rose to meet them, shadows curling like whispered secrets as they slipped into the trees, bound for the Den. Cassiel’s curses were low but relentless, his grip tightening on the reins as they neared the pack’s perimeter. Every step deeper into Lycan territory felt like a deliberate march toward his own demise.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “We are walking straight into the wolves’ den. Literally.”
