Page 107 of Haunted Crowns
Stephan tilted his head, mischief flickering in his gaze. "Do you trust me?"
She smirked. “Of course not...but go ahead.”
His smile turned wolfish. Then he rose.
She watched him go, confused. Moments later, he returned.
His eyes found hers, darker now. Unapologetic. He said nothing at first, just reached for her, hand outstretched like a dare she wasn’t sure she should take. "Come with me."
She hesitated. "Stephan, what—"
"Come on, Your Highness. Humor me. You won’t regret it."
She exhaled, shaking her head, smiling despite herself. Their trouble always started like this. And still, she took his hand.
The room fell silent as Stephan walked forward with her, composed.
Servants moved quickly. The circle of fire rose around them, high but not yet closed.
Then she understood. Stephan was not leading her to observe. He was leading her into the fire.
She stopped short. "Stephan," she whispered, sharp.
"Are you insane? We can’t do this. The dance is sacred. Only trained combat dancers—"
His smirk came before the words. "Traditions are made by those bold enough to break them," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her, full of challenge. "Isn’t that what you’ve been teaching me?"
Her pulse spiked. She opened her mouth to argue, but she knew it was too late. Once Stephan made a decision, he followed through without hesitation.
She exhaled, shook her head, and laughed. "You are impossible."
He grinned. "And yet." He lifted their joined hands. "Here you are."
Not long ago, they had been forged in blood and oath. Now, in fire, they would show the court what love becomes when unshackled.
The servants moved swiftly, peeling away ceremonial layers in silence. Stephan and Eris stood still, arms outstretched, letting the heavy fabrics fall like the last remnants of tradition. Beneath, they wore fitted attire, made not for spectacle but for movement. For fire.
They never looked away.
Eris’s heart pounded from the challenge in Stephan’s gaze. A look that saidthis is happening. A look that daredunless you are afraid.
Then she felt it. Not just the fire or his stare, but the weight of every watching eye. A murmur stirred, soft at first, swelling like disbelief.
“What is this absurdity?” Raphael muttered, his voice edged with disdain.
Yori shrugged, curious. “I have no idea.”
Eris rolled her shoulders, adjusting to the sudden weightlessness of her new form.
The servants stepped forward, presenting the sleek ceremonial daggers. Stephan took the first, spun it once, and caught the grip with ease, as if the blade had always been his.
Then he turned to her, offering the second. Her fingers curled around the hilt, cool steel pressing into heated skin. The fire waited. A single breath passed between them. Then they moved with no hesitation. They turned, walking to opposite ends of the circle, each step precise, already syncing with the rhythm of the rite.
The flames surged, and the dance began. Rhythm pulsed through the chamber, drums and strings weaving with fate.
Stephan prowled across the marble floor with focused control, every step measured, his posture commanding. His tunic clung close, unforgiving.
Eris met him, beckoning. Her body flowed untamed like stormwater. Firelight traced her bare shoulders, the line of her throat, the lift of her wrist as she raised her dagger. Steel flashed.
