Page 127 of Haunted Crowns
She paused for a moment, then shook her head. “Not with you here.”
Something in him cracked. He leaned in, his hand rising to cradle her jaw, and kissed her like the one thing he had been born to protect.
Then, together, they opened the door.
Firelight trembled, shadows stretching long, as if even flame feared what came next. Yori stood at the hearth, forehead pressed to a clenched fist, grief carved deep into his profile.
Across the room, Raphael sat with his hands over his face like a man drowning in silence.
The door creaked open, cracking the air like a gunshot. Two heads turned. Yori jerked first.
Raphael’s hands fell. He rose, slow and unsteady, like a man who had seen a ghost. Eris Dragov stood before them, whole. Alive.
No one moved. Yori’s throat bobbed as he stared, his eyes wide and unblinking.
“Eris?” Her name broke from his lips, hoarse and soaked in grief.
She didn’t hesitate. “I’m here, Papa.”
He took two strides forward, his hands reaching for her, mapping her arms, her face, as if touching a dream before itcould vanish. Then his arms crushed her as a sound tore from him, half sob, half prayer.
Eris let him hold her, eyes closed. His grip was too tight. Still, she did not pull away. For a moment, she let herself feel it: the unbearable grace of being loved.
“You came back.” His voice cracked against her hair. “Gods… You’re here.”
She swallowed hard. “I never left you.”
Raphael did not move. He stared, as if he had forgotten how to breathe.
He had held her body, breathing but empty. He had felt her vanish inside it, and now she stood before him. His breath tore loose, relief struck hard, nearly dropping him.
He hadn’t erased her.
But joy, no matter how fierce, cannot outlive atonement, because when his gaze slipped past Eris, he saw
Stephan watching him, not as a son, but as a man confronting the one who had tried to steal his future.
Raphael knew it was over. When he raised a blade against her, he lost his son. When he cast the Seal, he condemned himself, and now judgment was coming.
He swallowed, his hands curling at his sides in quiet acceptance.
Stephan’s grip tightened on his sword. “Take her. Go.” His voice was low and final. “Close the door.”
Eris froze. She knew that voice. Cold. Controlled. Predatory. It was the voice of a man prepared to kill.
Her head snapped toward him.
Stephan stood motionless, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on Raphael with the stillness of a wolf before the strike.
“Stephan,” she urged.
He did not blink.
Yori hesitated. He had known this moment would come, but still, he obeyed and pulled Eris close.
“Let me go.” Eris fought him. “Stephan, please!”
But Stephan was no longer listening. He moved forward slowly, as steel whispered from its sheath.
