Page 132 of Haunted Crowns
Eris stood at the arched window, fingertips grazing the cold glass. Her auburn curls caught the light as the city stretched before her, glorious and alive. Yet she felt nothing.
She drew in one breath, then another. Still, the unease clung to her skin.
Behind her, Stephan adjusted the collar of his ceremonial uniform. Silver embroidery shimmered in the overhead light. Midnight fabric, tailored with precision. A prince’s poise shaped into a commander’s form. Every thread carried a warrior’s restraint.
It suited him, but today, it felt like armor.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered.
Stephan turned. His steady presence offered no shelter from the storm building in her chest. “What is it?”
Eris closed her eyes. She reached, listened, and opened herself to the tide of emotion beyond the palace walls. She had always felt the hearts of others, their rhythms echoing against her own. But today, that rhythm had fractured.
“Rage,” she murmured. “Hatred. It’s everywhere.”
Stephan’s brow furrowed. “From whom?”
“I don’t know. That’s what terrifies me.” She swallowed. “There are too many minds. I cannot separate them.” Her hand found his wrist. Her fingers curled around him. “Promise me you’ll be careful during the parade.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Nothing will happen to me.”
But she saw it—the flicker in his eyes. “There is more. Is there not?” she asked softly.
Stephan exhaled, his jaw tightening. “When I reached the eastern strongholds after the Obsidian attack last night…” His voice dropped, nearly a whisper. “Our men were not afraid of the enemy, or even the war. They said Mournshadow Lake was…” He paused. “Alive.”
Eris went still. “Alive?”
“It moved. It heaved. Like something sleeping beneath the surface. The water rippled without wind. The ice crackedwithout pressure, and the longer they watched…” He exhaled again. His gaze drifted. “They swore something watched back.”
The room turned colder. Silence followed, tight and suffocating.
They did not speak her name. They had no need. Seraphina lay buried beneath the lake, sealed in ice. She was no longer still. She was stirring, restless. What happens when something long dead begins to wake?
Eris’s breath caught in her throat. Stephan stood still. The dark thought settled between them like a shadow with reaching hands.
He stepped closer, their eyes meeting in a fragile stillness. Then the voice came.
“Stephan. Eris. It is time.” Raphael’s call echoed through the corridor.
Beyond the doors, thousands waited for their rulers.
Eris drew a breath. Stephan offered his hand, and she took it.
Together, they stepped through the towering palace doors into the light.
At the center stood Raphael and Yori, the Firstblood Kings. Their presence alone silenced the crowd. Scarred hands rested on ceremonial swords, emblems of an empire they had ruled and bled for. They were the last of the old gods, now offering the world to the new. Behind them, Lady Elara and Lady Lysenna stood like shadows of history, queens who had ruled through silence, through the shaping of kings.
Goznoth held its breath.
Raphael stepped forward. “For centuries, the blood of the Dragov kings has stood as a shield against chaos. We did not rulethrough greed or conquest, but by the will of our people. By a sacred pact sealed in blood. A vow never broken.”
The crowd erupted. Fists rose. A kingdom forged in legacy. A dynasty unshaken.
Raphael let the sound carry before his voice fell quiet. “But no kingdom is built by kings alone. It is built by warriors and families, by loyalty and the bonds between them. And today…” He turned to Stephan and Eris. “…we place the future in their hands.”
Stillness followed as the people of Goznoth witnessed the end of one era and the rise of another. Then applause erupted across the square.
Eris did not move. Her pulse thundered, the weight of the realm pressing into her bones.
