Page 134 of Haunted Crowns
“Just like our father,” he said. “A Dragov through and through.”
Raphael’s grip tightened.
“He is ready.”
The echoes of the parade still thundered beyond the balcony, a fading hymn to the strength of the Dragov line.
Yori gestured toward the chamber doors. “Come now. We have seen enough,” he said with a half-smile. “Stephan can handle the rest.”
With one last glance at the legion below, Raphael, Elara, Lysenna, and Eris stepped inside, into the palace’s cool, silent heart. The doors closed behind them for the last time.
They walked through the grand chamber, golden sconces casting their reflections over polished obsidian floors. A dynasty at its height. A family undivided. For once, there was no war to plan, no council to call, only the quiet weight of legacy.
“We have done well, Raphael,” Yori said, voice full of pride. “The Dragovs have never stood stronger.”
Raphael nodded. “Stephan and Eris will carry that strength forward.”
His gaze lingered on Eris. Not as a niece, or as a child, but as heir.
Yori noticed and grinned. “Do not look so grim, brother.” He bumped Raphael’s shoulder. “You are staring at Goznoth’s future. And for once, it does not look bleak.”
Eris smirked. “Thank you for the trust, Papa.”
“You two will make fine sovereigns,” Yori said. “That much is clear.”
Elara smiled. Lysenna nodded.
Eris lifted her chin. “You have set a high bar. We will rise to it.”
Yori’s smirk turned sly. “Shall we start planning the wedding?” He winked. “I would not mind being a grandfather.”
Eris flushed. “Papa—”
“What?” Yori raised a brow, feigning innocence. “It is only a matter of time. Stephan could conquer a city at dawn and marry by dusk.”
Even Raphael, ever solemn, allowed the faintest flicker of amusement. Then his gaze softened. He stepped closer, resting his hand on Eris’s shoulder. “You and Stephan must protect each other.”
She met his eyes. “We will.”
He nodded. A rare warmth from a king of iron.
Yori turned toward the corridor, leading them deeper into the palace. They did not know they were walking toward death.
They had taken barely five steps when the doors opened. A dozen royal guards entered, boots striking the obsidian floor in unison.
Then the doors shut behind them. The sound was final. A death knell.
Eris’s breath caught. There were too many guards, too much silence, and only one way out.
Raphael’s gaze darkened. Elara tensed. Lysenna’s fingers drifted toward her skirt, where a dagger waited.
A drawn-out pause settled over the room, the stillness holding too long.
Then Raphael’s voice broke the silence. “What is the meaning of this? Open the doors. Now.”
The guards did not move. They did not speak. Then the scent hit. It was not steel or sweat. It was Lycan.
A slow, coiling horror swept through the chamber. Raphael reached for his sword. Eris felt it rise within her, the shift, the inevitability. The guards reached for their blades. Steel slid free, hissing through the air, and their disguises fell.
