Page 135 of Haunted Crowns
One by one, the Lycans raised their weapons. Torchlight shimmered along jagged metal—a mockery of the honor these halls once held. Then they smiled.
“The blood of kings spills tonight.” The words slithered like prophecy.
Eris’s stomach turned to ice. She knew them. Two faces from her past: Vatryk and Leira. Once Kareon’s loyalists, now reveling in the ruin of his blood.
“No,” she whispered.
Vatryk smirked, canines gleaming. “Thought you’d be dead by now, princess. Guess fate has a sense of humor.”
Leira tilted her head, golden eyes gleaming with cruelty. “You’ve made such a mess, Eris. A filthy little Firstblood trying to stitch together what should have stayed broken. Pathetic.”
Eris’s fists clenched. She would not cower. But before she could speak, the Lycans attacked.
Steel crashed against steel. Sparks flew. Screams tore through the air. Flesh split. The Lycans moved like wolves among lambs.
The first Dragov knight did not draw his blade in time. A Lycan tore out his throat with its claws.
The second parried once, then twice, but it was not enough. One blade opened his stomach. A second took his head. Blood splattered across the marble.
Eris ripped a spear from the gilded wall and spun just as Leira lunged. The impact jolted up her arms, the force nearly throwing her back.
“Stop pretending you can fight,” Leira sneered. “Without Kareon shielding you, you are nothing but a trembling parasite, clinging to power that was never yours.”
Eris gritted her teeth. She twisted. The spear sliced through the air and grazed Leira’s throat.
But victory lasted only a breath.
Across the room, Vatryk moved like a ghost. His blade flashed, and Lady Elara’s head struck the floor.
Eris froze.
No.
A scream clawed at her throat but would not rise.
Then Vatryk turned toward Lady Lysenna. His blade dripped red. One clean stroke, and another body collapsed.
Two queens. Two mothers. Gone in a breath.
Eris staggered, her hands trembling. The world tilted sideways.
No. No. No.
Leira saw it and lunged, but Yori was faster.
His blade met hers in a shower of sparks. “You will not touch her.” His voice struck like steel. His blade struck harder.
Leira gasped and stumbled back.
Raphael carved through Lycans like a war god, his sword a blur of fire and blood. Yori fought beside him, unyielding. His steel slipped between ribs, too fast to track. They fought like kings who knew their crowns were already ash.
But the Lycans were many, and the room was burning. Flames climbed the walls as Dragov banners curled and blackened, legacy melting into ruin.
Then a tremor rolled through the floor. A distant boom followed.
Eris’s head snapped toward the balcony. Smoke rose, thick and black, into the sky. Another blast shook the horizon as fire bloomed far beyond the walls. Her stomach dropped.
Stephan.
