Page 140 of Haunted Crowns
It was both vow and war cry, a truth that would outlast the fire. Not even Avaristo could take that from them. But vows demanded consequence, and the night was not yet done.
Council Chamber of Dragov Castle—Urgent War Council
Night had not yet broken, but Dragov was already at war.
The council chamber, once a place of ceremony and command, now pulsed with the raw urgency of survival. Tonight, it bore witness to an empire without its kings.
The obsidian table stretched the length of the room. Behind each seat, the banners of Dragov and its noble houses hung in solemn silence. Torchlight flickered, casting long shadows across the gathered lords. The air thickened with grief and vengeance.
Stephan sat at the head. His father’s seat. Its weight already pressed into his shoulders, inescapable. Once, they had followed him as a commander. Now they faced him as the new king. Beside him, Eris sat silent and still. An anchor in the storm rising inside him. His fist curled atop the table. He would not fail. Not now.
Then the chamber fell silent. The council had begun.
Lord Gavriel Morayne stood first, grief carved deep into his face, rage burning behind his eyes.
“We should be marching into Kareon’s den and burning it to the ground.” He slammed a fist onto the table. “The Lycans assassinated our kings! To ignore it is cowardice.”
Murmurs echoed. Heads nodded. Eris flinched at Kareon’s name spoken like a sentence, fury and fear colliding in her chest.
Stephan’s voice cut through the noise. “No.”
The chamber stilled.
Lord Gavriel’s glare sharpened. “No?”
Stephan leaned forward, voice even, iron-bound. “We are not attacking Kareon and his pack.”
Gasps rose around the table, and shoulders stiffened in response.
Lord Valcairn, always the strategist, narrowed his gaze. “You would have us ignore this insult? Let Lycans spill royal blood without answer?”
Stephan inhaled, controlled. This was the test. His rule would rise or fall on this moment. “The Lycans who attacked were not Kareon’s,” he said.
Unease flickered through the chamber, and doubt rippled across the faces of the gathered lords.
Lord Hadrian spoke next, brow furrowed. “What proof do you offer?”
Stephan straightened. “Avaristo has been moving behind the scenes long before this. He kidnapped Eris to fracture our alliances. When that failed, he escalated. The attack was not just assassination. It was provocation. He wanted us to go to war with the pack.”
Lord Valcairn tapped his armrest, gaze sharp and calculating. “You are saying this was a trap designed to feed off our division while we tear each other apart.”
Stephan nodded once. “The attackers were rogues, banished from Kareon’s pack. They were his enemies too. Avaristo took their hatred and weaponized it.”
A heavy silence followed.
Lady Selene Caelora broke it, measured. “Then what do you propose?”
Stephan met her gaze. “We end the cycle Avaristo thrives on. We stop seeing the pack as the enemy and turn our wrath where it belongs.” His voice dropped, sharp. “The Obsidian Order.”
The table erupted into discord, voices clashing like steel.
“We are outnumbered,” Lord Sareth said darkly. “Avaristo commands the largest mercenary force in the realm.”
Stephan’s fingers curled. “Numbers do not win wars. Strategy does. And strength.” His voice was unwavering. “We may be fewer, but we are better trained. We fight not for coin, but for blood. For honor.”
Lord Gavriel scoffed. “A fine speech, boy. But when do you intend to strike?”
Stephan didn’t blink. “At first light. The day after tomorrow.”
