Page 144 of Haunted Crowns
He forced the thought down, but the unease wouldn’t leave him.
Carefully, Stephan lay her back down, tucking her into his chest. Their bodies aligned, hands intertwined. His fingerstraced her skin slowly, calming her breath, guiding her back to sleep. Eventually, she softened, and her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes. But even in sleep, something followed.
A whisper curled deep within her, patient.
*Seraphina… Mine.*
This time, she didn’t wake. Not fully.
Stephan couldn’t sleep. His mind would not let him, because tonight, something had reached for her. A voice from the dark had whispered its claim, and Stephan Dragov did not take kindly to threats. If this thing wanted Eris, then it hadn’t just declared war. It had made its first mistake.
“Lies are for cowards too weak to bleed the truth out.”
—Kareon Duskbane
Chapter 29
The study at Dragov Castle flickered with candlelight, shadows dancing across war maps strewn over the obsidian desk. Every route, every strategy had been drawn and redrawn a hundred times. The war had yet to begin, but Stephan had been fighting it in his mind since the day his father fell.
He exhaled and rubbed his temple. His body still ached from fresh wounds, but there was no time for rest. No time for grief. The Dragov Empire teetered on a blade’s edge, and he alone bore its weight.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Stephan said, his eyes never leaving the maps.
The door creaked open, and a royal guard stepped in, stiff and formal. “Your Majesty, the Pack Alpha has arrived.”
Stephan’s fingers stilled. His gaze lifted sharply. “Send him in.”
Kareon entered before the guard could reply. The room braced for him. He moved like a force of nature, deliberate and inevitable. Blood and steel clung to him. His golden eyes gleamed with certainty. A wolf who had hunted without apology, carrying dominance in every step.
Then Stephan saw the bag.
Kareon lifted it, a smirk slicing across his face. “I brought Eris a gift. Thought she’d appreciate it.”
Stephan’s eyes dropped to the bag. “What is it?”
“Nothing much,” Kareon replied, voice casual. “Just Leira’s head.”
The words struck him cold.
Stephan said nothing. He stared at the bag, heavy with retribution. Part of him wished Eris could see it, proof that justice had found its mark. Another part hoped she never would.
Kareon stepped forward and dropped the bag onto the desk, the thud echoing, dark and final.
“And the rest?” Stephan asked quietly.
“Dead,” Kareon said. His smile thinned. “All but one.”
He did not have to say the name.
Vatryk.
Kareon’s jaw locked. His fists curled. “I’ll find him,” he growled. “No matter how deep he buries himself—I’ll drag him out and end him. Even if I have to walk into hell to do it.”
There it was: raw, consuming devotion—the kind that burned down empires to protect what it loved.
Stephan saw it. He always had. Kareon would burn the world for her.
