Page 19 of Haunted Crowns
Her jaw locked. “Leave Stephan out of this,” she said, sharp. “You know nothing of the burdens he carries. For my family. For the Firstbloods. Spare him your petty remarks.”
Kareon’s chuckle was humorless. “Fair enough.”
He turned to her mare, brushing the animal’s muzzle. The horse shifted, uneasy. It knew what he was. But Kareon barely noticed. Kaelioth’s words echoed.
Eris Dragov could be the hope we’ve waited for.
He didn’t believe in hope. He believed in survival. But Kaelioth had raised him when no one else would. And if the shaman believed she was more, then Kareon had to know.
He told himself he was here out of duty, to gauge her usefulness. But it wasn’t just that, and he knew it. Something about her pulled at instincts he’d spent years learning to ignore. It made him reckless. And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He needed to know what kind of creature she truly was. A symbol, a threat, or something else entirely. Something that could change everything. He turned back to her.
“Tell me, princess…” His voice curled like smoke. “Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re different?” Eris froze. “Why you don’t quite belong?” he continued. “Why you hear and feel things no one else can?” Her breath hitched. He stepped closer, deliberate. “You want the truth? Then meet the pack shaman.”
Her stomach twisted. “Your shaman?” she asked warily.
Kareon’s smirk flicked. “You want answers, don’t you? Then stop running from them.”
Her pulse pounded. She could hear Stephan’s voice, like a phantom at her shoulder:Stay away from them. From him.
But what if he was wrong? What if the Lycans weren’t the monsters she’d been taught to fear? What if the pack shaman held answers, not just to the whispers that haunted her, but to something greater?
If there was a way to unravel what the kingdom had become, to open its eyes, to tear down the old lies, maybe this was it. Maybe she didn’t just want to belong. Maybe she wanted to break the world open and build something better. She drew a slow breath.
“I’ll go.”
Kareon’s smirk remained, but something sharper flickered in his eyes. Without a word, he swung onto her mare and extended a hand.
“Don’t worry, princess,” he said, pausing just long enough. “I don’t bite.” His smile was brief. Mocking. “Not today.”
She stared at his hand, heart thundering. Her family had always called her reckless. Maybe they were right. But she needed to see where this led. She took it. A jolt passed through her. He pulled her up behind him. The closeness became inevitable. Her arms circled his waist, practical at first. Then less so. The scent of pine and storm clung to him. It should’ve felt foreign. But it didn’t. Not entirely.
She didn’t speak. He didn’t let go. And as the forest swallowed them whole, Eris realized: she was no longer just a princess. No longer silenced. With every hoofbeat, every breath of wind, something inside her woke. Alive, dangerous, and free.
“The spirits do not forget.
They wait.”
—Kaelioth, Pack Shaman
Chapter 5
The rhythmic thud of hooves softened as Eris and Kareon left the paved roads behind, crossing into untamed earth. The shift struck her like a breath drawn too deep.
Opulence gave way to something raw as a village emerged, woven into the forest itself. Modest wooden houses nestled among the trees, smoke curling from stone chimneys. Lycans moved in rhythm with the land. Children darted barefoot between homes, laughter rising above the hum of wind. The scent of earth, pine, and rain mingled with warm wood. It was nothing like the capital, and yet something in Eris recognized it. The land was not just around her. It was aware of her.
Then she saw it: charred wood and blackened fields. The devastation cut through the harmony like a fresh wound. Eris’s throat tightened.
“What happened here?”
Kareon’s expression darkened.
“The Obsidian Order. They want us gone.” His voice was flat, but she felt the rage beneath it. “Burn our food. Burn our homes. Their way of pushing us out. But we’re still here.”
A slow horror settled into her bones. This wasn’t just conflict. It was erasure. This was not the story she had been told.
She barely noticed the weight in her chest, sorrow pressing against her ribs. It was not just what she saw. It was what she felt. And when she exhaled, the wind moved with her.
The mare slowed as they neared the den: a cluster of tents and stone-built shelters circling open fires. Every Lycan turned at once. Eris straightened, steeling herself against their stares.
