Page 46 of Haunted Crowns
“I want to believe you,” she said. “Gods, I do. But I don’t know how.”
He did not reach for her, but every line of him leaned closer. “Then let me show you.” His voice softened. "I know trust isn’t given. It’s earned, and I’ll earn it back, whatever it takes." Their eyes met, his gaze open, stripped of pride. “Because without you, I don’t know who I am anymore. Everything I’ve bled for—every stone of this damned kingdom—feels like a cage tightening around my throat.” His gaze burned, desperate, pained. “You’re the only freedom I’ve ever known.”
She inhaled sharply. The words tore through her defenses, raw and honest. The kind of truth that leaves no place to run. He stepped closer without touching, simply there. One arm braced above her on the shelf, his mouth a breath away. She leaned in by a breath, eyes softly closing. His warmth, his scent wrapped around her like a promise.
She almost gave in, but fear lived too deep in her bones. She drew a sharp breath and stepped away. The loss of her hurt him deeply. His grip on the shelf tightened. Then she reached out and pressed the book, the one they had both reached for, against his chest.
“Then show me, Stephan. Show me it’s not just empty words.”
Her fingers brushed the Lycan charm at her throat. She didn’t hide it. She let it shine for him to see, because if he couldn’t face this, he couldn’t face her.
His voice dropped, low and final. “I will.”
She turned and her warmth vanished like the last ember of the day.
Stephan crushed the book to his chest like it was her heart, already slipping from his hands.
This time, he would not let go. No prophecy, no crown, no wolf, would take her from him again.
Her voice echoed in his blood.
Then show me, Stephan. Show me it’s not just empty words.
Those words chased him through the stone corridors of the Astareth Summit. Clung to him like her scent, sharp, impossible to shake. He didn’t remember crossing the western wing. Only the jarring chill of the training quarter pulled him back. The scent of steel, sweat, and cold stone filled the air, grounding and familiar, but he felt anything but steady.
The weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It sat there, heavy, as his brothers-in-arms strapped on gauntlets and traded quiet barbs like nothing had changed. Except everything had.
“You’re late,” Cassiel said. “And you look like shit.”
Stephan peeled off his coat in silence. His hands trembled once, just once, then stilled.
Theon’s voice followed, teasing but tempered. “What did she do, hex you with that mouth of hers?”
Stephan didn’t respond. Just stripped off his outer shirt, pulled laces tight. Every movement methodical.
Adrian leaned back against a weapons rack. “I take it the reunion didn’t end with a kiss.”
Silence stretched. Then finally, Stephan muttered, “She wore his charm.”
Cassiel winced. "Fuck! That’s brutal."
“How could she like him?” Stephan's voice frayed at the edges. “He’s not like me. He doesn’t think, he doesn’t wait—he just takes.” He caught himself, jaw tight. “Forget it.”
Theon arched a brow. “Jealousy looks ugly on you, commander.”
Stephan looked away, jaw working. “Maybe I deserve ugly.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It wasloaded. His friends had seen him bloody, broken, bruised…but never like this.
They knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just heartbreak. It was history, politics, power.
Adrian broke it first.
“Stephan,” he said, voice low. Grounded. “What happens when she aligns herself with them?”
Stephan didn’t answer.
“You know the Firstbloods already think the Dragovs are too progressive,” Adrian went on. “They will not stomach the king’s daughter standing beside Lycans.”
