Page 51 of Haunted Crowns
The commander stepped forward. His armor gleamed like oil under the artificial light. The insignia of the Sovereign Orderburned on his chest. He stopped just short of her chair, his voice clipped. “Eris Dragov, you are under arrest.”
Gasps rippled through the room:
“No. That can’t be right. They don’t take Dragovs.”
Eris’s hands curled into her lap. Her breath felt too slow, too deliberate, as if her body was forcing her to stay calm when everything inside her screamed run. She’d known this moment would come, but knowing didn’t make it easier.
Kaelioth’s warning echoed in her mind.
“The forces beyond this den are watching, and they will try to erase you.”
Still, she held her ground, her fingers drifting to the charm around her neck, Kareon’s gift, his presence lingering in the cool metal. It had been warm against her skin just moments ago, but now it felt like ice. She traced its smooth edges, grasping onto it as if she couldhearhis voice telling her to stand tall.
Because deep inside, beneath the defiance, she was afraid.
Afraid of what they would do to her, of the heartbreak she would bring to her family, and to Stephan.
But she could not afford fear. Not now. She forced her fingers to still, dropping the charm. Then she lifted her chin. Her voice was steady. “On what charges?”
The commander stared her down, his masked face unreadable. “Treason against the Sovereign Order. Conspiracy to incite rebellion. Colluding with known insurgents.”
The words landed like a hammer. A stunned silence stretched before it shattered.
“This can’t be real…”
“A royal siding with traitors—what does that mean for the rest of us?”
This wasn’t a mistake. It was a statement. The Obsidian Guard didn’t make public arrests unless they wanted to send a message. And that message was clear: not even a Dragov is untouchable.
A hand slammed loudly against the table. Heads snapped toward the source. Theon stood and moved between Eris and the advancing guards.
“You have no right,” he growled, fury carved into every line of his face. “She is a Dragov. The princess.”
The commander didn’t flinch. “Step aside.”
Theon didn’t move. “Or what?”
The officer flicked his fingers. Swords were drawn. Blades flashed beneath the chamber’s fluorescent lights. The room froze.
Eris stood. The chair scraped against the marble, the sound unnervingly loud. “It’s fine, Theon,” she said, her voice even. “You do not need to get involved.”
His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “Eris—”
She turned to him, locking eyes. “I said it’s fine.”
A long, suffocating pause. Then, reluctantly, Theon stepped back, shoulders stiff, eyes burning with rage.
The officers moved in. Cold steel snapped around her wrists. The cuffs bit tighter than expected, and a chill crept up her arms, cold and wrong. Eris clenched her jaw, suppressing the shudder that crawled through her spine. A soldier grabbed her arm. The touch jolted through her like a violation. A flare of rage cut through the fear as she yanked her arm back. “I’ll walk.”
Silence followed. Then, a slow nod. The grip on her arm loosened. She lifted her chin and stepped forward, shoulders squared, gaze unflinching. She wasn’t dragged. She didn’t stumble. Eyes followed her, some in shock, others in fury, or disbelief.
Eris didn’t look back, because if she did, she might break, and breaking wasn’t an option.
Elsewhere in the Summit halls, rage simmered behind locked doors.
The chamber door slammed shut behind Stephan, rattling the ancient hinges. The scent of parchment and oiled wood clung heavily to the air. Then his fist cracked into the side of a bookshelf.
Several volumes tumbled to the floor, one splitting clean at the spine. His knuckles bled, raw against lacquered grain.
