Page 54 of Haunted Crowns
The line cut. Kareon turned. Taric was already poised. Varis was slower.
“Get the pack ready,” Kareon ordered. “If she’s not back by sunset, we strike.”
Taric nodded, already halfway to action. Varis didn’t move.
“You’re talking about an open assault,” he said. “We’ve fought Avaristo before. And lost.”
Kareon’s gaze hardened. “What’s your alternative?”
“Think before you throw lives away. Would Eris want that?”
Kareon didn’t flinch. “She’s one of us.”
“She’s also a Dragov. Her family’s already in motion. They have reach we don’t. If we wait—”
“We retrieve a corpse.” Kareon cut him off, burning. “The Dragovs talk but never act. They’ve watched Avaristo grow stronger and done nothing. Too afraid of losing their thrones.” His jaw flexed. “If they have to choose between her and their crown, you know the answer.”
The silence was heavy.
Taric’s jaw was set. Varis inhaled, tense.
Kareon ran a hand down his face. Varis wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right either.
“Track the Dragovs,” Kareon said. “If they stall, we move first.”
Varis studied him, then nodded.
Kareon stepped forward, shoulders squared. “No blind charges. We move like ghosts. If they fail, we infiltrate the Citadel and take her before they know we’re in.”
Varis exhaled. “You’ve already planned it.”
“Of course I have.”
Varis nodded, this time with conviction. This wasn’t recklessness. It was restraint with teeth.
Taric pressed a fist to his chest. “We stand with you, K. Always.”
Kareon steadied himself. Then, barely a whisper, meant only for himself:
“Hold on, Eris.” He held the breath, tension coiling in his spine. Fury surged, sharpened into purpose. “I’ll make them regret touching you.”
THE ORDER KEEPS THE PEACE
Violence is loud. We are not. Those who disappear chose disorder.
Obedience is the law. Dissent is erased.
—Obsidian Voice Authority
Chapter 11
The ride was long, silent, and smothering. Eris sat rigid, wrists bound in unyielding steel, her eyes swallowed by a thick blindfold. The engine’s low hum vibrated through her bones. Each turn carved sharp lines of tension through her nerves.
No one spoke. No explanations. No reassurances. Only the suffocating presence of the Obsidian Guard. Her fingers curled in her lap as the cuffs bit cold into her skin. The air reeked of leather and iron, a scent like prison, like a tomb.
She brushed the charm at her throat—Kareon’s. A quiet anchor. It pulsed faintly, holding borrowed warmth like a secret.
The vehicle slowed. Hydraulics hissed, and somewhere ahead a gate groaned. The door wrenched open.
