Page 62 of Haunted Crowns
“A doctor?” he echoed. “My dear King, you wound me. You’d suggest I’ve treated your daughter with anything less than the utmost…care?”
Stephan felt Adrian’s firm hand clamp onto his forearm, grounding.Don’t rise to it.But rage coursed too deep. Eris was suffering while they played politics. And he couldn’t breathe under the weight of it.
His wrist-comm pulsed. A message. But he did not look. His eyes stayed fixed on the man through the orb.
Avaristo, smirking.
“Very well,” the tyrant said. “Send your envoy. But do be swift.” His smile widened, mocking and final. “After all…we wouldn’t want her getting too comfortable.”
The connection severed.
Silence crashed down like ash. Stephan sat frozen, hands trembling as Avaristo’s venom lingered—mockery, sharpened like a blade.
Raphael was the first to speak. His resolute voice cut through the quiet like a war horn.“This council is dismissed.” It was not surrender. It was a declaration. “Our family will return to the High Estate to receive Princess Eris. But let there be no mistake: this is not finished.” His gaze swept the assembled Firstbloods, eyes burning with cold fire. “We have been dishonored. One of our own, of royal blood, was taken. Humiliated. Held by those who believe they can defy us without consequence.” He leaned forward. “That belief is a mistake.” A charged stillness followed. The chamber bristled with restrained fury. “We are Dragov,” he finished, his voice lethal. “We do not forget. And we do not leave insult unanswered. Go to your homes. Rest. Tomorrow, we reconvene, and together, we remind Avaristo Rimashenko why the Dragov name endures.”
The sconces glinted off Raphael’s silver-streaked hair as he rose. A murmur of assent moved through the chamber as one by one, the council departed, slipping into shadow through the great obsidian doors.
As the last Firstblood exited, the chamber grew quiet. It was not peace, but something rawer.
Raphael turned. Yori stood alone at the table, his fingers still pressed against the polished wood. Head bowed. Shoulders taut. It was his hands that betrayed him; they trembled.
Raphael stepped closer, a steadying palm to his brother’s shoulder. “She will be home soon,” he said softly.
Yori exhaled, unsteady. “They took my daughter, Raphael. And I was not there.”
“She is coming back.”
Yori’s jaw flexed. His dark eyes lifted, haunted. “What if they hurt her?”
Raphael paused. Then his voice came, steady and final.“Then we make them pay.”
Yori nodded slowly. The Dragov mask returned to his face. But behind the king, the father still lingered in his eyes.
Across the table, Stephan inhaled, but it didn’t help.
She’s coming home.
The words echoed without comfort. Would she walk? Speak? Recognize him? His fingers twitched, but no answer came.
Then Cassiel’s hand settled on his shoulder. “It’s done,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
Stephan nodded, hollow.
Adrian exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “I still don’t trust that bastard.” His voice was clipped, controlled fury beneath every word.“He gave in too easily. We should be ready.”
“We will be,” Theon replied, arms folded tight. His stance was carved tension, every muscle braced for a second blow.
Stephan raked a hand through his hair, then both, desperate for relief but finding none. He was waiting, and it was agony.
“Stephan.” Adrian’s voice sliced through the haze.
Stephan blinked up as a soft LED pulse glowed against his wrist. The comm was unread.
“It’s been buzzing since the call,” Adrian said.
Stephan didn’t move. “It can wait.”
Cassiel frowned. “You sure?”
