Page 6 of Haunted Crowns
"Well, well." Kareon crouched, golden eyes gleaming with mockery. The scar on his cheek deepened with his smirk, a predator savoring the pause before the pounce.
"Look at that. A Firstblood princess groveling at my feet. Finally learning her place. Never thought I’d see the day."
The courtyard buzzed with whispers and muffled, cruel laughter. Eris pushed herself onto her elbows, humiliation burning through her veins.
"It was an accident," she said coldly.
"An accident," he echoed, voice dripping sarcasm. "Well, sweetheart, accidents have consequences. Especially when they ruin my morning."
Before she could move, he grabbed her arm and yanked her upright, not to help, but to display her. She stumbled.
"Careful, K," one of his packmates called. "You don’t want to break her. Yet."
Laughter followed. Eris jerked against his hold, but his grip was iron.
"Let go," she said, steady despite the throb blooming in her arm.
Kareon leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek.
"What’s the rush?" he murmured. "You seem to like attention. Or is this not how Firstbloods get noticed?" His gaze dragged over her, slow and invasive.
"Maybe she’s practicing for something," another packmate jeered. "Gotta keep those knees in shape, huh, princess?"
More laughter. Heat surged in her face, pure rage. She had been mocked before, ridiculed for being different. But this was meant to strip her bare.
"You might like women groveling," she said, sharp, "but you won’t get that from me."
Something darker flickered behind his eyes.
"Feisty and delusional," he said, fingers tightening. "You’re braver than you look. But you’d do well to watch your mouth. Some of us don’t have patience for spoiled little princesses."
Pain bloomed in her arm, but Eris did not flinch. She would not give him the satisfaction.
"And some of us do not need a pack to feel important," she snapped.
Silence fell. Laughter died. For a heartbeat, Kareon’s smirk faltered. He pulled her closer.
"Careful, princess," he growled. "That mouth might invite something you won’t survive."
His gaze dragged across her lips, slower this time, hungrier. Laughter surged again. Eris winced as his fingers dug in, but she held his gaze. She had two choices: shrink or strike. Kareon wanted her small, powerless. But she was a Dragov, and Dragovs did not cower.
"If you think this proves you are a man," she said, her voice tempered, "then you have more to learn than I do."
The air shifted. His packmates exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the crackle of something sharp and unspoken. Nobody laughed now. For a heartbeat, Kareon hesitated, not with kindness, but with curiosity. She was not simpering, was not afraid. She was a challenge; one he was not sure he wanted to crush or conquer.
The moment cracked. His grip tightened. She winced.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he muttered, voice rough, “because the rest of you…well, it’d be impossible to take seriously.”
She froze. Not because it hurt, though it did, but because no one had ever spoken to her like that before. Not without cautioncalculation, or fear. He’d been shaken. That much was clear. And what came out of his mouth wasn’t cruelty. It was deflection dressed as disdain, a shield thrown up too fast to aim. But gods, it still landed. Because somewhere deep inside, buried beneath armor and defiance, a voice whispered:What if he meant it?And worse:What if everyone else had always thought so, too?
A shadow fell. At the top of the grand staircase stood Stephan Dragov, watching. Kareon’s fingers still clutched Eris’s arm, and Stephan saw.
That hand would break.
He moved, one step, then another. A descent not of pace, but of purpose. A sovereign coming down to remind the wolves whom they served, because a true predator never hurried the kill.
"Kareon."
