Page 69 of Haunted Crowns
"You have put yourself in grave danger. You have subjected your family to unbearable torment." His eyes darkened as his voice dropped, colder. "But most of all," he continued, each word slow and heavy with absolute condemnation, "you have dealt a direct blow to everything your father and I fought to preserve."
The chamber hummed with restrained anger, but Eris did not flinch.
Raphael’s hands curled tighter against the table. "You think you can act without restraint and escape the reckoning? Your actions demand punishment, and you will face it." His voice struck the chamber like a hammer, each syllable ringing with cold, final authority. "You will learn discipline, whether you accept it or not."
The room became oppressive, but still Eris did not break. She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting to hear exactly what punishment he had in mind.
Stephan’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled around the chair’s arms, his shoulders drawn so tight they might snap. He had been raised never to openly challenge his father, but if Raphael pushed too far, he knew he would break that rule tonight.
Yori finally spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "That is enough."
Raphael’s gaze cut toward his brother.
"She is my daughter," Yori commanded. "You will mind how you speak to her."
Raphael exhaled sharply, his lips curling into something not quite a smile. "No, Yori. Someone has to take control. You never had the will."
Yori’s presence shifted, a silent storm building in the room. "You overstep," Yori said, his voice colder now.
"No." Raphael’s voice dropped, lethal. "I step in where you falter. Because if someone does not, she will turn our lives’ work into ashes." Raphael turned back to Eris, cold fire burningbehind his silver eyes. "As for you, Eris Dragov, your ties to the Lycans end now."
Stephan’s breath hitched, but Eris did not move.
"You will apologize before the Firstbloods’ Council for your disgraceful behavior. And finally," Raphael said, his tone darkening, "whether you like it or not, you will be placed under my direct tutelage, until you learn how to act as a true Dragov ruler."
Yori’s expression hardened. "No," he said, his tone immovable. "Before you decide on any punishment, you will consult me first."
The chair scraped against stone as Stephan shot to his feet, furious. "Father, you have no right."
Tension snapped like a live wire. Yori and Raphael collided, voices clashing, anger thrown like daggers across the room.
Eris moved. A shift so small and calculated that it silenced the chamber. She raised her head slowly, locking her emerald eyes onto Raphael’s. Something shifted, not with force or volume, but with presence. Then she spoke, coldly.
"And what if I refuse?"
A quiet, biting question.
Stephan’s chest tightened. There it was, the shift. The steel beneath her skin. This was not the broken girl dragged home in blood and silence. This was someone else, someone who stood before Raphael Dragov without flinching.
For a fraction of a second, something darker flickered in Raphael’s eyes, something close to fear. It vanished in an instant, replaced by a sharp, scoffing breath. "Then there would be consequences."
A deliberate pause followed, the words settling over her like a dagger at her throat. Eris let them weigh, then stood. The room dipped into eerie silence.
She took a single step forward, locked eyes with Raphael, and in a voice barely above a whisper said, "Let me guess, Uncle…First, you would lock me away, isolate me in some wing of the castle to sever those ties by force." The room grew colder. Stephan’s stomach twisted. She was not speculating; she was naming a pattern. "Then, you would declare me mentally unfit, so every choice I have made could be conveniently dismissed as madness. And finally," she took another step forward, "when the shame, the pressure became too much…" She inhaled. "You would kill me."
The chamber waited with bated breath. Candle flames wavered, bending toward something unseen. The air thinned, not just cold but crushing, pressing in from all sides. Then the room exhaled.
A dark wind stirred, curling through the chamber like a whispered warning.
The flames dimmed, trembling on their wicks. An ancient presence settled over the room, and it was not friendly.
Eris’s gaze sharpened. She did not need to say more. They all knew exactly what chapter of Dragov history she had just unearthed.
Silence pressed against their ribs, heavier than the air itself. Yori gripped the windowsill, his knuckles bloodless. Raphael stood frozen, not in shock, but in recognition. Stephan knew this presence. He had felt it before, in the library. A chill scraped down his spine as something old and primal clawed at the edges of his mind.
Then he moved, without hesitation. He crossed the space between them and gripped her shoulders, firmly.
"Eris, look at me." His voice cut through the storm. "I will not let history repeat itself."
