Page 94 of Haunted Crowns
Her arms wrapped around him in a rush, breathless, as if she’d been starved for his presence and now feasted on it. She buried her face in his chest, clutching the familiar fabric of his uniform with trembling fingers.
“Where have you been?” she breathed, her voice bright with joy, shaking with relief. “I was desperate to see you.”
He stood still. Held her, but only barely. His arms curved around her with a careful gentleness that felt more likecontainmentthan passion, as if the touch might cost him something he couldn’t afford to lose.
She pulled back just enough to look at him. And gods, he looked worn. In a way only she would notice.
He was still in his military uniform, the dark fabric streaked with dust, a thin smear of ash across his collarbone. The Dragov crest glinted at his shoulder, dulled by grit. And yet, he stood precise and controlled. Beautiful, yes—but like a blade pulled from battle, still dangerous, still bleeding.
He offered a fleeting smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to be late. There was business.”
The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the world. She touched his chest again, where his heart should have been steady. It wasn’t. Something inside her, divine instinct and fear, knew. He was unraveling.
“Stephan, what’s wrong?”
He offered a faint, practiced smile, just convincing enough to break her heart. “Nothing is wrong,” he said gently. “You look radiant.”
But he didn’t meet her eyes, and the words sounded distant. His gaze drifted toward the door. He hadn’t stepped away, but she already felt him leaving.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I cannot stay long. I need to prepare. The Vow will not wait.”
There was a pause. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was warm and utterly hollow.
Then he turned to go.
She stood frozen, her heart pounding. Her body moved before thought could catch up. She stepped in front of the door, one hand braced against the wood. “No.”
He stilled. “Eris—”
“No,” she said again, firmer now. “Look at me.”
He did look at her, slowly, as if it hurt to meet her gaze. And gods, it did hurt.
His eyes, dark and usually unshakable, looked haunted. His armor remained intact, but the man inside it bled.
“What is this?” she whispered. “You barely touched me. Your voice is distant. Something is wrong. Do not lie to me.”
“I am not lying,” he replied, too quickly.
His jaw flexed. His fingers curled, as if they needed something to hold. She stepped closer. Her hand rose to touch his chest. His heartbeat thrummed beneath her palm, erratic.
“Then tell me,” she whispered, resting her forehead softly against his chest. “Because I can feel it.”
His hands hovered, then dropped again, as if touching her might break him.
Her fingers found his cheek, tender. “Stephan…what is tormenting you, my love?”
His breath hitched, and in the silence that followed, something cracked deep beneath the fortress of his composure. He swallowed, then spoke. “I saw him.”
His name didn’t need to follow. The wound said it for him.
Eris went completely still.
Stephan’s eyes did not move from hers. When his voice returned, it was rougher. “There was a fight. Out past theShadow Pass. It was meant as a warning. But that is not what it became.”
Eris’s fingers twitched at the seam of her chemise.
