Page 98 of Haunted Crowns
Stephan strode through the stone corridor, boots hammering against the polished marble. His pulse was still erratic, his body still thrumming with the ghost of Eris on his lips.
He knew Raphael was waiting, and he knew his father was about to unleash hell on him for being late. For once, he didn’t care.
The doors to his chambers swung open, and there he was, Raphael Dragov, standing, arms crossed, like a storm about to break.
Stephan barely spared him a glance. He shrugged off his jacket, yanked his collar, fingers already moving to undo his shirt. He had neither the time nor the patience for whatever lecture was about to rain down on him.
But Raphael, of course, never required patience. "Where have you been?"
Stephan didn’t pause. "Handling unfinished business."
His father’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of business?"
A shrug. "Nothing to concern yourself with."
Raphael’s gaze dropped to the sword at Stephan’s hip. The black steel of Sanguine Oath gleamed beneath a crust of dust. His voice dropped sharply. “Why is your sword dirty?”
Stephan pulled it free and tossed it onto the table without flinching. “Because I used it.”
Raphael’s lips pressed into a thin line. He lifted a hand, motioning toward the waiting servants standing at the door. "Make sure it is immaculate before the ceremony."
Two servants immediately stepped forward, handling the sacred weapon with caution as they carried it away. But Raphael wasn’t done. His cold, scrutinizing gaze snapped back to Stephan.
"Who did you fight?"
Stephan’s jaw tightened, his voice flat. "A ghost."
Raphael’s nostrils flared. "Stephan."
The prince rolled his shoulders, stretching them out as if shaking off the weight of the question. "A disagreement. It is over now."
His father exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if summoning divine patience. "Have you at least memorized the vow?"
Stephan rolled his eyes when Raphael wasn’t looking. Then he nodded. "Yes."
His father wasn’t convinced. "Recite it, then."
Stephan’s teeth ground together. "Later."
Raphael’s scowl deepened. “Your discipline is slipping.”
Stephan said nothing. He grabbed a fresh tunic from the stand and yanked it over his head, jaw clenched.
His father watched him, measuring. Then, after a long silence: “You have changed.”
The words scraped the back of Stephan’s skull. It was the kind of sentence that lingered in empty rooms long after the speaker had gone.
He stopped moving.
Raphael’s voice came low and edged with something colder than anger. Disappointment.
"You were once the finest commander this house had ever seen. A Dragov to be proud of. But look at you now, reckless, distracted, consumed by a woman unfit to rule. Tell me, Stephan, do you even recognize yourself anymore?"
The words landed like a blade beneath the ribs. Stephan turned slowly, his steel-sharp gaze locking onto his father’s. "What exactly are you implying?"
Raphael sighed and paced a few steps, hands clasped behind his back, posture unnervingly composed. Then he struck.
"I regret your return from diplomacy." He paused, cold and calculated. "You were better before."
