Chapter 15 #2
She lay beneath him, hair wild across the sheets, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with shyness and raw want.
He devoured her, starved for the delicate rise of her collarbones, the soft warmth of her skin, the uneven breaths she struggled to catch.
She was achingly beautiful, and she was finally about to be his.
His fingers traced the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, drawing a shiver from her. He brushed his lips over hers, soft, teasing, before trailing down her neck to the rapid pulse beneath her skin.
She forgot to breathe.
His hands slid up her arms, pinning her wrists above her head, holding her still against the hard truth of his need.
She gasped, legs parting in instinctive invitation, desperate to feel him. His name slipped from her lips, a soft, breathless surrender. The sound nearly broke him.
He moved lower, mouth grazing her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts. She moaned, fingers twisting in the sheets.
But then she winced, a small sound he felt more than heard, her body tensing beneath him. He stilled against her, lips hovering over her pulse, fingers spanning her waist. Instinctively, he eased his weight off her, adjusting his hold, his touch softening around her wounds.
Then it happened again, another sharp inhale of pain.
His stomach twisted. His grip loosened, as if realizing she might break.
His eyes lifted to hers, searching. "Eris?" His voice was rough, thick with more than restraint.
She exhaled, her fingers tightening against his back. "It’s okay," she whispered. "Keep going."
She wasn’t ignoring the pain. She just couldn’t bear for Rurik’s touch to be the last on her skin. She needed Stephan—his love, his body—to erase what had been done. To make her feel like herself again.
He froze for a breath, torn between fear and need, feeling her cling to him, anchoring them both to this moment. When he kissed her again, it was slower, more measured, his lips barely brushing her skin, his touch featherlight and cautious. And yet, the tension still coiled hot between them.
His mouth drifted lower, barely skimming her collarbone, testing.
His hands softened at her waist, holding instead of taking, wary of his own strength.
She sighed against him, arching into his touch, a silent, urgent plea.
But he stayed alert, every shift of her breath, every flicker of movement setting his nerves alight.
He dragged his lips lower, teasing the warmth of her skin, but the way she stiffened made him tense.
He couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain.
Then came another wince, and this time, he knew.
She sucked in a sharp breath, pain not pleasure, and the sound shattered him. He froze, his body going still above hers, heat turning cold, awful. He wasn’t making her feel good. He was hurting her.
Stephan pressed his forehead against her shoulder, frustration, regret, and brutal need twisting inside him.
No, not like this.
His fists curled in the sheets, muscles straining against the truth crashing down.
This was not how he imagined their first time, not with her wincing beneath him, not with pain instead of pleasure.
He pulled back, his dark eyes locking onto hers, the war in him written across every tense line of his body.
"Eris…" His voice was raw. "I want you." He exhaled sharply, brushing his thumb along her jaw, reverently. "I want you so badly it’s killing me. But this isn’t going to work." He swallowed hard. "Your body isn’t ready."
Eris lay beneath him, her breath trembling from what they had almost become. She knew he was right. She had known the moment his hands, once desperate, turned hesitant.
But as he pulled away, a quiet panic rose in her chest because she could not bear to lose his closeness, his warmth. She caught his gaze, shimmering.
"You’re right," she whispered. "But please, stay." She released a long, aching breath. "Don’t leave me alone tonight."
Those words undid him. His heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse roaring. She wasn’t asking for passion anymore; she was asking for him, and he had no strength to deny her.
Logic, restraint, duty—all crumbled. Stephan exhaled, squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, anchoring himself to her warmth.
"How," he whispered against her temple, voice broken, "how can I ever say no to you?"
Eris pressed into him, burying her face in the curve of his neck, her breath trembling. The warmth of his body, the strength of his arms—it was everything she had craved. She clung to him, fingers curling into his bare skin, as if letting go would break her.
For a breath, the world outside disappeared. But the moment stretched too thin. Reality crept in, merciless and cold: the spirits’ whispers, the weight of fate, the war inching closer.
A shiver ran through her. The fear she had buried clawed its way back brutally, filling the cracks left by longing. No matter how tightly she held him, the world would not stop. The walls pressed inward, heavy and suffocating, and before she could stop it, a broken sob tore free.
Stephan stiffened, pulling back just enough to see her. "Eris?"
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as another sob broke loose. Her body trembled against him, hands fisting at his shoulders. "I can't do this," she whispered, voice splintering. "Stephan, I—I can't—"
His heart wrenched. He tightened his arms around her, cradling her as if he could shield her from everything she feared. Fingers threading into her hair, breath unsteady, he whispered, "Shh. Don’t do this, Eris. Don’t let the fear win."
She shook her head against his chest. "You don’t understand," she choked out. "You don’t understand what this path could cost us." Doubt coiled viciously, the old fear rising before she could stop it. "Maybe your father was right."
Stephan stilled.
She inhaled sharply, her fingers trembling against his skin. "Maybe I never should have been born. Maybe you should’ve let him finish the job back in the chamber, downstairs."
A cold, suffocating silence fell between them.
Stephan’s grip on her arms tightened, as if holding her could keep those words from becoming real.
"Eris," he rasped.
She would not look at him, her head bowed, shoulders trembling. "I’m dragging you into this," she gasped. "Pulling you into a war we might not survive, into a destiny I don’t even understand." She swallowed hard. "So maybe the world would have been better off if—"
"Stop." The word cut sharp and final. Stephan cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.
His touch was firm, grounding, but his eyes were fractured.
"You don’t get to say that to me," he whispered, voice shaking.
"Not after everything. Not after I nearly lost you.
You think I could live in a world without you?
" He pressed his forehead to hers. "You think I would not burn this world to the ground if it meant keeping you here? "
A sob tore from her throat. He wasn’t saying it to be poetic. He meant every word.
Eris shook her head frantically, her hands flying up to clutch his face. "Don’t say that," she whispered, desperate. "Don’t—"
He kissed her. His lips moved against hers, full of passion, full of promise. She was everything.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers. “I don’t need protection from you, Eris,” he whispered. “I just need you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I love you," he breathed, the words breaking in his throat. "I swear it, Eris. No matter what fate brings, I will fight for us. We will be together. Forever."
Her sobs faded into shaky breaths. Her fingers curled against his bare skin, as if letting go might make him disappear.
Stephan tilted her chin and brushed his lips over her forehead. "You’re not getting rid of me that easily, you know."
A breath hitched in her throat, half a laugh, half a sob.
His eyes gleamed, fiercely now. "No prophecy. No war. No damned spirits will take you from me. And if the gods have a problem with that, I will send them to the abyss myself."
A shaky smile tugged at her lips. "That’s blasphemy," she murmured.
"Good," he said. "Let them be offended."
She chuckled, breathy and exhausted, but real.
Stephan brushed away the remnants of her tears, smirking. "There she is."
Eris rolled her eyes but stayed close. She was still afraid, but with him, the weight felt bearable. Together, wrapped in each other, the world felt distant, muted.
Stephan exhaled, his voice dipping into something lighter. "You know, if you wanted me to stay, there were far less dramatic ways to ask."
Eris huffed. "I wasn’t asking. I was just…having a moment."
"A moment?" He arched a brow. "You nearly drowned me in tears, love."
She swatted his chest. "Shut up."
He laughed warmly, sending a shiver down her spine. "Come here," he murmured, shifting them beneath the sheets.
Eris nestled against his chest, sinking into the quiet safety of his arms. He held her tightly.
"Stephan?"
"Hmm?"
"Promise me we’ll make it."
His arms tightened as he pressed a kiss into her hair. "I promise." Then, softer: "And you?"
Eris closed her eyes. "I promise."
Stephan exhaled, pulling her closer. Her body molded to his like it had always belonged. His fingers traced slow circles along her back, soothing, anchoring. Her lashes brushed his skin as sleep took her. Stephan kissed the top of her head, savoring the feel of her tucked against him.
His last thought before sleep was simple:
Fate be damned. She was his and nothing would take her away.
Earlier that night, in the Black Hall.
The chamber doors shut behind them. Raphael stood motionless, fingers braced against the polished obsidian table, anchoring himself against what had just passed.
Yori exhaled sharply and sank into one of the high-backed chairs, dragging a weary hand down his face. The weight of their words to their children lingered, woven into the flicker of candlelight like smoke refusing to clear.
"You went too far," Yori said, voice frayed.
Raphael scoffed. "I did not go far enough."
Yori turned, silver eyes glinting. "You drew your blade on her."
"I did draw it," Raphael said flatly. "And I do not regret it."
Yori’s jaw clenched. "Do not lie to me."
Raphael inhaled through his nose, grip tightening on the table. He said nothing, but the twitch of his fingers and the hitch in his breath betrayed him.
Yori studied him for a moment, then sighed and let it go. He knew his brother too well to expect an apology. Silence stretched.
"You are worried about Seraphina," Yori said quietly.
Raphael’s expression darkened. "She is not just a threat to Stephan and Eris. If she succeeds, she could unravel everything—the Firstbloods, our rule, the foundation of the empire."
"She might," Yori said. "But we do not know that yet."
Raphael tapped the table, sharply, like a blade being honed. "We must consider all threats." He hesitated, then exhaled. "There may be a way to stop her interference."
Yori did not move, tension rippling through him. He already knew. Still, he asked, "What are you suggesting?"
Silence stretched before Raphael’s voice dropped, cold. "The Obedience Seal."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Yori’s fists curled against the chair. "No."
Raphael did not blink. "It would stop her from acting recklessly. It would ensure—"
"No." Yori’s voice cut like a blade. "Do you hear yourself?"
Raphael said nothing.
Yori stepped forward, voice taut. "The Obedience Seal destroys the mind. It strips away will. It turns the bearer into a shell."
Raphael’s tone stayed flat. "Only the weak succumb. Eris is strong."
Yori’s voice cracked like thunder. "I will not let you break her to control her."
Raphael dragged a hand down his face. "You do not know what is coming."
"Neither do you."
They stood locked in silence, two rulers, two brothers, divided by the same fear.
Then Raphael rose. "Fine," he said, voice clipped. "We will do it your way."
Yori exhaled, his shoulders easing. "Good."
But deep down, he knew Raphael had not let it go. And Raphael was not sure he should.
Hours passed in quiet work. They refined their approach to the Crimson Vow’s announcement and prepared for resistance. When they finally emerged, the corridors were hushed and dark.
Yori raked a hand through his hair. "I will have the guest rooms prepared for you and Lysenna."
Raphael nodded once. Then he paused. His eyes lifted toward the upper floor, to where the bedrooms lay. Stephan had not come down.
His jaw tightened. "He is still in her chambers." His silver eyes narrowed. "I will drag him out myself."
Yori exhaled, rubbing at his temple. "Let them be. They have earned this moment, whatever comes next."
Raphael’s mouth thinned. "She is a bad influence." His son would never have stayed the night if she had not coaxed him, not under Raphael’s roof, not without consequence.
Yori’s voice cut in, quiet but firm. "She is his future."
Raphael said nothing, because that was what unsettled him most. Stephan was his heir, shaped with ruthless precision, but with Eris, he became reckless, and Raphael hated that. Love made people soft, and softness got people killed.
He shook his head. "Too lenient."
Yori’s smile was tired. "Too controlling."
Raphael turned away, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
They had planned for everything—except this.
Except fate slipping from their grip. And for the first time in decades, Raphael Dragov felt something close to fear, not of Seraphina, or of war, but of the way his son looked at Eris.
As if she was worth breaking everything he had built. And that terrified him most of all.