Chapter 1 #2
“Babysitter? Please. I never noticed you were one. Especially since you’re never here anymore!
” Then her voice softened. Something darker crept in.
She turned away, fingers brushing the window’s cold pane.
“At least you’re not the cursed one. Constantly watched, smothered, never let beyond these walls.
” Her breath fogged the glass. “Must be nice... Seeing new cities. Sitting in councils. Playing diplomat. Definitely better than being forgotten in here.”
Stephan’s eyes darkened. He stepped toward her, his hands gentle as he turned her to face him.
“Hey. You’re not cursed,” he said. “And yes, I hate what they’ve done to you.
Keeping you locked away like this.” His voice dropped.
One hand rose, lifting her chin just enough for their eyes to meet.
“But I swear to you,” he said softly, “soon enough, we won’t have to hide what we are anymore.
” He held her gaze. The silence between them grew dense, thick with everything neither of them had ever dared to say. “Eris, I—”
A voice exploded down the hall.
"You cannot be serious, Yori."
They froze. Eris blinked, disoriented. Stephan’s hand had tightened in hers without her realizing. The moment shattered.
Another voice followed, low and equally sharp.
Their fathers.
She looked toward the corridor, then back at him.
"What now?" she whispered.
Without a word, he led her toward the sound.
The doors to the war room yawned open on a silence already splintered.
Inside, maps lay scattered across the long stone table like wounds half-healed.
Two goblets—one half-drained, one untouched—marked the line between agreement and division.
The twin kings of Goznoth stood at opposite ends like stormfronts about to collide.
Raphael’s voice cracked through the room like lightning.
“You’re sending her to the Astareth Summit?” His jaw twitched as he paced a slow arc. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“She needs a life beyond these walls,” Yori replied evenly. “She’ll attend next year, like every other Goznothian of age.”
Raphael barked a humorless laugh and turned, his coat flaring.
“That summit is a battlefield, not a debutante gathering. Lycans. Obsidian Order. Rebel bloodlines hungry for chaos. You’d feed your daughter to that?
They’re circling like wolves, Yori. She’ll hand them the opening they want.
” His hand slapped a map, the echo sharp, a sound that made Eris flinch at the door. “She’s not fit for it!”
Eris stiffened at the edge of the doorway, her breath catching. Fit for it? The words echoed too easily, like something she'd heard whispered behind her back too many times before. Her hands curled at her sides. Was that all they saw when they looked at her? A weakness. A risk.
“She’ll be trained. Prepared,” Yori said firmly. “I won’t bury her alive in this manor just because you’re afraid.”
"She is a danger," Raphael hissed. "A liability. If she slips into trance in front of the wrong people, she won’t just disgrace herself. She’ll disgrace us all. You’d risk Stephan’s name too? He’s the future king!"
Eris’s knuckles whitened, but before she could move, Stephan stepped forward, his voice sharp.
“Father, don’t talk about Eris like that!”
Both kings turned.
"This isn’t your concern," Raphael snapped.
"It is," Stephan growled, his jaw tight. “Eris is stronger than you want to admit. You don’t get to call her broken just because you don’t understand her."
Something in her stilled. Heat rose behind her eyes, not from shame, but from the ache of being seen. He hadn’t just defended her. He’d believed in her, out loud, in front of the very people who never had.
Raphael’s mouth twisted.
“You have no idea what you’re defending. Stay out of this. You’re not the one making decisions.”
"Neither are you," Yori said, voice cold. "My decision is final. She will go to the Astareth Summit. Make peace with it, Raphael. I’m not changing my mind."
For a moment, silence held. Then Raphael’s lips pressed into a thin, furious line. “Very well.” He turned to Stephan. “We leave now.”
Stephan’s jaw clenched. Leaving her again felt unbearable. He turned to Eris. The firelight behind her caught the shimmer in her eyes. He stepped close, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
“Listen to me. You won’t be alone. I’ll be at Astareth too.”
“I'm not afraid, Stephan,” she said, voice soft but steady.
He gently took her arm, guiding her just beyond the reach of watching eyes and listening ears. “I know,” he said, brushing her cheek. “Remember what I said. Things will change soon. For both of us. I’ll protect what matters. And you most of all.”
She nodded, quiet but sure. He gave her a small, crooked smile, one only she ever saw. Then he turned to leave.
Her hand caught his sleeve.
“Stephan…” Her voice was low. “They’re all whispering war’s coming.” Her fingers tightened. “Please… be careful.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid.
His lips parted, as if about to speak something final, something that might change everything.
But footsteps echoed down the corridor. The car was waiting.
Time, as always, was not on their side. So he leaned in and kissed her forehead softly, like a vow.
“I will…” A breath. “And I’ll write to you. Every week.”
She arched a brow. “With actual ink, Stephan. None of that lazy comm-orb nonsense.”
He smirked. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“I mean it,” she said, poking his chest. “I want pages. Paragraphs. Scandalous metaphors.”
He leaned closer, voice low. “Scandalous, huh?”
She tilted her head, smug. “You always did write like a tragic poet with a sword kink.”
A laugh rumbled out of him. “You still keep them?”
“Behind the arbor,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “Don’t act surprised. I’m sentimental, not subtle.”
“I know.” His fingers swept a strand of hair from her brow like she was something sacred. Then, with a crooked smile: “If my father saw us right now, he’d call it treason.”
She smiled through the ache. “Let him.”
He stepped back, and for one suspended heartbeat, they simply looked at each other. Then he turned, the Dragov crest on his coat catching the light as he disappeared into the hall.
Her pulse thudded where his fingers had just brushed her skin, a reminder of what warmth felt like, and how cold it felt when he was gone. The silence that followed was worse than their goodbye.
Eris didn’t move.
Change loomed, inevitable, and close. For the first time, she might taste freedom. But the cost was clear: she’d have to walk straight into the maw of the very world that feared her, a world on the verge of breaking.
The Astareth Summit wasn’t a gathering. It was a crucible, masked in diplomacy, lined with teeth. Power would pass like poison in a wineglass. Every whispered oath carried a blade’s edge. Loyalties would fracture. Blood would rise.
And Stephan… what had he meant when he said things would change? Was it only politics, or had she imagined the softness in his eyes? The way his voice caught when he looked at her?
She didn’t know what he felt. But she hoped—gods, she hoped—that he wanted her the way she’d never stopped wanting him.
The wind stirred around her. It carried no answers. Only questions. And a warning.