Chapter 10
Astareth Summit, Morning After the Match
Eris sat in one of the Summit’s vaulted chambers, staring past the speaker, past the gathered nobles, past the present itself.
Her mind floated, unfocused and unmoored. The wrongness had begun the moment she’d opened her eyes. Nightmares had dragged her through a tangle of broken sleep, leaving her brittle and dazed. Each limb felt impossibly heavy, her skull thick with fog, pressing in from every direction.
Outside, the wind howled, clawing at the walls. The birds didn’t sing; they screamed. Even the trees whispered warnings, their rustling leaves more omen than breeze.
Something was coming. Something terrible. The unease had followed her here. It clung to her skin like a second layer, threading through her breath, laced into every pulsebeat.
And then there were the stares.
No one laughed. No one mocked her trances or whispered about the strange girl who heard what others could not. This was different. Eris Dragov had been seen with Lycans. Gossip spread fast.
Now the Firstblood elite stared at her as if her very existence had desecrated their lineage.
“She does not belong here.”
“She is tainting our legacy.”
“He could have had anyone—and he chose her?”
The Obsidian vampires made no effort to hide their disdain.
“Dragov’s little fiancée, running with wolves now.”
“A noble princess playing at rebellion.”
“Maybe she got tired of being on a leash.”
Even the humans glanced at her sideways, unsure whether to fear her or follow her.
She hadn’t done anything, but that didn’t matter. The truth, twisted and sharpened, had become a weapon, and she bled from a thousand invisible cuts. She was always watched. Always weighed. Always condemned.
Eris closed her eyes and gathered herself. Was this what Seraphina had endured? A life under scrutiny, judged and isolated by those too afraid of what they couldn’t control? Had Seraphina felt this same pull in her chest, this pressure between who she was and what the world demanded her to be?
Eris inhaled slowly. A bitter clarity settled deep inside her.
This was the cost of prophecy, of legacy, of freedom.
She had never asked for any of it, but she had chosen it, and she remembered why.
It wasn’t for glory or revenge. It wasn’t even for herself.
It was for the oppressed, the forgotten, the children taught to hate, and those who still dared to dream of a future untouched by war.
And it was for him: Stephan.
So he would not inherit a kingdom drowned in blood.
So love might one day mean something greater than sacrifice.
Her fingers curled around the arm of the chair. Her breath deepened. She had made her choice. Now she would see it through, not because she had to, but because she believed. And belief, unyielding and defiant and wholly hers, was a power they could never take.
The sound came sharp and sudden.
The door burst open, and a wave of black armor and cold steel flooded the room.
The Obsidian Guard.
The air itself seemed to shrink, pulled tight under an invisible force.
The rhythmic strike of their boots against marble echoed like a war drum, filling every corner of the vaulted chamber with an unspoken warning.
This was a raid. Avaristo’s enforcers, street-patrolling tyrants who tore through Lycans and silenced rebellion before it could take root, had been Goznoth’s nightmare for years, but they had never come for a Dragov.
Until now.
Eris’s stomach clenched as they moved straight for her. They were here for one reason, and everyone knew it.
The speaker stumbled back, knocking over a stack of papers, his face pale. “What is the meaning of this?”
The commander stepped forward. His armor gleamed like oil under the artificial light. The insignia of the Sovereign Order burned on his chest. He stopped just short of her chair, his voice clipped. “Eris Dragov, you are under arrest.”
Gasps rippled through the room:
“No. That can’t be right. They don’t take Dragovs.”
Eris’s hands curled into her lap. Her breath felt too slow, too deliberate, as if her body was forcing her to stay calm when everything inside her screamed run. She’d known this moment would come, but knowing didn’t make it easier.
Kaelioth’s warning echoed in her mind.
“The forces beyond this den are watching, and they will try to erase you.”
Still, she held her ground, her fingers drifting to the charm around her neck, Kareon’s gift, his presence lingering in the cool metal.
It had been warm against her skin just moments ago, but now it felt like ice.
She traced its smooth edges, grasping onto it as if she could hear his voice telling her to stand tall.
Because deep inside, beneath the defiance, she was afraid.
Afraid of what they would do to her, of the heartbreak she would bring to her family, and to Stephan.
But she could not afford fear. Not now. She forced her fingers to still, dropping the charm. Then she lifted her chin. Her voice was steady. “On what charges?”
The commander stared her down, his masked face unreadable. “Treason against the Sovereign Order. Conspiracy to incite rebellion. Colluding with known insurgents.”
The words landed like a hammer. A stunned silence stretched before it shattered.
“This can’t be real…”
“A royal siding with traitors—what does that mean for the rest of us?”
This wasn’t a mistake. It was a statement. The Obsidian Guard didn’t make public arrests unless they wanted to send a message. And that message was clear: not even a Dragov is untouchable.
A hand slammed loudly against the table. Heads snapped toward the source. Theon stood and moved between Eris and the advancing guards.
“You have no right,” he growled, fury carved into every line of his face. “She is a Dragov. The princess.”
The commander didn’t flinch. “Step aside.”
Theon didn’t move. “Or what?”
The officer flicked his fingers. Swords were drawn. Blades flashed beneath the chamber’s fluorescent lights. The room froze.
Eris stood. The chair scraped against the marble, the sound unnervingly loud. “It’s fine, Theon,” she said, her voice even. “You do not need to get involved.”
His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “Eris—”
She turned to him, locking eyes. “I said it’s fine.”
A long, suffocating pause. Then, reluctantly, Theon stepped back, shoulders stiff, eyes burning with rage.
The officers moved in. Cold steel snapped around her wrists.
The cuffs bit tighter than expected, and a chill crept up her arms, cold and wrong.
Eris clenched her jaw, suppressing the shudder that crawled through her spine.
A soldier grabbed her arm. The touch jolted through her like a violation.
A flare of rage cut through the fear as she yanked her arm back. “I’ll walk.”
Silence followed. Then, a slow nod. The grip on her arm loosened. She lifted her chin and stepped forward, shoulders squared, gaze unflinching. She wasn’t dragged. She didn’t stumble. Eyes followed her, some in shock, others in fury, or disbelief.
Eris didn’t look back, because if she did, she might break, and breaking wasn’t an option.
Elsewhere in the Summit halls, rage simmered behind locked doors.
The chamber door slammed shut behind Stephan, rattling the ancient hinges. The scent of parchment and oiled wood clung heavily to the air. Then his fist cracked into the side of a bookshelf.
Several volumes tumbled to the floor, one splitting clean at the spine. His knuckles bled, raw against lacquered grain.
Adrian didn’t flinch. He sat at the long table near the window, boots propped against the carved edge, arms crossed, watching Stephan with the steady calm of someone who’d seen him like this too many times before.
“You done?” Adrian said flatly.
Stephan didn’t answer, his chest heaving as Rurik’s words replayed in his mind.
Do you think she ever screamed your name, Dragov?
Adrian exhaled slowly and stood. “Rurik’s probably still nursing his spine after that hit. Whatever he was trying to prove, you buried it under his own arrogance.”
“That’s not the point,” Stephan muttered. His voice was brittle. “He said her name. Like that. In front of everyone.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “And you made him bleed for it.”
Stephan leaned against the desk, head bowed, teeth clenched until his jaw trembled.
He knew what Rurik was doing. Recognized it the moment the words left his mouth, cruel, designed to cut deep.
And yet, knowing didn’t stop the damage.
It never did, because doubt didn’t need truth to survive.
It just needed a whisper, a crack, and then it would spread like rot.
His stomach twisted, voice dropping lower. “What if it was true?” Adrian’s stance stiffened. “What if she looked at him the way she used to look at me?” Stephan whispered, eyes dark.
Adrian crossed the room in two strides. “Don’t do this to yourself,” he said sharply.
“You’re not just doubting her…you’re insulting her.
” Stephan flinched but didn’t look up. “She is not that kind of woman, Stephan. You should know better than anyone else. She doesn’t give lightly, and when she does, it’s because she chooses.
And she chose you. Not because of expectation, or circumstance, but because she wanted to. ”
Stephan nodded slowly. “I know.”
“But?” Adrian pressed.
“But knowing doesn’t stop the ache.” And that ache, of never being enough, was his curse, long before her. Long before Kareon.
Adrian let out a slow breath. “You’ve got a gift for dragging yourself through hell.”
Stephan’s mouth twitched, the ghost of something bitter and broken.
Adrian nudged a fallen book toward him with his boot. “So are you done destroying Summit property, or should I invoice you?”
A quiet, choked sound escaped Stephan’s throat. Almost a laugh. Then a cold, unnatural breeze threaded through the room. No windows open. No doors ajar. The wall sconce flickered sideways, then stilled.