Chapter 15
Stephan pulled Eris through the dim corridor, his stride purposeful. The weight of the chamber still pressed on them: Raphael’s fury, Yori’s intervention, the lines that could never be uncrossed.
At the base of the grand staircase, they stopped. Sconces flickered against marble, casting long shadows. The silence between them thickened, heavy with all that remained unsaid.
Stephan turned to her fully. His warm hands found hers, steady, an anchor.
"Are you scared?" His voice was quiet, threaded with tenderness.
Eris hesitated. The Crimson Vow was binding, irreversible. It would tether her to the Firstbloods, forever bound to their laws, their power, their scrutiny.
"I am,” she whispered. “But not if you are by my side."
Stephan exhaled softly. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, light as breath. "I will never leave you, Eris. Not in this life. Not in the next. Wherever you are, that is where I will be."
A soft smile bloomed on her lips, radiant.
His words had landed somewhere too deep to name.
They stood there, eyes locked, a silent promise passing between them.
Then his gaze shifted, and his smile faded.
He noticed how she clutched her coat, shielding herself.
She had not taken it off once. She did not want him to see, even though he already knew. His jaw tightened.
Eris felt the shift and looked down, her fingers curling into the fabric.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she murmured.
“Eris. Let me see.”
She stiffened. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” Her voice cracked, raw with exhaustion and pain.
Stephan exhaled slowly. “I need to see.”
“It won’t change anything.”
But he didn’t move away. He reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the coat, a silent request. Eris hesitated, drew a breath, and let him. The coat fell open, and Stephan saw.
The lace of her blouse was torn. Bruises marred the pale skin of her arms, blooming in cruel purple. But it was the deep bite marks at her neck that undid him. His breath left him, ragged. His fingers hovered, trembling, afraid even air might hurt her.
Rurik.
The name burned through his chest like poison. Eris would not meet his eyes.
"He’s a sick bastard," Stephan said, seething. "And I swear to you, he will pay."
He hesitated, his fists curling. “Did he—?” His voice broke off, unable to finish the question.
“No, he didn’t.”
Relief slipped past his lips, but it did not still the storm inside him. His jaw clenched until it ached.
Avaristo. Rurik. Their empire.
"I will end them," he said, his voice final. "I will burn everything they have built to the ground."
Eris lifted a hand to his cheek, her touch soft and grounding. "Don’t," she whispered. "Don’t let this darkness swallow you. Don’t let them turn you into something you are not." She leaned in, pressing her palm firmly to his face. "I am here. With you. That is all that matters."
His hand caught hers, pressing it tighter to his skin, anchoring himself to her. He drew a slow breath as a silent understanding passed between them. They stood still, gazes tangled, caught in a pull neither dared to sever.
The current between them hummed, familiar and magnetic. It had always been there, even before they could name it, and now, after everything, it remained, unshaken.
Stephan broke the silence first, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "As much as I would love to stand here staring at you all night…" He squeezed her fingers. "You need rest."
Before she could protest, he swept her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly against his chest.
"Stephan—" she blinked up at him.
"Too late," he said with a smirk. "No escaping now."
Eris shifted in his hold, her body flush against his. "You know," she murmured, "I always knew this would happen."
"What would?" he asked, one brow arching.
"You carrying me like a helpless princess."
He scoffed. "I am carrying you because you look like you are about to collapse."
She tilted her head, her lips brushing his jaw. "Keep telling yourself that," she whispered.
His grip tightened slightly. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
Her fingers toyed with his collar. "Just that you have been dying to do this for years."
His jaw tensed, but his eyes did not leave hers. “Dying?” he murmured. “No. But I have imagined it.” He paused, then offered a crooked smile. “You were much bossier in those versions.”
She wasn’t pretending she wasn’t broken.
She just refused to let that be the only thing she was.
Not here, not with him. She smiled against his skin.
Of course she knew what this did to him—the warmth of her body, the breath at his neck, the way she leaned in just enough to make him forget how to breathe.
She had been testing his restraint for years, savoring how close she could get before he broke.
Still, he let her. His arms tightened around her. For one breathless moment, she was everything. The blood, the vow, the war—everything vanished.
Then they reached her door.
Stephan set her down carefully, his hands lingering along her arms before he let go.
Eris leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirk intact. "So, if I am the distressed princess, who does that make you?"
Stephan’s lips quirked as something playful lit his eyes. He turned, grabbed the dented helmet atop the medieval armor near her door, and shoved it over his head before she could react.
"I am your knight in shining armor!" he declared, his voice muffled and absurdly deep.
Eris burst out laughing.
"By the gods," she gasped, clutching her stomach. "It still doesn’t fit!"
Stephan yanked the wobbling helmet off. "You remember?"
"Oh, I remember." She wiped at her eye, still laughing. "You could barely see past that thing."
He shook his head with a smirk. "It wasn’t that bad."
"It was that bad," she teased. "You would run around calling me Princess Eris and insisting you had to save me."
His smirk deepened. "Well, someone had to."
Their laughter softened into something quieter as nostalgia settled in the stillness between them. Their eyes met. Warmth lingered, but an ache stirred beneath it.
Stephan swallowed hard and leaned into the doorframe, forearm braced above her. His presence filled the narrow space between them.
Eris exhaled, breath shaky, her gaze flicking to his lips before she closed the space between them, resting her forehead against his.
His breath hitched, his body went still as the tension between them pulled unbearably tighter. "I don't want to go," he said, voice rough with restraint.
"Then don't," she whispered. "Stay with me tonight."
Stephan’s breath faltered, his grip tightening on the doorframe as his pulse thundered.
Her words pounded through him, unraveling his control faster than he could contain.
She had no idea what she was asking, or perhaps she did.
The thought of holding her, losing himself in her warmth until morning, sent heat surging through him, deep and consuming.
He swallowed hard, masking it with a smirk.
"Eris," he murmured. "If I stay, you won't get any rest."
The warning was clear, a promise more than a threat.
Her emerald eyes held his, fearless. "Would that be so bad?"
A raw current shot through him, tearing away the control he had fought to hold.
This was not teasing. She asked, open and sincere, for him to love her tonight, and everything he had clung to shattered.
Just for tonight, he let Kareon slip from his mind—the threat, the doubt, all of it. He shouldn’t want this. But he did.
His breathing turned heavy, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled exhales. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, warm and tempting beyond reason. When she reached for the buttons of his shirt, his last coherent thought vanished.
One step forward, one push, and Eris stumbled back into the bedroom as he kicked the door shut with a decisive click. The tension between them burned. She stepped back, breath shaky, eyes wide and locked on his. He kept moving, and she kept yielding, until the backs of her knees hit the bed.
They paused, caught in a single charged moment, the final chance to turn back.
Neither moved.
He slowly unbuttoned what remained of her ruined blouse. She fumbled to help, but her fingers shook, so he took over. Her skirt slipped down in a single breath, leaving her standing before him in nothing but lace.
She inhaled sharply, crossing her arms, a flicker of insecurity flashing across her face. Stephan swallowed hard. Gods, did she even know how she wrecked him just standing there?
His hands hovered, aching to pull her arms down and show her there was nothing to hide, but he held still. This had to be her choice. The air thickened, charged and suffocating. He brushed his fingers against her wrist, a silent reassurance. She exhaled slowly, then stepped closer instead of away.
Her trembling fingers reached for the buttons of his shirt, hesitant. Stephan stayed still, barely breathing, letting her lead. Her touch was featherlight, a sweet, unbearable torture. He tried to wait, but his hands moved faster, desperate.
His patience snapped. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing lean muscle and strength shaped by years of war. The air left her lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp.
She ached to touch him, to feel his strength beneath her palms, to pull him flush against her, his hands gripping her like he would never let go. The thought made her dizzy.
His gaze darkened, as if he could read every wicked thought unraveling inside her.
And then, he moved. He was done waiting.
His touch was firm and careful as he eased her down, fingers threading through her hair, guiding her to the pillow. Then he stilled.
Gods.