Chapter 19
The halls of Dragov Castle thrummed with motion. Servants moved in swift silence, their hushed voices merging with the pulse of preparation.
Upstairs, behind the carved doors of one of Dragov Castle’s grandest chambers, Eris sat in silence. A parchment trembled in her hands.
She wore a silken black robe, loosely knotted over a clinging chemise, the fabric pooling as she sat on the bed’s edge. Cold stone pressed against her bare feet, anchoring her against the heat in her chest.
Her auburn hair had been styled, loose waves swept over one shoulder, while the hair on the other side was pinned with an obsidian comb laced with silver filigree. It was meant to signify legacy and control. She felt neither. Her gaze dropped to the words inked in ceremonial script.
In igne, in tenebris, in aeternum.
In fire, in darkness, for eternity.
Her breath caught. She had memorized the vow before, practiced it, but now it felt foreign, as if speaking it aloud might sever something precious.
A knock sounded at the door.
She flinched, the parchment crumpling slightly in her grip. With a breath, she smoothed it. “Come in.”
The door creaked open. Yori stepped inside, familiar enough to calm the storm in Eris’s chest.
He looked at her, eyes gleaming. Then, softly, he said, “You look like a bride getting ready. Beautiful, and already breaking hearts.”
She let out a breathless laugh. “Papa, this is not a wedding.”
He crossed the room, gaze shadowed with the quiet sorrow of a father watching his daughter stand on the edge of something irreversible. “If I am already this emotional,” he muttered, rubbing his neck, “gods help me when you actually get married.”
Eris flushed, flipping the parchment. “It is just an oath,” she murmured.
“No,” Yori said gently. “It is a sacred bond.”
The words settled in her chest. It wasn’t just a rite, but a tether to Stephan, to power, to a throne built on blood and flame. She swallowed hard.
Yori saw it in her and sat beside her, hand warm over hers. “You will be fine, little one.”
She looked at him, fingers tightening on the parchment. “I just…wish I could see Stephan before the ceremony. It would make this feel less like I am doing it alone.”
Yori sighed. “I wish I could promise that.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“He is not here,” he admitted. “Left after the council meeting. I assumed it was something military.”
Eris’s chest tightened.
Yori squeezed her hand. “He will come. You know him. Nothing would keep him from you tonight.”
She nodded, though the knot in her chest held fast.
Yori’s smile turned crooked. “He is probably pacing a hallway, trying not to choke on how badly he wants to get it right.”
Eris rolled her eyes. “He is not that dramatic.”
“Really? You called him ‘dear’ once and he nearly passed out.”
She flushed. “That was different.”
“Oh, definitely. Because tonight, he gets to swear eternal loyalty to the Firstblood legacy, with the woman who already owns him by his side. No pressure.”
Despite herself, she laughed. “You are enjoying this.”
“Every second.” He stood, smirking. “I should go before I make you blush into oblivion.”
She shook her head, her smile lingering. At the door, he paused and turned back, the teasing gone from his face.
“You will be fine,” he said quietly. “And so will he. I promise.”
Eris nodded, gaze dropping to the parchment. She could only hope he was right, that Stephan would return, and that when the moment came, she would not falter.
A soft knock caught Eris’s breath, not from surprise, but because she already knew. Before the door creaked, before the scent of winter reached her, she felt it.
Stephan.
She turned from the mirror, fingers still caught in crimson ribbon. The room shimmered, braziers low, shadows trembling on stone and silk. Her heart beat like an open wound beneath skin and bone. He stepped in, and something inside her jolted to life.
“Stephan!” She ran to him before the door had fully closed, silk trailing like smoke behind her.
Her arms wrapped around him in a rush, breathless, as if she’d been starved for his presence and now feasted on it. She buried her face in his chest, clutching the familiar fabric of his uniform with trembling fingers.
“Where have you been?” she breathed, her voice bright with joy, shaking with relief. “I was desperate to see you.”
He stood still. Held her, but only barely. His arms curved around her with a careful gentleness that felt more like containment than passion, as if the touch might cost him something he couldn’t afford to lose.
She pulled back just enough to look at him. And gods, he looked worn. In a way only she would notice.
He was still in his military uniform, the dark fabric streaked with dust, a thin smear of ash across his collarbone.
The Dragov crest glinted at his shoulder, dulled by grit.
And yet, he stood precise and controlled.
Beautiful, yes—but like a blade pulled from battle, still dangerous, still bleeding.
He offered a fleeting smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to be late. There was business.”
The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the world. She touched his chest again, where his heart should have been steady. It wasn’t. Something inside her, divine instinct and fear, knew. He was unraveling.
“Stephan, what’s wrong?”
He offered a faint, practiced smile, just convincing enough to break her heart. “Nothing is wrong,” he said gently. “You look radiant.”
But he didn’t meet her eyes, and the words sounded distant. His gaze drifted toward the door. He hadn’t stepped away, but she already felt him leaving.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I cannot stay long. I need to prepare. The Vow will not wait.”
There was a pause. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was warm and utterly hollow.
Then he turned to go.
She stood frozen, her heart pounding. Her body moved before thought could catch up. She stepped in front of the door, one hand braced against the wood. “No.”
He stilled. “Eris—”
“No,” she said again, firmer now. “Look at me.”
He did look at her, slowly, as if it hurt to meet her gaze. And gods, it did hurt.
His eyes, dark and usually unshakable, looked haunted. His armor remained intact, but the man inside it bled.
“What is this?” she whispered. “You barely touched me. Your voice is distant. Something is wrong. Do not lie to me.”
“I am not lying,” he replied, too quickly.
His jaw flexed. His fingers curled, as if they needed something to hold. She stepped closer. Her hand rose to touch his chest. His heartbeat thrummed beneath her palm, erratic.
“Then tell me,” she whispered, resting her forehead softly against his chest. “Because I can feel it.”
His hands hovered, then dropped again, as if touching her might break him.
Her fingers found his cheek, tender. “Stephan…what is tormenting you, my love?”
His breath hitched, and in the silence that followed, something cracked deep beneath the fortress of his composure. He swallowed, then spoke. “I saw him.”
His name didn’t need to follow. The wound said it for him.
Eris went completely still.
Stephan’s eyes did not move from hers. When his voice returned, it was rougher. “There was a fight. Out past the Shadow Pass. It was meant as a warning. But that is not what it became.”
Eris’s fingers twitched at the seam of her chemise.
He looked past her, as if the memory itself burned. “When I saw the marks—your marks—something broke loose inside me. I wanted him gone.” His jaw tightened, fury laced with something far more dangerous.
Eris’s breath faltered. Not only from the shock of his rage, but from the cold spike of fear piercing through her.
Kareon.
She didn’t say it, but dread bloomed anyway.
What if he was hurt? What if this war between them had already gone too far?
She wanted to ask. Gods, she needed to. But Stephan’s face—tight, barely held together—stopped her.
This was not the moment to speak of another man.
Not while he stood in the ruins of trust.
So she said nothing. She pushed down the unbearable guilt that this was all her doing, and clung to the silence, because if Kareon were truly gone, Stephan would have told her.
His gaze returned to hers, and it burned. “Tell me,” he said. “Was it instinct…or did you bite him because you could not stop yourself?”
The pain in the question nearly brought her to her knees.
Her voice came out as a thread. “No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I had nothing left.”
That stopped him.
She stepped toward him with measured grace, neither in defense nor apology, only truth.
“I had just crossed back from the spirit realm. I was not whole. My strength was gone. I could barely stand.” A moment passed. “He offered me his blood. Not for dominance or desire. He laid it before me like an oath.
And I took it. Not for pleasure, but to survive.” Her gaze lifted to his, unflinching. “Without him anchoring me…I would never have made it back to you.”
Stephan’s breath caught as the truth landed with quiet devastation. He could have lost her, but Kareon had saved her. And though it shattered something inside him to know it wasn’t his hands that saved her, he was grateful she had lived. Even if that return might never belong to him.
Stephan’s throat worked around a word that never came.
Her fingers lifted, trembling as they brushed his cheek. His eyes closed, and for a moment, he simply breathed.
“I believe you,” he said, his voice frayed. “But gods…it still wrecks me.” He stepped back, just enough to see her clearly, exposed in a way only she had ever drawn from him. “Do you know what it did to me? Seeing his blood carry your mark?”
Her breath stuttered. He was unraveling before her, and gods help her, she felt every thread come loose.
He inhaled, ragged. “He speaks of you like you were carved from prophecy.” His voice thinned. “And sometimes I wonder if he’s right…if you were never meant for someone like me.”