Chapter 20
Stephan strode through the stone corridor, boots hammering against the polished marble. His pulse was still erratic, his body still thrumming with the ghost of Eris on his lips.
He knew Raphael was waiting, and he knew his father was about to unleash hell on him for being late. For once, he didn’t care.
The doors to his chambers swung open, and there he was, Raphael Dragov, standing, arms crossed, like a storm about to break.
Stephan barely spared him a glance. He shrugged off his jacket, yanked his collar, fingers already moving to undo his shirt. He had neither the time nor the patience for whatever lecture was about to rain down on him.
But Raphael, of course, never required patience. "Where have you been?"
Stephan didn’t pause. "Handling unfinished business."
His father’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of business?"
A shrug. "Nothing to concern yourself with."
Raphael’s gaze dropped to the sword at Stephan’s hip. The black steel of Sanguine Oath gleamed beneath a crust of dust. His voice dropped sharply. “Why is your sword dirty?”
Stephan pulled it free and tossed it onto the table without flinching. “Because I used it.”
Raphael’s lips pressed into a thin line. He lifted a hand, motioning toward the waiting servants standing at the door. "Make sure it is immaculate before the ceremony."
Two servants immediately stepped forward, handling the sacred weapon with caution as they carried it away. But Raphael wasn’t done. His cold, scrutinizing gaze snapped back to Stephan.
"Who did you fight?"
Stephan’s jaw tightened, his voice flat. "A ghost."
Raphael’s nostrils flared. "Stephan."
The prince rolled his shoulders, stretching them out as if shaking off the weight of the question. "A disagreement. It is over now."
His father exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if summoning divine patience. "Have you at least memorized the vow?"
Stephan rolled his eyes when Raphael wasn’t looking. Then he nodded. "Yes."
His father wasn’t convinced. "Recite it, then."
Stephan’s teeth ground together. "Later."
Raphael’s scowl deepened. “Your discipline is slipping.”
Stephan said nothing. He grabbed a fresh tunic from the stand and yanked it over his head, jaw clenched.
His father watched him, measuring. Then, after a long silence: “You have changed.”
The words scraped the back of Stephan’s skull. It was the kind of sentence that lingered in empty rooms long after the speaker had gone.
He stopped moving.
Raphael’s voice came low and edged with something colder than anger. Disappointment.
"You were once the finest commander this house had ever seen. A Dragov to be proud of. But look at you now, reckless, distracted, consumed by a woman unfit to rule. Tell me, Stephan, do you even recognize yourself anymore?"
The words landed like a blade beneath the ribs. Stephan turned slowly, his steel-sharp gaze locking onto his father’s. "What exactly are you implying?"
Raphael sighed and paced a few steps, hands clasped behind his back, posture unnervingly composed. Then he struck.
"I regret your return from diplomacy." He paused, cold and calculated. "You were better before."
A bitter laugh cracked from Stephan. "Before?" He shook his head. "Before I came back to Eris and remembered what actually matters?"
Raphael said nothing, and then it hit.
Stephan’s fists curled at his sides as his breath came fast, uneven. “It was you,” he said, seething. “Every mission. Every exile. None of it was duty. It was all by design.” His voice dropped, venomous. "You tried to erase her!"
Raphael didn’t speak. That silence said everything.
Something hollow cracked open in Stephan’s chest. "You kept us apart. You turned loyalty into a leash. You made me a soldier in your war against her."
Raphael exhaled, measured. "It was not the only reason," he said. "But yes. It was a factor."
Stephan’s vision blurred. Rage built like a storm with nowhere to strike.
He needed something to break. "You had no right!"
Raphael didn’t blink. "I had every right." His voice was calm, chillingly certain. "Eris has never been fit to be queen."
Stephan’s eyes flashed. "You are wrong."
Raphael didn’t flinch. His next words sliced deeper.
"She has no restraint. She is reckless. Wild.
Unwilling to submit to authority. And worst of all," his voice sharpened, "she clouds your judgment.
" Then his tone shifted, softening into something almost indulgent, dangerously close to patronizing as he stepped closer.
"Son, trust your father. Love burns brightest at the beginning.
I know. It is intoxicating. You want more and more.
But when a king chooses his queen, he must choose wisely. "
Stephan’s stomach turned.
Raphael pressed on, unrelenting. "A true queen does not cast shadows.
She obeys. She pleases. She stands behind her king, not beside him.
Eris is not just defiant. She is a liability.
A danger to legacy, to every house still loyal to us.
She is not a partner. She is a fracture waiting to happen.
" His voice dropped, cold and final. "So tell me, Stephan…
do you want to rule? Or do you want to be ruled by a woman who refuses to know her place? "
"You disgust me," Stephan spat.
Raphael didn’t flinch. "You are still young.
Blinded by passion. And I understand," he said, almost indulgent.
"Eris is…astoundingly beautiful. Even I will not deny that.
I see why you are drawn to her…why any man would be.
But beauty is fleeting, Stephan. A momentary indulgence.
Take her if you must. Enjoy your youth." Then his voice hardened.
"But when it comes time to choose your queen, do not mistake passion for worth. Love fades. Obedience builds kings."
Stephan went still. The words didn’t land at first—too vile, too hollow to come from the man who raised him. But then they took root, and something inside him cracked.
His fists clenched. The hearth spat embers, fire hissing like it felt his fury. His father had always been cruel. But this? This was desecration.
"I am glad she is not here to hear the filth coming out of your mouth," Stephan said. "Because it would break her."
The image returned, unforgiving: Raphael’s sword raised. Eris, standing alone, so small beneath the weight of his judgment. The moment she flinched. The moment she believed she was unworthy of her life, of her name, of being loved.
How could his father speak of her like that—like her beauty was indulgence, not sanctity? Like she was meant to be touched, but never kept? What would that do to her, knowing that in his eyes she was only ever a secret to be erased the moment duty called?
It would crush her. And it would destroy him. How could he live with marrying another, lying beside someone who would never feel like fire in his arms?
He simply couldn’t. His fists shook. Fury burned through him for every word unspoken, for every breath Eris still thought she had to earn, for every time his father reduced her divinity to dust.
He turned, throat raw, gaze sharp. "You have never cared about anyone’s feelings.
You do not understand love—never have. You see people as tools to command, to break.
" His breath turned ragged. "You think a queen is meant to be ruled.
That love is weakness. But if there is one thing I know—" His gaze locked on Raphael’s, unwavering. "I will never be like you."
Silence stretched, charged, one breath from violence.
Raphael barely blinked. "Spoken like a boy who still believes in fairy tales."
The words sparked like embers on dry tinder.
Stephan’s voice dropped, lethal.
“I love her because she will not kneel,” he said, voice sharpening.
“Because she fights. Because she will always challenge me, push me, never let me become something I should not be. Because she is fire. And you will never understand what it means to burn for someone.” He drew a sharp breath.
"I do not need your approval. I never did.
I will either marry her, or I will not marry at all. "
Raphael’s eyes darkened. Then his voice lowered, dangerous.
“Have you ever wondered, Stephan, how easily Eris could become Seraphina’s echo?
Not her pawn—her prophecy. She could undo you without even trying.
” He stepped closer, gaze unwavering. “That bloodline does not love—it consumes. Power lives in her bones, and it does not answer to reason. She walks in trances, in madness, in sacred delusion wrapped in skin. You think you are choosing her, but it is the prophecy choosing you. She is the heir to ruin. And you, if you follow, become the man who let fate into the gates and called it love.”
A pulse jumped at Stephan’s temple, as if even his blood wanted to strike back.
“She has already unmade the lies I was taught to wear. She peeled back everything Dragov made of me and showed me the boy I buried to survive you. If her love consumes, then let it devour me. I would rather be destroyed by something sacred than preserved by something hollow. You say I am not choosing her. That the prophecy is choosing me.” He stepped forward, gaze burning.
“Good. Because for once, I am not choosing with a crown on my head. I am choosing with a soul I did not know I still had. I would rather fall with her fire than live untouched by it. And if you ever speak to her the way you have spoken to me tonight, if you so much as make her question her worth, or what we are,” his voice dropped, razor-sharp, “you will answer to me.”
Raphael’s jaw twitched once, almost invisibly. His face remained impassive, but ice gathered behind his eyes. His son, his legacy, had chosen love over blood, and the future he had carved now trembled on that very fracture.
All for her. Eris, his niece, the wild flame he once protected but never tamed. Affection bound them by blood, but sentiment alone would not make her queen. She would consume Stephan, drag him into ruin, and with him, the House of Dragov. He had to end it before it was too late.
Silence stretched between them, suffocating. Then a knock came at the door. The tension crackled like a coming storm. The ceremony awaited.
A servant entered, bearing Stephan’s ceremonial attire and a polished sword. Raphael stared at his son, unreadable. At last, he nodded.
“Be impeccable tonight,” he said, voice tight. “There is no room for error.”
He hesitated as if something unsaid hovered between them, then turned and left the chamber.
Stephan didn’t watch Raphael leave. He stood motionless, heart pounding. The war wasn’t over—only delayed.
The door clicked shut, and silence followed, heavy as stone. Only the distant clink of the ceremonial blade being sheathed broke it. For one breath, the quiet roared louder than any shout.
Then the door opened again. Theon, Adrian, and Cassiel strolled in like they’d timed their entrance for aftershocks.
Adrian leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, grin lazy. “That sounded intense.”
Theon whistled, dragging a chair and dropping into it. “So, how many times did you want to punch him?”
Cassiel smirked. “Or better yet—how many times did you consider stabbing him?”
Stephan let out a breath. Not quite a laugh, but close. Something lighter cracked through the fury. “More than I can count.”
Adrian barked a laugh. “Next time, warn us so we can take bets.”
Stephan shook his head, a tired smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re all insufferable.”
Theon grinned. “And yet, you keep us around.”
“Worse—I actually like you idiots.”
Cassiel perked up, wicked-eyed. “Now, more importantly…how are you planning to survive when you see Eris in ceremonial attire?”
Adrian chuckled. “We’ll need a doctor on standby for when he forgets how to breathe.”
Theon nudged Stephan’s shoulder. “Or faints like a love-struck fool.”
Stephan rolled his eyes, shoving him back, but this time, he laughed. And in that laugh, there was something close to peace. They always knew how to get under his skin. And they always knew how to pull him back.
Tonight, he would need that more than ever.