Chapter 27 #3
The palace was burning, its towers engulfed, banners consumed, and windows shattered. Smoke rose like a black wound in the sky.
Eris.
His thoughts emptied, only her name remained. He spurred his horse toward the palace, but he never made it.
A Lycan lunged from the crowd, a blur of claws and fury, and slammed into him.
Stephan hit the cobblestones while his horse screamed and bolted. Pain detonated through his chest as his ribs cracked.
The Lycan landed hard, claws raking, jaws gaping for his throat.
Stephan snarled as he twisted and drew the dagger from his belt. Steel plunged into flesh, and blood sprayed. The Lycan choked, jerked, and fell still. Stephan shoved the body aside and ran.
Bodies littered the palace steps—guards, nobles, and Lycans alike—while blood pooled in rivers. Heat clawed at his lungs as smoke turned the air to ash. But he kept going. He tore up the stairs, flames licking at his boots, the stench of burning flesh thick around him.
Then he slammed into the wall as pain ripped through his side. He staggered, pressed a hand to his stomach, and felt it come away slick with blood.
He had not even felt the claws tear through him. But it did not matter. He had to find her.
He pushed through the pain and climbed, his vision narrowing, his body failing. But his mind was locked on a single word—Eris.
If only he had stayed, as she had begged him to, he would be there already, fighting to protect her. Now he might be too late.
Stephan crashed through the chamber doors and stopped breathing. Bodies lay across the marble floor. Fallen warriors and slaughtered royalty surrounded him—lives extinguished before the sun could set. Flames devoured walls, banners, and history, reducing everything to ash.
At the center of it all, Eris knelt, still. Her gaze stayed fixed on the body before her.
Yori.
His severed head lay near his blood-soaked tunic.
Eris did not move. She stared, empty, as if the world had ended and nothing else remained.
“Eris!” Stephan’s voice broke through fire and ruin, hoarse with desperation.
She did not react. Behind her, a shadow moved. A Lycan stepped forward, blade raised, prepared for a clean execution.
Stephan froze. She was too far. He would never reach her in time. He shouted her name with everything he had left.
“ERIS!”
She did not turn.
The blade came down.
But from the flames behind her, a shadow surged forward.
It was Raphael, bleeding and broken. His uniform was soaked and torn, slashed open at the chest. And yet, he moved faster than any dying man should.
His blade struck the assassin’s with a single, ruthless arc.
Blood splattered across the marble as the Lycan crumpled at Eris’s feet.
Then Raphael fell. His breath was shallow and uneven, each draw more fractured than the last.
Eris turned. “Uncle!”
She reached him before he collapsed, catching his weight in her arms. Her hands cradled his face—once unshakable, now pale and fading.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
His fingers brushed her cheek. It was a father’s touch, given one final time.
His voice came thin, cracking through the smoke. “Live, Eris.” His gaze blurred, but his resolve held. “Take care of Stephan. He will need you more than ever.”
A sob tore from her throat.
“No. No!”
Stephan dropped beside them, hands locking around Raphael’s arm. “Father—come on. We need to move.”
Raphael shook his head and spat blood. The effort cost him. “Take her. Get out.”
Stephan’s grip tightened, desperate. “Not without you.”
“That is an order.” Raphael’s voice cracked, but the weight behind it was absolute. “Take her. Live. The monarchy must not fall.”
Stephan’s throat locked. His chest burned. He knew Raphael’s body would not rise again.
There was nothing left to do.
Raphael’s fingers slackened. His fading eyes found his son’s one last time. “You will make a great king, Stephan.”
Stephan’s jaw clenched. His hands trembled.
But Raphael was not finished. He gripped Stephan’s forearm, holding tight, pushing past the pain. “Love her. Continue the legacy. And forgive me for all the wrong I’ve done to you. Everything I did…I did for you.”
Stephan’s voice broke. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. “Father,” he whispered, the word almost lost to fire. He swallowed hard, pushed through the agony, and spoke: “I swear on my blood—Dragov will not fall.”
Raphael nodded fiercely, their eyes locked, steady and final.
Stephan buried the unbearable weight of losing his father and seized Eris, dragging her from the chamber as she screamed and clawed, breaking in his arms.
Raphael watched them go. A faint smile tugged at his lips. They were safe. He could let go.
His eyes closed, and a Lycan’s blade took his head.
Stephan dragged Eris down the grand staircase as the inferno roared behind them like a beast set loose.
Thick smoke wrapped around them, choking.
Every breath burned. Every step felt like a battle.
Above, the ceiling groaned, stone and timber buckling in flame.
A sharp crack split the air, as if the palace itself had shattered.
The chandelier fell, crashing down like a dying star.
Glass and fire exploded.
Stephan threw himself over Eris as heat seared his skin, pain tore through his side, and blood surged from his wound.
He gritted his teeth. "Not yet. Just a little further."
Then Eris choked. She convulsed in his arms, as a breathless cry escaped her lips, and she went limp.
His heart stopped. "Eris!"
He gathered her into his arms—one beneath her knees, the other at her back—and held her close.
The flames screamed around them, but he did not stop. He carried her through fire, into smoke, and out into the ash-choked afternoon—into survival.
As Stephan’s boots hit the courtyard, his men closed in—faces bloodstreaked, weapons drawn.
His voice cut through the chaos. “Secure the perimeter. Send a unit after the Lycans. They will not go unpunished.” His soldiers obeyed without hesitation.
“Fortify Dragov Castle. No one moves without my command.” He gave no time for answers.
With the last of his strength, he lifted Eris onto his warhorse and mounted behind her, arms locking her close, fingers clenched around the reins.
He turned once, looking back. The palace burned. Flames reached for the sky, devouring stone, throne, and history. A kingdom reduced to ash.
His jaw clenched as his father’s voice echoed in his mind.
Love her.
The monarchy must not fall.
His grip on Eris tightened. “Your legacy will not die in the flames. I swear it.”
He spurred the horse forward and rode into the smoke-filled day, fire in his blood, vengeance in his bones.