In the Shadow of the Crown

The storm arrived with a whisper.@@novelbin@@

Not a crash of thunder, not a furious downpour, just a slow, creeping wind that slithered through the cracks of the ancient estate. The fire in the hearth sputtered, the candle flames flickered, and somewhere in the depths of the night, the first raindrops kissed the stone.

Eliza stirred, the weight of reality pressing against her skin even before she opened her eyes.

Warmth.                         

Raen’s warmth.

It surrounded her, seeped into her bones, tangled itself into the remnants of the feverish embrace they had shared. His arm was draped over her waist, possessive even in sleep. The slow, steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against her back, a reminder that there was no escape. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

[What have I done?]

She stared at the heavy canopy above the bed, her heart a restless drumbeat against her ribs. The scent of him - smoke, steel, something darker, something that clung to her skin like an unspoken vow made her stomach twist.

She should have fought harder.

She should have run.

Instead, she had let herself drown in him.

Eliza shifted, careful, deliberate, inching toward the edge of the bed. But before she could escape the warmth of the silken sheets, fingers curled around her wrist.

“I wouldn’t,” Raen murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Eliza froze.

His grip was loose, but it might as well have been an iron shackle.

“You always wake like this,” he mused, eyes still closed, his thumb tracing slow, idle circles against the delicate skin of her wrist. “Like a caged bird that remembers it has wings.”

She swallowed, forcing steel into her voice. “Maybe one day, I’ll remember how to use them.”

Raen opened his eyes then.

Golden. Smoldering. Dangerous.

“Then I will be forced to clip them.”

Eliza’s breath caught.

[A threat. A promise. A vow spoken in velvet and iron.]

His fingers slid lower, brushing over the faint bruises left by his grip the night before, and something flickered in his gaze something almost soft, almost reverent.

[Almost.]

But then his smirk returned, slow and predatory. “Do you regret it, little countess?”

Eliza exhaled sharply, wrenching her hand free. “I don’t have the luxury of regret.”

Raen chuckled, sitting up beside her, the sheets pooling at his waist. “That,” he murmured, “is the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”

She turned away, reaching for the gown discarded on the floor. The moment she moved, she felt the ghost of his touch lingering on her skin - the places he had claimed, the places she had let him. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she forced herself to stand, to shove the memories into the shadows where they belonged.

She had to leave.

Before she lost herself entirely.

Before it was too late.

A sudden knock at the door shattered the charged silence.

Raen tensed, the momentary ease vanishing like smoke.

“Enter,” he commanded, his voice sharp, controlled.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing one of his men - drenched from the rain, his expression grim. “My lord. A message has arrived. Urgent.”

Eliza turned, her pulse quickening.

Raen stood in a slow, measured movement, reaching for the robe draped over the chair. He took the sealed parchment from the man’s outstretched hands, his thumb brushing over the wax. Crimson. The color of war.

His jaw tightened.

Without another word, he broke the seal.

Silence stretched as his gaze scanned the contents.

Then.

A low, dangerous chuckle.

Amused. Cold.

Deadly.

Eliza clenched her fists. “What is it?”

Raen’s gaze lifted to hers, and for the first time, she saw it.

The storm in his eyes.

“A wedding invitation,” he murmured. “For you.”

The breath fled her lungs.

The blood in her veins turned to ice.

The words on the parchment blurred, but she didn’t need to read them to know what they meant.

Her betrothal.

Her cage, reforged.

Eliza’s hands trembled.

She had always known it would come to this.

But Raen.

Raen smiled, slow and wicked, as he crushed the letter in his fist.

“They think they can take you from me.” His voice was deceptively soft, laced with something lethal. “Foolish.”

The air in the room shifted.

Dark. Ominous.

Eliza took a step back. “Raen...”

But he was already moving.

Already planning.

Already deciding.

Because love was a battlefield.

And he had never been one to lose.