In the Shadow of the Crown

The parchment lay crumpled in Raen’s fist, but the weight of its words still loomed between them.

A wedding invitation.

Not from him.                      

Not for him.

Eliza forced herself to breathe, but the air in the chamber was thick with the storm of his fury. She could see it in the tension coiled beneath his skin, in the way his jaw clenched, in the flicker of something dark, something murderous beneath his golden gaze.

“You can’t stop this,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Raen exhaled a slow, humorless laugh. “Can’t I?”

He turned to the fire, tossing the ruined letter into the flames. The wax seal melted first, blood-red droplets sinking into the embers.

Eliza watched, her throat tight. “Destroying it won’t change what’s been set in motion.”

Raen’s fingers flexed. “No. But it will remind them that I do not take kindly to insults.”

Insult. That was what he saw in this. Not politics. Not duty.

A challenge.

A claim.

And he would rather burn the world than see her taken from him.

She swallowed hard. “Raen...”

But before she could finish, he was in front of her, so close she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. His touch was not rough when he reached for her, but it was unyielding, his fingers skimming along her wrist, her pulse betraying her with every frantic beat.

“You belong to me, Eliza.” The words were spoken like a vow. A sentence. A curse. “No king, no noble, no war can change that.”

She should have pushed him away.

She should have fought.

Instead, she whispered, “You are impossible.”

Raen smirked. “And yet, you’re still here.”

A knock at the door cut through the charged silence. This time, Raen did not look away from her when he called out, “Enter.”

One of his men stepped inside, his armor damp from the rain, his expression wary. “My lord, the merchants have arrived.”

Raen gave a slow nod. “Wait outside.”

The door shut with a heavy thud, leaving them alone again.

Eliza frowned. “Merchants?”

His smirk deepened. “You think I’d let my little countess walk into battle unarmed?”

Before she could ask what he meant, Raen strode toward a polished chest resting near the fireplace. He lifted the lid, reaching inside, and when he turned back to her, something glinted in his hand.

A necklace.

Not delicate. Not soft.

It was a masterwork of gold and obsidian, forged into a collar that gleamed like a piece of armor, intricate runes carved along its surface.

Eliza’s breath caught. “What is that?”

Raen stepped closer, raising the necklace to her throat. The metal was cool against her skin.

“A gift,” he murmured.

She stiffened. “A collar, you mean.”

His lips curved. “Call it what you will.”

He fastened it at the back of her neck with deliberate slowness, the weight of it settling against her collarbone. Not heavy, but unmistakable.

A mark of possession.

A chain of gold.

Eliza’s fingers brushed against the runes, tracing their unfamiliar patterns. Magic hummed beneath her touch.

“What have you done?” she asked softly.

Raen tipped her chin up, his thumb ghosting over her lower lip. “Nothing that hasn’t already been written in fate.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

Before she could react, the door creaked open again.

This time, it was not a soldier.

It was another man, one she recognized.

Tall. Handsome. Dressed in fine silks and silver embroidery. His pale blue eyes darkened as they landed on the necklace at her throat.

“Eliza,” he said, his voice cool but edged with something sharp.

Raen’s smirk did not waver, but his grip on her waist tightened.

Eliza exhaled slowly.

[This is going to get ugly.]