Novels by Emeraldwrites

‎Nora's POV‎‎I wake up to a pounding headache, the kind that throbs behind my eyes like a drumbeat I can’t escape. The room swims into focus slowly—the massive king-sized bed with its black sheets, the high ceilings, the balcony doors letting in slivers of morning light. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been running a marathon in my sleep, and as I shift, the memories flood back: the confrontation at the hospital, Elena’s tears, Caleb’s face when Mikhail revealed the truth about him being Lucien’s son, the way everything shattered in that moment. I remember backing away from Caleb, the betrayal hitting me like a physical blow, and then the world tilting, darkness swallowing me whole.‎I sit up slowly, propping myself on my elbows, and that’s when I see him—Elias, sitting in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He looks dejected, defeated, like the weight of the world has crushed him. His hair is messy, eyes red-rimmed from crying or lack of sleep or both. H

‎Nora’s POV‎‎I wake up alone again.He hadn't come home last night.‎The bed feels too big without him in it, the black sheets cold where his body should be. Sunlight cuts through the blinds in sharp white lines, turning the room into a cage of light and shadow. ‎I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet around me like armor. Yesterday's events all come crashing down on me—the date, down to finding out Ingrid had escaped, to which I had no idea he had her . God, I feel so...used, and dumb, like I'm just being kept in the dark like a child. Tossing the sheets away, I stand up and head into the bathroom.‎The roses downstairs are starting to wilt, petals dropping like accusations. Everything he gives me feels like a leash disguised as a gift.‎I shower fast, scalding water pounding my skin, trying to wash him off. It doesn’t work. His scent is in the shampoo, the soap, the towels—cedar and smoke and him. I step out, wrap myself in one of his shirts (too big, sleeves falling past my hands) a

‎Mikhail's POV‎We leave the fairgrounds faster than I planned.‎The fireworks are still popping overhead when Aleksei’s call comes through—short, clipped, furious.‎“She’s gone.”‎Two words.‎That’s all it takes to turn the night from magic back to ash.‎I hang up without a word.‎Nora’s hand is still in mine, cotton candy sugar sticking to her fingers, stuffed panda tucked under her arm. She’s laughing at something I said thirty seconds ago, cheeks flushed from the cold air and the adrenaline of bumper cars. The sound dies when she sees my face.‎“Mikhail?”‎I don’t answer.‎I just pull her toward the parking lot, stride long, grip tight.‎She stumbles to keep up.‎“What’s wrong?”‎I don’t answer that either.‎The Maybach is waiting where we left it. Dmitri is already behind the wheel, engine running. He knows. They all know. The second Aleksei called, every man in my network snapped to attention.‎I open the passenger door for Nora.‎“Get in.”‎She hesitates.‎“Mikhail—”‎“Now.”‎S

‎Nora’s POV‎Much to my utmost surprise, Mikhail takes us to a funfair.‎I swear this man keeps confusing me in ways I never deemed possible.‎THE MIKHAIL ROMANOV, Russian mafia don and billionaire CEO, at a freaking funfair.‎It was already late in the evening by the time we get there. And I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t excited. The last time I’d been at a funfair was a few years back with my parents when they were still alive. They always made it a tradition to take Elias and I to the city’s funfair at any given chance. I guess that tradition died after they were gone as I became only focused on surviving and keeping my brother alive and clean. So imagine my surprise when I saw the bright lights and ferris wheel in view while in the car. I simply couldn’t hide my excitement and turned to face him.‎“Wait…We’re attending the funfair? Are you for real?” I ask in excitement. He simply nods in response. He finds a suitable spot to park, given that there were dozens of cars here,

MIKHAIL’S POVAfter we finish, we lie still in silence next to each other before I stand up and head into the bathroom, grab a bowl of water and a washcloth, and head back into the bedroom to clean her up.Slowly and reverently, I glide the warm cloth over her skin, erasing the remnants of us both. She’s still trembling slightly, body soft and pliant, eyes half-lidded in the low light. I wipe in between her thighs, her stomach, the gentle curve between her breasts, causing her to sigh slighty but she avoids my gaze…like she’s ashamed of herself. The thought causes a slight pang in my chest, but I say nothing.When I finish, I set the bowl aside, pull the sheets away, and slide back into the bed, lying on her side so I can see her face.She turns away immediately, turning her back to me and clutching the duvet tighter. She curls into herself on the far edge of the bed when I touch her slightly. The rejection lands like a quiet blow, but I don’t push.After a long, unbearable silence, I

‎🔞🔞🔞🔞🔥🔥🔥🔥 ‎Mikhail’s POV – Hospital ‎I make sure Dmitri has Nora safely in the SUV before I turn back toward the private ward. The tracker on my phone shows the vehicle pulling away smoothly—safe, for now. She’s mine to protect, even if she hates every second of it. The corridor feels longer on the return trip, the fluorescent lights harsher, buzzing like the fury already simmering under my skin. I push open the door to the waiting room, and the scene hits me like a fist to the throat. ‎Elena is there, arms wrapped around Andrei, both seated on the stiff waiting-room couch. She’s crying softly, face buried in his shoulder, while he murmurs low, comforting words, one hand stroking her hair. The sight snaps something inside me—hot, vicious, uncontrollable. I storm forward, teeth clenched, rage boiling like acid in my veins. ‎“What the fuck are you still doing here, Elena?” I demand, voice low but edged with venom. ‎Andrei’s head snaps up. He stands immediately, pulling Elena

‎Elara’s POV.‎The palace changes the instant Lyriel says the name.‎One moment the corridors are quiet, dim violet light and distant echoes.‎The next, alarms ring through the stone like screaming bells—deep, bone-rattling chimes that make the moonflowers wilt and Sael’s fur bristle with real flame.‎Guards pour from every archway, wings and claws and blades flashing.‎Lockdown.‎The word ripples through the air like a command.‎Lyriel grabs my wrist, wings flaring wide.‎“We have to move. Now.”‎We run.‎Sael races ahead, yipping warnings at corners.‎Behind us, the shadows on the walls twist and stretch, reaching.‎I feel them—cold fingers brushing the back of my neck.‎We burst into my chambers.‎Lyriel slams the door and presses both palms to it.‎Runes flare silver across the wood, sealing it.‎She leans there, breathing hard.‎“He’s inside,” she whispers. “Kael is inside the palace.”‎My blood turns to ice.‎“How?”‎“Impossible,” she says, voice shaking. “Draven wove barriers c

Defiant Shadows.Draven.The night after the walkI stand in the courtyard long after she disappears inside.The false stars above me pulse like they’re mocking my heartbeat.I told her to go to her chambers before I did something we would both regret.I lied.The regret is already here, gnawing at the edges of everything I thought I had buried.She laughed at dinner.Not the polite, hollow sound the court makes. A real laugh —short, surprised, bright as a blade.It caught me off guard so completely I nearly dropped my glass.I have not heard anyone laugh like that in centuries.I hate her for it.I hate myself more for noticing.I finally force my feet to move.The corridors are empty, silver torches flickering low. My boots echo too loud. Shadows trail me like obedient hounds.Except one.One shadow lingers at the corner where her corridor branches off, stretching longer than it should, darker than the rest.I stop.It does not.I narrow my eyes.“Return,” I command.The shadow quiv

‎The Long Table ‎Elara ‎The evening after the court confrontation‎Lyriel leads me back to the chambers she prepared earlier —the ones with the starlit bath and midnight silk bed. Sael, the fox cub, trots at my heels, yipping every time his tiny paws slip on the polished obsidian floor.‎The door shuts behind us.‎I lean against it and finally let my knees shake.‎Lyriel watches me with those fractured-glass eyes, wings folded tight.‎“You were magnificent,” she says quietly. “Reckless. But magnificent.”‎I laugh, it comes out brittle.‎“Magnificent gets me threatened with ruin and ashes.”‎She tilts her head. “It also gets you noticed. The court has not been this alive in centuries.”‎Before I can answer, lightning crackles in the air.‎Mireth materializes in the middle of the room, hair wilder than before, smelling of ozone and satisfaction.‎“My ferocious girl!” she crows, sweeping me into a hug that smells like rain on hot stone. “The entire kingdom is talking about you. You cal

Damned Traditions.Elara—I wake to lightning and fresh bread.The door is wide open. Violet dawn spills across moonflowers that weren’t there when I fell asleep. A woman stands in the doorway balancing a silver tray like she’s about to declare war with pastries.Tall, wild silver-black hair crackling, eyes like colliding galaxies, gown made of living stormclouds.“Good morning, my ferocious little star!” she sings. “I am Mireth, queen of this gloomy pile, and your new mother whether you like it or not. Eat before you faint and ruin my plans.”I sit up slowly. “You’re the queen?”“Guilty. Also part-time goddess of minor chaos. Sit. Eat. Tell me how you made moonflowers grow in a tomb.”She notices the bruises on my wrists.Lightning snaps across her knuckles.“Who chained you?” she asks, voice suddenly soft and deadly.“Everyone,” I answer.“Names,” she says. “I collect them for kindling.”I spill everything —throne room, blood ritual, my father’s new title, Seraphine’s engagement, t

CAGED.Draven’s POVI have done this ninety-nine times.Ninety-nine cages rolled through my gates.Ninety-nine trembling girls in white.Ninety-nine times I have looked at them and seen Aveline’s ghost wearing a new face.Tonight is the hundredth.And I am already breaking.I stand on the balcony of the west wing, claws digging into obsidian stone hard enough to leave grooves. Below, the procession winds through the outer courtyard like a funeral made of moonlight. The cage-wagon is beautiful (black iron gilded to hide the bars). The girl inside is a blade of ivory and silver fury.I watched her arrive.I watched her lift her chin and tell me to kill her quickly.I laughed —gods help me, I laughed because no one has ever looked at me like that. Not in a thousand years.Not since Aveline begged me to run with her instead.I sent the girl to the worst room because I am a coward.The west wing is a ruin (walls cracked from the last time Kael and I tried to murder each other, windows shat

Chapter 8Kingdom Of Eldoria ElaraNine days.Nine days in a stone box beneath Highmont Palace where the only light is a torch that never quite reaches the corners.Nine days of chains that burn cold, of water that tastes of rust, of bread hard enough to break teeth.Nine days of silence so complete I start talking to the black scale just to remember my own voice.It answers, sometimes.Not in words. In heat. In pressure against my ribs like a second heart trying to crawl out.I keep replaying the throne room.Every face. Every cheer. Every lie.Most of all, I replay my family.Father’s voice, ringing false: My daughter volunteers herself…Mother’s perfect tears that never smudged her paint.Seraphine’s sapphire tiara already gleaming in her hair like she was born to wear it.Isla whispering my name until the doors shut.On the fourth day a guard shoves a broadsheet under the cell door.I unroll it with shaking fingers.The headline is in letters an inch tall:GENERAL WYNNE APPOINTE