Novels by Emeraldwrites

‎Nora’s POV – Hospital Lobby‎I can’t stay in that waiting room another second.‎The air is too thick, too charged with Elena’s presence, with the way she looked at me—like she expected forgiveness after two years of silence. Like her tears could erase the nights I cried alone, wondering why my best friend abandoned me when I needed her most.‎I mutter something to Mikhail about needing air and slip out before anyone can stop me.‎The lobby is quieter, colder. Rows of plastic chairs, a coffee machine humming in the corner, the occasional beep from a monitor echoing down the hall. I find a seat near the window, away from the main flow of people, and sink into it, knees pulled to my chest again like I’m trying to make myself small enough to disappear.‎My hands shake.‎My chest hurts.‎I’m so angry I could scream.‎At Elena.‎At Andrei for bringing her.‎At myself for letting it hurt this much.‎At Mikhail for dragging me here in the first place.‎The minutes stretch.‎I stare at the fl

‎Nora's POV‎‎I tangled up in his arms for a while as we console each other. My thoughts keep spiralling after his breakdown. I never thought I'd see someone as strong THE Mikhail Romanov cry real tears. All my life he has always portrayed himself to be this untouchable , inhumane man that I swore to hate for the rest of my life. But seeing him like that changed a switch in me. I still have to figure out what had happened last night, especially with the wound on his arm. It was definitely a gunshot wound, I'm not stupid to not notice that.‎ ‎He stirs behind me before sitting up on the bed.‎‎“Freshen up,” he says, voice steady again. “We’re going out.”‎I stare.‎“Out?”‎He nods.‎“Breakfast first. Then shopping. Then the hospital.”‎“The hospital?”‎“My father,” he says quietly. “He’s in a coma. Shot. Five percent chance.”‎My heart drops.‎“I’m sorry.”‎He looks at me. I'm tempted to ask what had happened to him last night, but I keep quiet instead. He probably wouldn't tell me

Nora’s POV The door swung open with a heavy creak, and there he stood—Mikhail Romanov, framed in the threshold like a spectre from my darkest dreams. His presence filled the room instantly, sucking the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping in the vacuum. He looked ravaged, his once-impeccable shirt crumpled and stained with dark, crusted blood, especially around his arm where the fabric clung sticky and wet. His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight, his eyes hollow, devoid of the spark that had always made them so dangerously alive. He staggered forward, the movement unsteady, like a man carrying the world on his back, and for a split second, my heart twisted—not with fear, but with a pang of concern that I hated myself for feeling.I bolted upright from the bed, my legs unsteady beneath me as I crossed the room in a rush. “Mikhail, what happened?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my voice a mix of terror and something softer, something I didn’t want to name. He

Nora's POVI don’t sleep.I sit on the edge of the bed, back against the headboard, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the locked door like it might open and set me free.It doesn’t. The room is too quiet. Too perfect.Too much like a cage designed just for me.Black silk sheets still rumpled from where I thrashed in them.The faint scent of his cologne clings to everything.I hate it.I hate how it calms me even when I’m screaming inside.I hate how my body remembers the weight of him on this bed.How my skin remembers his hands.How my heart remembers the way he used to look at me, as if I were the only thing keeping him human.I’m not calming down.I’m spiralling.Hard. Fast. Unstoppable.He kidnapped me.He actually did it.Drugged me.Took me from my life.From Caleb.From Elias.From everything I fought for.And he said, “Welcome home,” as if it were a normal greeting.Like I should be grateful.Like I belong here.I don’t.I don’t.I don’t.But why does part of me feel like I

‎Mikhail’s POV‎I never meant to do it.‎That’s what I tell myself as I stand in the study, staring at the city through the bulletproof glass.‎I never meant to cross this line.‎But the line blurred the moment I tasted her again in that staff room.‎The moment she moaned my name like she’d never left.‎The moment she spat on me and I let her.‎Because even her anger is mine.‎I’ve been spiraling for weeks.‎Watching her from a distance.‎Seeing her smile at him.‎Seeing her touch him.‎Seeing her happy without me.‎It’s poison.‎Every photo Dmitri sends.‎Every report.‎Every time she laughs in a restaurant with Lola or hugs Elias or kisses Caleb.‎It eats me alive.‎So I gave in.‎I told myself it was protection.‎Lucien is closing in.My father is in a coma.‎The empire is bleeding.‎I need her.‎Only her.‎Only her presence calms the storm.‎So I had my men take her.‎Clean.‎Quiet.‎No struggle.‎No witnesses.‎They brought her to me.‎To the estate.‎To the room I prepared.‎Blac

Nora's POV ‎My eyelids flutter open, heavy and sticky, like they’ve been glued shut. The world swims in and out of focus—a blur of dark shapes and dim light filtering through half-closed blinds. I’m lying on something soft, too soft, the kind of mattress that swallows you whole. Black sheets tangle around my legs, smooth and expensive, the kind I could never afford. My head throbs, a dull ache pulsing at the temples, and my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. I try to sit up, but the room spins violently, forcing me back down with a groan. What the hell happened? Where am I?‎I blink hard, forcing my vision to clear. The room comes into focus slowly. It’s huge—bigger than my entire apartment back in Houston. High ceilings, sleek black furniture, a massive balcony beyond floor-to-ceiling glass doors overlooking a glittering city skyline that looks vaguely familiar. The air smells musky, woodsy, like expensive cologne mixed with polished leather and fresh linen. It’s exquisite,

‎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