Novels by A.O.T

The blade pressed a thin, cold line against my throat, and I did the only sensible thing.I stopped breathing."Good girl," the voice murmured against my ear, laced with smoke and something sweeter, like burnt honey. "Now walk. Left foot first. Slowly."He didn’t wait for my compliance. An arm wrapped around my ribs, dragging me backward through the pitch darkness, my heels scraping against the rough stone. The chaos roared behind us; shouts, steel clashing, Seraphina’s furious screams piercing the air. Somewhere in the distance, Lucian bellowed for torches, shouting for the doors and for Cassian, his voice thick with desperation as if he’d just dropped something precious and blamed everyone but himself. Good. Let him choke on it.A latch clicked, and a cold draft kissed my face damp, earthy. The war room’s tumult faded behind a heavy slab of stone that ground to a sudden halt, sealing us in an oppressive silence. Just the two of us, the darkness swallowing everything, and the threat

I lost track of time in the darkness, it could have been three days, or just one endless night. Iron cuffs shackled my wrists, and rings bound my ankles, a short chain linking them so I was forced to stoop like an animal. The darkness wasn’t just an absence of light; it had a weight that pressed down on me, gnawing at my sanity. Time seemed to stretch, punctuated only by the slow, steady drip of water that mimicked a heartbeat.With nothing left to occupy my mind, I succumbed to a singular, consuming thought: I hated him. I dissected that hatred, piece by piece. I remembered the chilling calm of his voice when he ordered, “Chain her.” The ink that smeared down his jaw and the way he’d pinned me against that desk, examining me as if I were some unsightly stain to be scrubbed away. I built walls out of every insult I had been denied the chance to utter, bricks hewn from anger, all surrounding the one truth I dared not confront directly. When his forearm pressed against my collarbone,

I was deeply engrossed in the King’s vellum when the study door burst open with a force that rattled every scroll and book on the shelves. Lucian didn’t bother with niceties like knocking. He stepped in like a storm, sword sheathed at his hip, his face twisted in a grimace that suggested he had been gnawing on glass. The moment he entered, every muscle in my body tensed before my mind caught up to the situation.“Leave us,” he commanded Cassian, his tone an iron fist.“Your Highness, she’s in the middle of the translation...” Cassian started, eyes darting between us, but Lucian’s glare brooked no argument.“Leave,” he repeated, and Cassian, his eyes impossibly unreadable, bowed and exited. The door clicked shut, and suddenly the room felt claustrophobic, as if the air was thickening around us.“Cassian says you lied to him,” Lucian said, the accusation sharp and dangerous.My heartbeat quickened, but I forced my expression to stay neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“B

They didn’t come for me until the light filtering through the high window shifted from a dreary grey to a reluctant golden hue, signifying it was midmorning. Time down here crawled like molasses, and my wrists had gone numb hours ago. I’d given up fighting it; struggling only drained the precious strength I would need for what was to come.Then he appeared: Cassian, alone this time, devoid of a torch, just the pale daylight illuminating his weary, watchful face framed by the bars. “The King had a private study,” he said, stepping closer, no greeting offered. “Sealed since his death. My men found a section of old Lycan script in it; pre-Unification dialect, nothing any soldier here can read. I need it translated.”“And you thought of the human prisoner accused of his murder?” I shot back, raising an eyebrow.Cassian’s lips curved into the hint of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought of the scholar who spent five years poring over treaties older than my grandfather,” he co

The dungeon was a symphony of rust and stagnant water, its oppressive darkness pressing against my eyes, conjuring shapes that morphed into the ghosts of my own fears. The stone floor felt cold beneath me, and the shackles bolted into the wall were a grim reminder of the kind of prisoner they’d built this room for, me. My cheek pulsed where Lucian had struck, a steady thrum synchronized with my heartbeat, as if he’d left a fragment of himself behind to haunt me. I let it throb; it was better than acknowledging the other sensation humming beneath my skin a relentless vibration I couldn’t silence, no matter how hard I willed it to stillness. I wouldn’t name it. Names held power, and I refused to grant anything that came from him the strength it sought. Footsteps echoed in the darkness, deliberate and paced. A soldier’s stride, not the careless shuffle of a jailer. Commander Cassian emerged from the dim torchlight beyond the bars, his expression grim and chiseled, as if he meticulousl

The square loomed small and ominous, a grim tapestry woven from dirt and blood, surrounded by a low stone wall, its once-strong edges softened by countless executions. A single black execution block, polished smooth by fates more tragic than mine, stood at the center, silent and unyielding. There were no banners fluttering in the wind; no proud towers casting shadows over the scene. Just a horde of wolves pressed together, an eager crowd awaiting the butcher's knife.I knelt in the dirt, my wrists shackled, a heavy stone of hatred lodged in my chest. I despised the rope collar that bit into my throat. I loathed the guards who had dragged me through the gates like a sack of grain, devoid of any concern. Most of all, I burned with fury at the man seated above the gathered throng—a mere spectator to my doom, boot propped casually on his knee, watching my impending execution as though he were waiting for the rain to cease.Crown Prince Lucian.Five grueling years had passed, during which