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BONE CROWN

BONE CROWN

Fantasy
last updateÚltima atualização : 2026-10-16
Por:  TimothyAtualizado agora
Idioma: English
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Sinopse

Dark Romance

Action

Fast-Paced Plot

Hidden Identity

Arrogant

Heir/Heirness

Betrayal

Face-Slapping

Contract Marriage

"She was the girl they meant to execute. Now, she is the nightmare that will wear their crown." ​Lyra Vale was supposed to die beneath the execution blade. ​Branded a witch. Hunted as the last survivor of a disgraced bloodline... Lyra Vale was supposed to die beneath the execution blade. Branded a witch. Hunted as the last survivor of a disgraced bloodline. Dragged before the kingdom that slaughtered her family, she expects death—not the ancient magic buried inside her to awaken before the entire royal court. Then the prophecy arrives. The Bone Crown has chosen her. Now the kingdom fears her existence, the Church demands her execution, and the shadows beneath the capital are beginning to wake. Worst of all, Crown Prince Cassian Draeven refuses to let her go. Feared across the continent as the king’s ruthless heir, Cassian is as dangerous as the dark magic crawling through the kingdom’s walls. Cold. Violent. Untouchable. The kind of man people obey before he even speaks. And according to the prophecy, he is destined to destroy the world. Forced into the deadly heart of the royal palace, Lyra becomes trapped between assassins, forbidden magic, court betrayals, and a prince whose obsession with her grows more dangerous by the day. But the deeper Lyra falls into the secrets of the Bone Crown, the more horrifying the truth becomes: Her family was never executed for treason. They were murdered to hide what she really is. And the throne of Varethis was built over something ancient that should have never awakened.

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163 Capítulos
Chapter 1: The Girl Beneath the Execution platform
ARC 1 The Fallen Princess ​The rain started before dawn.​By the time they dragged Lyra Vale into the Black Court, the entire city smelled of wet ash and stagnant sewer water. Smoke rolled down from the upper terraces, where the noble houses burned funeral incense through iron braziers large enough to drown a man.​Thousands filled the stone amphitheater surrounding the execution square. Waiting. Watching. Some had scrambled onto the knees of ancient monuments for a better view of the bloodletting.​"Witch!"​The word cracked across the court like a whip.​A rotten apple burst against Lyra's collarbone. Someone else threw a handful of river mud, and a child's high laughter echoed when it hit her cheek.​She kept walking.​Barefoot.​Her iron chains scraped against black flagstones slick with rain and old, dried gore. The spiked collar around her neck bit into her throat every time the guards yanked her forward, its binding runes pulsing with a dull, sickly orange.​Suppressing her mag
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Chapter 2: The Prince of Ruin
The palace smelled wrong.​Too clean.​After six years in damp prison cells, underground drainage tunnels, and transport wagons packed with sweating bodies, Lyra had forgotten what polished stone smelled like. Beeswax drifted through the grand corridors, mixing with the hiss of rain against tall, leaded glass windows. Somewhere deeper inside the keep, violins played a faint, eerie waltz.​The nobles were still celebrating.​Even after the shadow gates blew open in the lower city. Even after thousands died screaming in the mud below their high walls.​A squad of royal guards marched her through a narrow hallway lined with pillars of polished black marble. None of them looked directly at her anymore.​Not after the execution square.​Not after the shadows had answered her call.​Chains still wrapped her wrists, though lighter now. Silver instead of crude iron, the metal burning with a cold, numbing bite against her raw skin. Magicked restraints. Expensive ones.​The guard marching on her
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Chapter 3: The Thing in the Walls
The Palace Went Dark​Not completely.​The candles still burned in their iron sconces, and the logs in the hearth crackled, throwing orange light across the stone. But something fundamental had shifted in the air.​The light stretched thin, drained of its heat, while the shadows in the corners pooled thick and greasy, like spilled ink against marble.​The commander reached for his sword, his hand trembling as steel scraped against leather.​Cassian didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his body coiled, his breath silent.​That terrified Lyra far more than the guards had.​The whisper crawled through her skull again—cold and raspy, dragging its fingers along the inside of her mind:​Found you.​She hadn't heard it with her ears. She had felt it—a draft of stale air from a freshly opened grave sliding beneath her skin.​"What was that?" she demanded, her knuckles white where she gripped her wine glass.​Neither man answered.​The commander looked hollowed out, the color completely drain
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Chapter 4: The King's Second Son
Nobody moved.​Rain hissed through the shattered leaded windows, mingling with the stench of ozone and copper. Blood crept slowly across the white marble floor, pooling around the dead commander’s neck.​In the ruined doorway stood the silver-haired prince, looking as though he had planned the structural damage himself. Calm. Unbothered. Dry-eyed. Behind him, the dimly lit corridor bristled with royal guards, shoulder-to-shoulder, crossbows drawn and winched tight.​Not a single bolt pointed at Lyra.​Every iron tip was aimed squarely at Cassian’s chest.​That single detail told her everything she needed to know about this family.​“Lower your blades,” Cassian said. His voice was low, raspy from the smoke, but carrying the flat weight of an absolute command.​Nobody moved an inch.​The silver-haired prince offered a thin, razor-sharp smile. “You’ve lost authority faster than I expected, brother.”​Cassian’s knuckles turned white around the hilt of his broadsword. “Get out, Lucien.”​So
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Chapter 5: The Crypt Beneath the Throne
The royal crypts sat beneath the palace, buried deep enough that even the servants whispered about them like ghosts.​Lyra learned that quickly from the silence alone.​Nobody spoke as they descended the spiral staircase beneath the eastern wing. Not the guards. Not the trembling servant carrying a lantern ahead of them. Not even Lucien.​Only boots scraping against stone.​And somewhere far below—​Scratching.​A foul stench thickened the deeper they went. Wet earth. Rotting funeral flowers. Stagnant water trapped underground too long.​Cassian led the way, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He hadn’t looked at Lyra once since the servant mentioned the missing kings, his shoulders drawn tight and rigid.​It bothered her more than it should have.​Lucien fell into step beside her, his movements fluid despite the heavy tension pressing through the stairwell. “You’re thinking loudly,” he murmured.​“I’m deciding which one of you is more irritating.”​“Careful. That answer chang
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Chapter 6: The Heart Beneath Her Ribs
Lyra collapsed to her knees, the stone floor biting hard into her shins.​Pain ripped through her chest so sharply she swore her ribs had cracked down the center. The crypt blurred into a smears of black granite, dying candlelight, and dried blood. Around her, the dead kings remained bowed, their hollow eye sockets fixed on her like worshippers before an unholy altar.​And beneath it all, deep in the bedrock—​A heartbeat.​Not hers.​Slow. Massive. Ancient.​You found my heart. The voice slid through her mind, wet and clinging like oil.​“Get out of my head,” Lyra gasped, clutching her chest as her lungs burned for air.​The darkness pooling beneath the throne churned, rising like a tide.​Cassian reached her first. His hand closed around her shoulder—carefully, almost reverently, as if he expected her to shatter under his palm.​“Lyra.”​His voice sounded muffled, as though heard through heavy water.​Boom.​Boom.​Boom.​The heartbeat thundered louder, each pulse sending a faint tre
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Chapter 7: The Price of Keeping Him Alive
Cassian was bleeding.​Lyra saw it before he did—a jagged black tear across his ribs where a dead king had driven rusted iron beneath his guard. Blood soaked through his tunic, dark against dark, but he kept swinging anyway. He moved like pain was just a room he’d long since learned to walk through.​The crypt had turned into a abattoir.​Tomb lids lay shattered across the floor like discarded slate. Candles burned sideways in the icy gale roaring up from the hole under the throne. Ancient rulers surged through the dust with rotted blades raised, only for Lucien to cut them down with silver flashing in both hands.​Still, they kept pulling themselves upright.​Still, the pale thing beneath the throne kept smiling.​When he dies, she’d said.​The words echoed in Lyra’s skull, refusing to settle.​Cassian drove his broadsword through a corpse king’s chest, wrenched the steel free, and kicked the body aside. Black blood sprayed across the broken marble. The corpse collapsed, twitched once
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Chapter 8: Silver in His Eyes
Cassian dropped hard onto the stairs.​Stone bit into his knees. His sword rang once against the crypt floor before skidding into the dark, vanishing down the broken steps.​Lyra lunged for him before her brain could catch up with her feet. “Cassian!”​Black veins were spreading beneath his skin, spiderwebbing out from his throat and climbing fast toward his jaw. His left eye remained dark brown, but his right had gone entirely silver—not reflective, not human, but an empty, milk-white glare.​Lucien swore under his breath, his daggers coming up. “No.”​Cassian braced one trembling hand against the stone stair, his knuckles white. “Don’t touch me,” he spat out.​Too late. Lyra already had both hands clamped onto his shoulders.​Heat slammed through her palms—a terrifying, suffocating heat, like iron left too long in a forge fire.​Another violent crack split the crypt ceiling overhead. A chunk of masonry thundered onto the floor behind them, spraying gravel across the stairs. Below, th
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Chapter 9: Ash on the Stairs
The crypt went silent.​Not truly silent. Stone still groaned overhead, dust hissed through fresh fissures, and somewhere far below, the pit breathed icy dampness up into the hall like an open throat.​But the dead held still.​Every king, every shattered corpse, every skull crowned in rusted gold remained frozen in place.​Watching Lyra. Waiting.​Cassian’s blood ran warm over her knuckles. He hung heavy in her embrace, his breath scraping rough against her shoulder, his body trembling with a deep, structural tremor.​Lucien stood three paces back, Cassian’s broadsword held low in his right hand, a silver dagger in his left. For once, his sharp tongue was completely still.​The Hollow Queen waited at the edge of the pit, her bare feet planted in the rubble. Her silver eyes fixed on Lyra like iron spikes.​“If you keep him alive,” the queen said, her voice dropping into a raspy purr, “the gate opens wider.”​Lyra tightened her hold on Cassian, shifting her weight to bear his bulk. His
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Chapter 10: Before the Blood
For a moment, Lyra forgot the crypt was collapsing.​She forgot the dead kings kneeling in stone rings around them, forgot Lucien, forgot the Hollow Queen screaming somewhere beneath the rubble.​There was only Cassian.​The blood on his mouth. His shallow breath against hers. And the sentence hanging between them like a blade drawn in the dark.​“I knew you before they killed your family.”​Lyra shoved herself backward, stone biting into her shoulder blades as she broke away.​Cassian let her go instantly. Too instantly. Like he’d been waiting for the blow.​Good. Because if he’d tried to touch her right now, she would have driven a dagger through his heart.​“What did you say?”​His chest rose sharply, dark blood soaking the torn fabric over his ribs. “You heard me.”​“Say it again.”​Lucien remained near the ruined stairwell, sword lowered but ready, watching them through narrowed, calculating eyes.​Cassian wiped a smudge of blood from his jaw. “I knew you.”​Rage hit Lyra so fast
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