MasukThe Devouring Queen is a paranormal revenge fantasy set between a blood drenched Lycan kingdom and a starving vampire empire, where every moon can crown a monarch or claim a corpse. The story follows Elara, once a gentle Luna who was betrayed and murdered on her wedding night. Instead of finding peace, she awakens three years in the past inside the stolen body of a hidden vampire princess. She returns to life in a world already preparing for her death, because in thirty nights the Lycan King must kill his true mate to awaken an ancient god beast. Now two women wear the same face, and only one can survive the prophecy that hungers for blood. Elara, reborn as a ghost wearing royal skin, abandons innocence and embraces the power she never had in her first life. With a quiet voice and a predator’s smile, she steps into a kingdom filled with secrets, manipulations and creatures who underestimate her. Cassius, the beautiful and broken Lycan King, is trapped between the woman he once loved, the version he helped destroy, and a prophecy that demands sacrifice. Their love is poisonous, irresistible and destined to end in ruin. As the nights slip away, Elara weaves a dark game of power and deception. She announces a false pregnancy, visits the chained original bride under midnight moons, and manipulates courts and armies with deadly grace. The mirrors around her begin to bleed, the lies thicken, and the prophecy tightens like a noose. The climax erupts in a courtyard filled with fallen soldiers, where the two identical brides tear the king apart to decide which destiny will rule. The kingdoms that remain have only two choices: kneel or burn.
Lihat lebih banyakThe war came faster than blood dries.By the third dawn after the blood moon feast, the eastern horizon bristled with torches. Queen Isolde Valcour—mother to the dead princess, widow of a hundred battles—had not waited for confirmation. She had felt the bond sever, felt her daughter’s soul ripped from flesh, and she had answered with steel and starvation.Ten thousand vampires marched under banners of black silk and bone. They moved only at night, vanishing into mist at sunrise, reappearing closer each twilight. Villages on the border woke to empty cradles and drained livestock. Messages carved into chapel doors read the same: RETURN WHAT WAS STOLEN.Elara watched their advance from the highest tower, crown heavy on her brow, beast quiet but alert inside her chest.Thorne stood beside her, face grim.“They’ll reach the Ashen Ridge by the next new moon,” he said. “Our scouts say they bring siege weapons forged of star-iron. And something worse.”“Worse?”“Mirror-bearers. Priests who ca
Dawn did not come gently.It clawed its way over the jagged mountains, bleeding pale gold across a sky still choked with smoke from the burning palace. The great hall lay in ruins: tables overturned, banners shredded, bodies strewn like broken dolls in congealing pools of blood and starlight. Shards of mirror glittered everywhere, each fragment reflecting a different version of the new queen.Elara stood on the dais where Cassius had died.His body lay at her feet, already cooling, the star-iron dagger still buried to the hilt in his chest. The bonding mark on her throat no longer glowed silver. It burned now—black veins spreading from the bite like frost across glass, pulsing in time with the beast’s heartbeat inside her.She felt it fully awake.Not raging. Not devouring.Waiting.Watching through her eyes.The surviving court knelt in ragged semicircles: Lycan lords with fur matted in blood, vampire envoys pale as bone, guards frozen between loyalty and terror. No one spoke. No one
The blood moon rose swollen and obscene, painting the palace walls the color of a fresh bruise.Every corridor crawled with anticipation. Servants scurried with silver trays of raw hearts and crystal decanters filled with vampire blood laced with nightshade—just enough to heighten the senses without killing the drinkers. Musicians tuned instruments strung with werewolf gut. Torches burned blue, fed by alchemical fats that whispered when the flames licked them.Tonight was the Feast of the Crimson Coronation: an ancient rite held only when the moon bled. It celebrated the original pact between Lycan and vampire—before betrayal, before war. Tonight it would celebrate a marriage.And tonight, someone would die.Elara stood before the mirror in the queen’s solar, adjusting the final touches to her gown.It was a masterpiece of menace: black velvet so dark it drank the light, slashed with crimson silk that moved like spilled blood when she walked. The neckline plunged low enough to display
The palace woke to whispers.Not the usual court gossip—those were loud, hungry things, traded over breakfast venison and blood-wine. These were quieter. Slithering. The kind that lived in the walls and fed on doubt.By midday, every servant knew: the new queen had been seen walking the corridors at dawn, barefoot and alone, trailing black rose petals that had not been there the night before. Some swore her shadow had lagged behind her, as though reluctant to follow. Others claimed to have heard two voices—identical, yet arguing—echoing from the disused chapel.Elara heard the rumors and smiled into her morning tea.Let them talk. Fear was a spice best added early.She sat in the queen’s solar—a high tower room lined with cracked mirrors and overlooking the Lycan wilds. Sunlight struggled through stained glass depicting ancient massacres: wolves tearing vampires apart beneath eclipsed moons. Appropriate decor.Seraphine sat opposite her, wrists still raw from silver but healing fast.
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