All Chapters of QUEENS DO NOT BEG FOR THRONES : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Elouera The blade of my silver knife pressed into the soft skin beneath Stirling’s chin, drawing a small drop of blood. But he didn’t even flinch. In the quiet, candlelit dressing room, the tall Northern Lord stood still, his amber eyes slowly looking down at me. His scent of cedar, cold earth, and winter air filled the room, mixing with the sweet smell of wild honey and rain that still lingered around me. “Put the knife down, little prince,” Stirling said in a deep, rough voice. “Or should I say, whatever you’re pretending to be these days?” I refused to lower the knife. My fingers gripped the handle tightly, but deep inside, another painful wave of heat hit me. My knees almost gave way. The tiny drop of Catalyst-7 I had swallowed in the maintenance tunnels was still fighting against my body. A sharp pain tore through my lower stomach and spread to my back like fire. Cold sweat covered my neck and chest, hiding beneath the stiff lace collar that covered the golden mark Jace’s f

Elouera The underground training room smelled of wet dirt, metal, and the sharp, coppery smell of my own blood. The young messenger’s warning was still ringing in my ears. The smoke is rising through the ventilation shafts right now. But the boy had already fallen face-first onto the dirt, unconscious from the deep cut on his forehead. I wanted to rush out and do something, but I couldn’t. My body was too exhausted. My heart pounded hard against my chest, but it wasn’t because I was afraid of Holden’s poisonous gas. I had spent three hours fighting Jace, and the effort had nearly drained all my strength. Sweat soaked my linen shirt, and my muscles trembled from exhaustion. Every part of my body ached. The small dose of Catalyst-7 I had swallowed hours earlier was still affecting me. A dull pain remained beneath my skin, making me extra sensitive to every little movement of air in the dark room. I let my short sword fall into the dirt. It struck the ground with a loud metallic

Elouera The sound of a sword cutting through the silence was louder than thunder.In the next second, Callan’s heavy, armored body was suddenly pulled away from me. I scrambled backward across the bed until my back hit the cold iron headboard. My hands quickly pulled the torn fabric of my nightshirt over my chest as I struggled to catch my breath. I was shaking with fear, and all I could smell was cold sweat, lavender medicine, and the sharp scent of my own fear.On the stone floor beside the bed stood Commander Jace Corowa, his powerful body casting a dark shadow.Jace moved so quickly and quietly that it was almost frightening. He didn’t simply push Callan away. He attacked him with the speed and strength of a wolf going in for the kill.His left arm was locked around Callan’s neck, holding the Crown Prince tightly against his chest. In his right hand, he held his Vanguard short sword, its dark blade pressed against Callan’s throat. The sharp edge had already cut into his skin, lea

Stirling Vance The cold rain fell hard against the stained-glass windows, but the thick oak doors of the abandoned map room kept most of the storm outside. Inside, the air smelled of old paper, damp wool, and the strong, sweet scent coming from her.I stood a few steps away from her, water dripping from my heavy cloak onto the stone floor. My ribs still hurt where Callan’s blade had cut into my side two nights ago, but that pain meant nothing compared to the strange, electric feeling between us.She stood beside the tall iron table, still wearing Prince Elian’s high-collared velvet tunic. Both hands rested flat on the wooden surface, and her knuckles had turned white from gripping it so tightly.In the dim candlelight, she looked weak and fragile. She was small, pale, and almost ghost-like.Anyone who didn’t know the truth might have mistaken her for a helpless person.But I knew better now.I reached inside my coat and pulled out the thick file I had printed from the underground sec

Elouera The strong smell of burning pitch crept through the cracks in the stone walls. The heat rising from the maintenance vaults below made it clear just how far Callan’s madness had gone. I stood in the dimly lit map room, rubbing another thick layer of ash-grey suppression paste onto the exposed skin of my neck. My hands were shaking so badly that the small tin jar nearly slipped from my fingers. I rubbed the bitter-smelling paste into my skin, spreading it over the glowing golden lines of my mate bond. I desperately waited for the cooling effect to numb my skin. But nothing happened. The paste didn’t cool my skin at all. Instead, it made a soft hissing sound as soon as it touched me, melting into a greasy mess. No. No, no, no. I grabbed a small crystal bottle filled with strong mint and clove oil. I poured the dark liquid into my palm and pressed it hard against my throat. Then I scrubbed my jaw, my collarbones, and the inside of my wrists, trying anything I could to hid