13 Crowns Novels & Stories

"Daddy, isn't my dress pretty? Grandma gave this to me for my birthday this year!" Rowan adored Wanda. He leaned down and scooped up the little princess. "Grandma has great taste. Our Wanda is just like a princess." Wanda smiled, her eyes crinkling with delight. She pointed to the crystal crown. "Daddy, this crown is a gift from Mommy. Isn't it really pretty, too?" The crown, studded with crystals, sparkled brilliantly. The central diamond, the largest one, was about the size of a fingernail, and it was clearly worth a fortune.

“We cannot keep her, Jarvis. We’ve made the mistake of bringing her here.” “You do not have to give her the crown; she still belongs here, with you as her mate.” Jarvis continued. Instantly, a chunk assembled in Kaizen’s throat; it was painful to swallow. Roxanne being his mate was something he wasn't ready for or wanted to acknowledge. “She is not my mate,” he compelled the words out. He couldn't afford to get a mate, not now, not ever. Azriel chortled. "Keep saying it, and you might start believing it. You have been fortunate to meet your mate, Kaizen; some of us aren't lucky and we have accepted our fates. You should keep her.”

Because he already possessed four. Nine remaining Crowns. Scattered across the world. Then one light stood out. Bright blue. Far away. Then another. Silver. Then another. Black. Then the vision zoomed outward. Showing something much larger. Something terrifying. The Crown network. All thirteen fragments. Connected. Waiting. Building toward something. Then the vision vanished. Immediately. Thomas staggered. Breathing heavily. Then Henry caught him. Then: "What did you see?" Silence. Then Thomas answered. Then:

I announce that Nathan Crowther is being removed from the title of crown prince, now he becomes a traitor, he must be sought and isolated, his name never to be heard again, Thomas Crowther, my second son will inherit the throne when the time is right, and before the entire nation I announce that the winner of the Diamond Crown will be revealed. - Celine moves in the row next to her father, he is the richest noble after the king, he probably believes he will receive the title, I show a scathing smile on my lips, as soon as the news is given she will be in shock. Now it's silence that fills the hall as the king pauses to wipe tears from his eyes that I know are fake. He pretends to be sad for

The great doors close with a sound like breaking bones, leaving me alone with the ache of this cursed crown and the weight of a kingdom built on graves. The crown itself pulses against my temples, its once-brilliant gold now tarnished to the color of old blood. It used to shine like captured sunlight, a beacon of hope and righteous rule. Now it hums with an endless network of hairline cracks, each fracture a spider's thread of corruption spreading deeper into the metal and into me. Each break is a reminder that nothing in this world remains unbroken: not thrones built on noble intentions, not bloodlines stretching back to heroes of legend, not oaths sworn under starlight with hearts full of

​The first piece of the Crown. ​Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, the blood freezing in her veins. The Bone Crown had never been forged from five fragments. It had been forged from six. And the sixth had never been mounted—it had been left behind, buried beneath the First Anvil, waiting in the dark. ​The nail rose level with the stone floor. And as it drifted forward, every single dead Crown-Bearer slumped against the cavern walls slowly, sickeningly lifted its head. ​The faceless smith whispered a single, final command into the gloom: "Run."

“I know.” A small, breathless smile curved his mouth. “And I love you too,” she whispered. Below them, the lake caught the light and held it, and the forest around it carried that warmth inward—through root and stone, through corridor and heart—until it reached the quieter halls of the palace, where another choice waited with equal patience. Corren stood alone in the Hall of Roots, the Verdant Crown resting upon its living pedestal. It was not forged by fire but shaped by time—wood veined with gold, leaves eternally green along its arch. The chamber smelled of earth and rain, ancient and steady.

“I want you honest.” She turned to Vow again. “And what happens if the Crown lies?” There was a beat of silence. Then—for the first and last time—Triarch Vow spoke. “If the Crown lies,” the voice rasped through the hood, genderless and sharp as glass, “then the city burns.” Later, in a room without screens, without files, without exits—he handed her a coat. Black. Fitted. Cut like armor. “You’re inside now,” Domenik said. “You dress like it.”

The commotion in the crowd was reaching a fever pitch. Some were even gearing up to storm the stage to stop me when suddenly, the banquet hall doors slammed open. The screech of brakes violently cut through the downpour. It was not just one car that had arrived, but an entire motorcade of six black armored Hummers that crashed right through the glass walls of the banquet hall, sending shards flying everywhere. The car doors swung open in unison, and a stream of figures in black poured into the banquet hall.

It was moonstone inlaid silver filigree, exquisite and delicate. A crown fit for a real wolf, not a meek person. "I'm not sure," The older man stumbled, his swollen eyes flitting from Chad to me. "Crown her," Chad said in a steely voice, refusing to back down. The older person paused for a while more before nodding. With the crown held lovingly in his wrinkled hands, he stepped forward. I lowered my head, sensing the burden of custom and anticipation descend upon me.