A Crown Of Chains Novels & Stories

he said while holding Amari's necklace. My body went cold when I realize that the pendant of that necklace is Amari's name. I have it customized on her third birthday. As Marcus walked closer I can feel my heart beating erratically against my chest. Fate knows how to play with me. When he stopped in front of me and turned his head on Amari my fear grew. I watched his every movement. When he gently put the necklace on my daughter's neck and when he smiles upon staring at the name written on the pendant I prayed so hard that he won't figure it out.

Shadows slithered down along the edges of the torches, reaching too far, speaking words in tongues never intended for mortal hearing. And at its center, bound in chains of golden links that scalded against his skin, Miyal fought for every breath. His chest heaved, his temples dripped with sweat, and his hands grasped the sheets as though they were forged of incandescent stone. His men had followed his order binding the relic, the Golden Chains, to his arms and chest. It seared him with divine flame, repelling the corruption. But even as they glowed with holy radiance, black smoke wisped beneath his skin, veins turning dark as cracks in marble.

The Seven Princes of the kingdom, each one representing their noble clan, marched towards the ceremonial hall to acknowledge King Rashal's declaration on making Darina as the Royal Knight after the Order of Agabea, the first queen who ruled Clapestris. Darina marched with her golden armor as she grips on her scepter. The scepter is her royal insignia wherein attached an emerald stone that reveals the grand symbol of a lotus. No one knows except her and her royal parents that there is another symbol engraved in the emerald stone. It was an encrypted military insignia of the tiger kingdom.

Althea fought her way back to Argos for Lysandros and helped him reclaim the throne, only to find herself trapped in the enemy kingdom of Thrace, wearing a slave's collar for three full years. Through three years of mortal danger, being dragged behind chariots, and bone-chilling winters, Althea survived on a single conviction: her betrothed, Lysandros, would come to rescue her. But when she finally set foot in the royal city again, what awaited her was not an embrace. It was a heavy golden laurel crown pressed against her brow, the Sacred Flame seal clutched in another woman's hand, and a royal heir growing in that woman's womb. She clung to one last hope: perhaps they had cast her aside onl

I looked closer at it and notices it was the royal crown which was a sign of ownership. 'That son of a bi...' I said to myself once I realized what he was going to do. I began to fight trying to get free but it was pointless there was not way I was getting free from the chains and the men holding me. The damn hybrid mixture weaken me more then I thought, and I couldn't risk shifting into rona. So I had no choice but to let matty mark me with the royal seal

We watched the goddess stand aside and hold without handling. We watched the seam forget to close. We thought: crowns make tyrants. Then remembered: chains make corpses. A fishwife with eel scars sniffed and shouted, “Feed her. She’s thin.” The courtyard laughed in relief disguised as common sense. Laughter softened to a hush. We listened. --- POV: Araya The ash crown warmed until it matched my pulse. Nytheria’s shadow sharpened the world's edges clean as truth. “A crown,” she said from the seam, velvet over stone. “Another chain. Will you wear it?”

Beneath them sat a small wooden box. Not large. Not ornate. Simple cedar. The kind someone might use for baby clothes or letters or things too painful to throw away. Except silver chains wrapped around it. Dozens of them. Every link etched with tiny symbols. Crown. Claw. Moon. Thorn. Frost. Damien inhaled sharply. “What?” His gaze stayed on the chains. “Those are council marks.” My skin went cold. “Council as in current awful council?” “As in older than current.”

But as Elior met Rael’s gaze, he understood. The power of the Crown wasn’t just brute force—it was dominion. The whisper returned. Will you take command? Elior clenched his jaw. He didn’t have a choice. He would. His fingers curled, and from the depths of the Crown’s power, chains of silver light erupted, lashing toward the Hollow Stalker. They moved like living things, coiling around the beast’s limbs, binding it to the earth. The Stalker roared in rage, its muscles bulging as it tried to break free. But the chains held.

He pushed the chair in slightly before moving back to his position like nothing about that interaction was worth acknowledging. Then he picked something up from the table. A ring, he held it out to me, I looked at it. Then at him. “What is this for?” I asked. His gaze stayed on mine. “Access,” he said simply. “To the underworld lots owned by me.” I didn’t move immediately, giving me this practically means he was handing all the right he has as the commander of his mafia chains to me… that was not small. “You’re making me the Capone?” I asked slowly, my tone carrying a hint of something I rarely let slip.

"Thank you." "Let's walk faster." She took my hand, and we hurried along the corridor together, both of us smiling. Soon we arrived at Prince Pavan's quarters and joined the other maids, already lined up in three rows. Prince Pavan's quarters were nothing like I'd expected. I had imagined marble floors, gold trimmings, guards posted at every corner. Instead, the hallway leading to his wing was quiet, lined with tall windows and shelves of books that seemed to go on forever.