A Heir Or An Heir Novels & Stories

Aurora asked as she lay still with her head on her father's chest. “An heir is a person that is legally entitled to the property or rank of another person when the person cannot rule again. In this case, a king, when a king cannot rule again, his heir takes over and inherits all that belongs to the king. You're a princess my darling, one day, you will rule over this city when the time is right.” “Yes daddy, I want to be a good king.” Zeidan laughed as he noticed her ignorance. “You are going to be a queen, my dear. A lady becomes a queen eventually.”

He looked up when she entered. "Didn't expect you back here so soon," he said casually, motioning toward the empty armchair. "Everything alright?" She didn't sit. "You really thought that toast was funny?" she asked, arms folded. His brows lifted slightly, amused. "Lighten up, Caliste. It was just a nudge. Families talk about heirs—it's nothing new." Her jaw clenched. "I'm your daughter, not a royal broodmare."

Cassian asked, and he nodded with a smile. "You won't have to marry her or anything like that, just choose a woman who isn't materialistic and doesn't crave too much attention, as it could bring us significant problems in the future," he said, shrugging and taking the papers from his son's hands. "Why all of this?" Cassian asked, indignant with his father's attitude. "I want you to have an heir," he said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

The heir looks at me as if I were his worst enemy, it is understandable, I feel the same way. — Then apologize to the little prince first, I heard you owe him some apologies. — Is she really not taking my side? So now I have to share my personal maid (and according to herself, my responsible adult) with the heir. Your Highness shows me his tongue contesting that he think like me. At least he is not crying anymore.

Princess Khianna "You know what. Nothing is confusing, sweetheart. You just don't want to decide because you don't want a complicated life with your daughter now. And you are afraid to decide because you just don't want to make the same mistake again." said her Aunt Delia. Lia couldn't answer and she also thought deeply.

The notary's finger hovered above the keyboard for a moment. "Mrs. Fuzio." He adjusted his glasses, not daring to look straight at me. "The heir next in line needs to be present to confirm his intentions." I was confused. Christian Fuzio was an only child. His parents passed away ten years ago. We were married for 20 years with no children. "What did you say?" Before the notary could reply, the doors opened. When the boy walked in, I didn't even react. That was, until I saw his face.

Mei said, “Seraphina gets to decide when to drop her into the game. My money says she picks a moment that hurts you and benefits her. Imagine her walking in with a blurry photo and crocodile tears about a *poor, endangered child the Blessed Luna is hiding.*” Lyra could imagine it. Too clearly. “She keeps using that word,” Lyra said. “Heir. Like Aiden’s seed is a crown in a petri dish.” “Heir scares them more than ‘pup,’” Mei said. “It gets the traditionalists frothing. They’ll couch it in language about “protection” and “stability,” but what they’ll be thinking is, "Who controls that bloodline?*” “And the answer is me,” Lyra said.

The evening had settled into the quiet Vargr preferred. He sat in the chair by the window with a glass of wine he hadn't touched, one hand resting on the arm, his eyes on the mountain line where the last of the light was leaving. The compound was running. The program was running. The working held as it would continue to hold until the heir arrived and completed what had taken 153 years to build. The heir. He was certain of it — a son, born of the original line, the last piece of what that night in the ash had set in motion. He had been patient. He could be patient a little longer.

“When did the bond first spark?” “Three nights ago,” I whispered before I could stop myself. His jaw flexed. “And tonight he rejected you.” “Yes.” A long, assessing look passed over his face. “Then congratulations, little wolf,” he said darkly. “You’re carrying an Alpha heir.” The forest seemed to tilt. Heir. The word felt too heavy. Too powerful. Too dangerous. “No,” I breathed. “That’s not possible.” “It is,” he said simply. “And Ironclaw will tear the world apart to claim it.”

Golden Heirs. This corny and cliche name had a great impact on our generation's society and on campus. For them, the Golden Heirs were like royalty who have unparalleled social status, appearances, and wealth. For these teenagers, the existence of Golden Heir was mighty. To be a friend of one of the Golden Heirs was already an honor and something to brag about. That's why Layla's fake friends who hated Layla won't say anything to her face or cut off their relations with her because of this. Just being related to them gave them a lot of envies and advantages.