Novel & Cerita A Throne Of Ruin

His obsession deepened. I walked the line between ruin and surrender. How long before the secrets met? How long before the man I meant to destroy realized the ghost in his bed would be the one to bring his empire down? The game had never been more dangerous or more consuming.

His thumb began to rub slow, deliberate circles over my pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm of my heart. "You've been acting nervous since you got here," he whispered, his eyes darkening. "Like you're hiding something." My heart leaped into my throat. I thought of the book hidden in my suitcase. I thought of the scenes I'd read—the ones where the brother finds out his sister's secret and uses it to break her. "I'm not hiding anything," I whispered. Leo’s grip tightened. He stood up slowly, the chair scraping harshly against the hardwood floor. He didn't let go of my wrist as he walked around the table, pulling me up with him. I stumbled forward, my chest brushing against his bare skin. H

“Some argue his twin, Darian, rivals him. But Xaden is the one the prophecy speaks of.” My chest caves in. “Prophecy?” “He’s meant to be the future Alpha,” she continues. “But he’s cursed. That’s why Darian carries the title for now.” I was told. Yet, I press on, my fingers curling. “What kind of curse?” “He loses control during the full moon. He goes completely feral and kills without thinking.” She lowers her voice. “The elders say only his true mate can stabilize him.” My breath slows. “Something about the last white wolf that carries the lightning crest.” She adds.

And still yet, that remains the least confusing thing, as what is, is the finding of the stake of Adonis, which was used to kill King Orrin. So many questions left unanswered, because yet, I never expected the Lord of the heavens to let such happen, without giving us any kind of sign. Still yet still, it is still a sign from him that each and every God he created is now in danger, meaning a new supernatural has risen, or it could be a supernatural who has always been there.

A pull, not of her body, but of her soul. Suddenly— She was falling. Through time. Through memories that weren’t her own. Through a hundred visions, blurry and cracked. And then — clarity. A throne room, dimly lit by blood-red torches. Ruvan stood at its center, taller than stories described, with skin as pale as bone and eyes like obsidians. He stood not alone… but with a figure cloaked in midnight robes, face hidden in shadows. The voice she heard made her blood run cold.

“Your Grace, we need to kill Shuntha,'' Seti walked alongside Raiden as he made his way to the icy throne. The throne wasn’t made of ice but metal that was painted white, it was almost a century old. It didn’t rust, it wasn’t worn down, the paint wasn’t chipped, and it looked like it had just been crafted. Five fairies that were part of the kingdom forged the throne with magic, the fairies were once respected and loved; until King Atticruss and Queen, Tressa feared them and spread hatred amongst the people.

The night sky burned crimson as fires spread across the palace grounds, smoke twisting upward in choking plumes that blotted out the stars. Serenya stood at the edge of the shattered hall, her breath shallow, her heart a frantic drum in her chest. The throne room—once the sanctum of her ancestors—was reduced to ruin. Stone pillars lay cracked, tapestries smoldered in heaps of blackened fabric, and the seat of power itself, the High Throne of Valeor, leaned crookedly, a fractured shadow of what it had once been.

"A seat of power where they could rule both the light and dark realms. Your ancestors commanded armies here. They shaped reality with their will." I shivered. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. "What happened to them?" "They were betrayed," Silas said. His voice grew hard. "By those they trusted. By those who feared their power and wanted it destroyed." We came to a round courtyard at the heart of the ruins. In the center stood a throne carved from black stone. Its back rose high into the air like the wings of some huge bird. The moment I saw it, something inside my chest began to ache.

The throne room was in ruins. Cracked pillars leaned at dangerous angles. Deep fractures split the marble floor, veins of destruction spreading outward from the center like the aftermath of a storm. Chairs lay overturned. Blood stained the ground in dark, uneven smears. The great doors stood half off their hinges, bent inward as if something powerful had forced its way through without asking permission. My chest tightened. “What… the fuck,” I rasped. I pushed myself upright, every muscle protesting as I staggered to my feet. My head spun briefly, memories slamming back into place in jagged fragments.

Looked around the table slowly making eye contact with every single one of them. “I dream of empires that don’t need permission slips from councils of scared old bitches and spoiled pure-bloods to exist. I dream of thrones I built with my own hands, not handed to me because I spread my legs for the right Alphas. I dream of revenge so clean and so complete that the people who sold me wake up screaming my name for the rest of their short, pathetic lives.” I pushed off the table. Stepped back.