Belle Crown Novels & Stories

Helena watched, breath caught. "Blythe..." Blythe lifted the crown. The metal was warm, as though the blood of those who'd fought still pulsed within it. She turned it in her hands. Not polished. Not royal. Real. Xavier stepped forward. "That's not the crown they gave you." "No," she murmured. "It's the one I earned." She straightened and placed the crown on her head. A hush fell. The Umbra warriors bowed their heads. Even Marrow lowered her gaze.

Damon drifts toward center ice and stops at the logo. I follow. For a moment, we stand where the game began. Where so much between us almost ended. “Funny,” he says. “All that fighting over who gets the crown.” “And?” He looks at me fully. “There was only ever one.” The words hang there. Not competitive. Not sharp. Certain. Only one crown. And it doesn’t belong to one king. The arena lights dim slightly as the crew prepares to clean up. I feel his hand brush mine. Not by accident.

The council chamber smelled of incense and fear. Nobles lined the benches, jewels glittering against nervous hands. Whispers flooded the air, thick and poisonous. The Alph King wasn't present but his right handman who can also make decisions in his place was there. Xander wasn't present either, probably babysitting his slave mate. I stood tall in the center, my gown chosen deliberately...deep crimson, cut sharp, the color of blood spilled. I had not come to plead. I had come to strike. “My lords,” I began, my voice ringing clear. “You have heard the rumors, but let us strip away rumor and face truth. The crown prince has bound himself to a slave.”

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

So why was my chest filling with something that felt dangerously close to hope? "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but... she is a disgraced omega. Why would the crown want her?" The King looked down at me, kneeling in the dirt with my wrist bleeding where the iron had scraped it, and when he answered, his voice was loud enough for all to hear. "Because she is my mate."

They were the stewards of the land, entrusted with the welfare and prosperity of their people. As the ceremony reached its pinnacle, the crowns themselves were brought forth, symbols of authority and unity. Kendrick's crown was studded with precious gemstones, reflecting the strength of his rule, while the Faith's crown was adorned with delicate filigree, symbolizing her wisdom and grace. The king's crown was placed upon Kendrick's head with a regal solemnity, a weight that he accepted with a sense of duty and honor. The queen's crown followed, its gentle placement a reminder of the delicate balance she would bring to the kingdom.

he roars up loud enough to make his voice reach even the hidden ears of children between and under the tall people. The low branch of the tree is no longer behind the king's head. The glowing round sun is making the crown on his glitter and his light brown face appears lighter closer to white. "Long live king, Thomas" hails the crowd in the consortium. Sound of whistles, wooden drums, and small ball stones striking in hand, rise in the air to the clear and bright sky. King steps down from the stone ring. The round glowing sun behind his head doesn't leave his company.

The golden collar gleamed like a crown—and wasn't that the sickest joke of all? Kael had worn crowns. Small ones during ceremonies, elaborate ones for state functions, the simple circlet that marked him as Crown Prince during court sessions. He knew the weight of gold against skin, knew how it caught the light and proclaimed ownership, status, *power*. But he'd never seen gold used like this. Never seen it twisted into a symbol of possession rather than authority.

I simply didn’t trust them, not fully. “I’d rather leave them with you,” I told Liam. “I’d rather go with you,” he countered. So we were in a dead lock. I wasn’t sure what to do. I really wanted to find Johnson, but I had to look out for Billy and Belle too. I felt like there was no good solution. “Uncle Liam, your crown is ready,” Belle announced, holding out the crown on the palm of her hands. “Wow, you’re fast,” Liam smiled down at her. Then he bent down and she placed it on her head.

"Why?" He tilted his head, a motion smooth and wolfish, as though the beast within him had never truly left. His damp hair fell across his brow, shadowing one crimson eye, but even concealed, his beauty was a thing to unmake the world. "Because I am a curse," he said softly through lips that looked carved for both cruelty and tenderness. He seemed too much: too regal, too dangerous, too unearthly for this small, lamplit room. "And those who hunt curses care little for what else burns in their wake."