Best Arthurian Fiction Novels & Stories

Every scar, every wound—it only makes her shine brighter. “What is it, Arthur?” I ask, pushing open the door. My heart is racing. “Have you found something?” Arthur looks up from the old leather-bound book spread across the desk. His eyes are wide, a strange mix of excitement and uncertainty swimming in them. “Yes. A legend. A rare wolf... the Blood of All.” I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Alyssa steps forward, folding her arms. “Yeah, what does that mean exactly?”

I've heard that the books one has read will melt into his bones, blood, and thoughts. You can basically assume what kind of person that person is by what kind of books he likes to read. These books show signs of having been read, and Arthur would have read them all. Maybe he couldn't remember all the contents of the books. But such focus and perseverance make him an amazing leader. Why wouldn't I trust a knowledgeable and courteous Arthur, but rather doubt Arthur after hearing a few words from asshole Mark? I shouldn't have doubted Arthur. I just, I feel uneasy when Arthur's not around.

I prompted. “I am reading the epic poems by the Fae Sage Yric of Cynraed, most particularly the Paragon of Theodghar and the Deceit of Elovyn.” “Poetry,” I sat back on my heels and regarded him in bemusement. The beautiful golden-haired man was absorbed in reading poetry, or all the unusual things for him to possibly be reading in a dragon’s cave, poetry had not even entered my speculative list. “I did not imagine you would read poetry.”

"Kingston is the kind of wolf who would kill Arthur's favorite pet, cook it, and serve it back to him. He doesn't care what your status is. He'll do all that he can to destroy Arthur's life. Hurting you is incidental. A bonus, even.” Sinking back into the couch cushions, I realized I was spinning with questions. Part of me felt more secure in knowing a little bit about Arthur that humanized him emotionally but there was so much more I had to dissect. I didn't even notice when Jessica and Anthony left the room, I was so dizzy from the stories. My eyes wandered to the nearby fruit knife on the coffee table. It was just like the one that Arthur had been holding to Leo's throat. After glancing a

Both the lizardmen tribes relied on claws and teeth, and the jabberwocky just ate you whole. “A couple of archers and we could wipe them all out.” “Yes,” I said, “but unfortunately our best shot is down there like Aslan about to get a haircut.” Maurice screwed up his nose. “Please don’t mention that hack in my presence.” There are any number of writers you might dismiss as hacks, churning out shitty novels one after the other, but I wouldn’t have put children’s favourite C.S. Lewis among them. “I thought you would’ve liked Lion-Witch-Wardrobe.”

Berk Hill gripped his sword tightly and shouted: "Hurry up and catch him!" The soldiers rushed forward at once, some slashing with swords, others stabbing with spears. Arthur suffered countless injuries to his body, but the pain made him even more crazy. "Arrgg!!!" Arthur used his big fist to punch down once enough to cause two people to twist their necks and die. He used his bare hands to catch and break the sword that was slashing down on him, grabbing the blade and cutting the ill-fated soldier's neck. He even grabbed the spear, and using it, simultaneously pierced through three people, lifted them up, and threw them away, killing them instantly.

Arthur muses, then slowly maneuvers off the table and hobbles his way to a ladder leaning against the bookshelves. Soren is torn between Misty’s story as she recounts the war in Tarsian and watching Arthur scale the wall. I don’t blame him. Even Ryatt positions himself beneath the old man–the ancient being, by all accounts–in the event he falls to his death. “They were normal women. Kind women,” Misty continues hotly. “But one of them had pointy teeth.” “And the other?” Ryatt asks even though I know he’s already heard this story.

Arthur was barely alive as the pain of lost anatomy vibrated in his body and blood rushes out through the opening coating the inside of his thighs. Arnold tucks his sword back in the belt. Taking Arthur’s right arm, he breaks it by twisting it in the opposite direction while his one boot rests on the rapist’s shoulder. The nauseating crunch curls the hearts of little creatures peeking from their holes. Arthur’s grunt wasn’t manly now, maybe because he has lost his proof of being a male. Arnold went through the same process and breaks the left arm too before he reaches to rip Arthur’s shirt, leaving him completely naked. This man doesn’t deserve the honor of being dressed even in his death. P

The central courtyard was a warzone—stone slick with blood, bodies already fallen, guards clashing with wolves wreathed in blackened magic that smoked where it touched the ground. Shadowborne. They moved wrong. Their forms flickered between wolf and shadow, half-phased, eyes glowing sickly violet as they tore through Arthur’s soldiers with unnatural speed. Arthur stood at the center of it all. A black titan of fur and fury, massive even among wolves, his roar splitting the air as he lunged, claws shredding through shadow-flesh that screamed when it died. Blood streaked his flank—but he didn’t slow. He couldn’t. There were too many.

No matter how cold the weather was, he preferred being bare chested, always revealing the black to brown hairs on his chest. "I promise, someone will have to destroy you some day." The man let out a thunderous scornful laugh that echoed or several minutes after he stopped. "It's been three thousand years now, woman..." he said after everything had gone quiet, word by word and slowly accentuating "woman" with even scorn, and slowly began walking around the woman. "Oh, I'm sorry... Your Highness Sandra, hail the Excellent queen." He said, slightly bowing at the word 'your Highness.' "Who owns Arthmata now? Tell me!"