Blades Of The Fallen Prince Novels & Stories

"I doubt Titania needs your assistance." His eyes traveled from Jayce to Beckett's arm. A sneer curled his lip. Another slice of cold pressed on Bailey and then she was out of Beckett's arms. She turned to the Summer Prince. He was clutching his arm to his chest, his fingers withered and skeletal. He didn't say anything, didn't make a sound of pain. But it had to hurt. Bailey whirled, eyes flashing. "Undo it, now." She stepped into Arawn, poking his chest sharply. "Don't you dare hurt what is mine!"

The Crown Prince frowns, reaching for his glass. As he does, the servant behind him – a tall man, too well-built for a server – draws a stiletto blade from his sleeve. I gasp, skittering back a little even as one of my hands reaches out for the prince. But there’s nothing I can do as the servant draws the blade raw across the Crown Prince’s throat. The Prince’s eyes go wide as blood spills down his front, his hand falling away from the cup, as he gasps and slumps forward.

If he can find the Queen, he would be greatly praised by the Emperor. The Prince let his guard down and approached when Jake kept signalling him to get closer, but just as he squatted down to hear the message, Jake suddenly moved, his legs swept down, sweeping the Prince from his feet. He fell back on his head, hitting hard on the floor. Moving swiftly, Jake picked up his sword and jerked himself ontop of the fallen Prince, placing the sharp blade on his neck. "You lose, pal. Any last words?"

She had seen Dakath, even talked to him, which meant the boots could only belong to— "Aradhon, I will say I am surprised the Warrior's Blade returned you to me. I thought for sure she would have killed you, regardless of our arrangement." Aradhon felt a tightening around his throat as his body was pulled from the ground. Prince Dakath held a hand out, flipping Aradhon until he stood, dangling over the ground, his feet barely touching the sand beneath him. His throat constricted more as Dakath stared at him with red catlike eyes, his dark hair still, even with the heated breeze that blew through the Nether. Creatures gathered behind Dakath, each jostling for a better position in which to watc

It sliced a tree in front of my eyes. I felt him nod. “I do. It originally belonged to Prince Arthur, one of the greatest human battle warriors to ever grace the earth. He was a valiant leader and he had my respect. In fact, the one that Zander showed you was a decoy. We have a lot of those kept in the castle weaponry. The original died with Prince Arthur when he was leading the English army, about to conquer Iliad.” “So, you’re a history nerd?” I joked. I didn’t care much for it but if it was coming from Dante’s lips, I would listen to a five hour lecture.

Countless sparks gathered on the bow, crackling. At that moment, the prince looked like a god of thunder. It aimed its bow and arrow right at Fane's forehead as it shouted, "Die!" The arrow shot out, and Fane pushed forward as well. The Broken Soul Blade shot forward incredibly quickly. The two attacks clashed with a loud noise. The thunder and the dense black color clashed together, and no one could tell what was happening. Probably because they were confident in the prince, and also because they knew how narcissistic the prince was, but the other beasts did not attack.

Arrows flew from my brother’s bow, their tips glazed with frost. Two wolf guards collapsed instantly—throats pierced, dead before their bodies hit the snow. My brother Vincent stepped over them, robes black, eyes colder than winter. Magic hissed on his skin like live wire. Behind him rolled a carriage of gilded ebony, the Blood Prince’s crest—an imperial eagle clutching a bloodstone crown. An arrow sliced past Seraphina’s ear and sheared off a lock of her hair.

The villainess. The plot of *The Prince's Rose* crashed over her. Prince Alexander, the golden-haired, stoic heir, destined to fall for Sophia Bellweather, the kind-hearted, orphaned daughter of a minor baron. And Lady Vivian? The Duke’s spoiled, ruthless daughter, obsessed with Alexander, engaged to him through political maneuvering. She would stop at nothing to eliminate Sophia – slander, sabotage, even attempted murder. Her actions would ultimately lead to her public disgrace, her engagement broken, her family ruined, and her exile to a desolate convent… before a mysterious, fatal "accident" befell her carriage on the journey. The readers had cheered at her downfall.

Unlike the three-panel format I’d seen before, this one told a sweeping story maybe ten, twelve scenes etched into one continuous timber. I stepped closer, and Ron appeared beside me once again. “Ah, the missing princess,” he said with a nod. “Most folks miss that one. This beam tells the tale of The Order’s only failure.” I blinked, intrigued. “The Order failed?” He smiled, eyes gleaming. “Oh yes. It begins with Duke Lockwood the ruler of this land long ago. He had a daughter, Lilliana. Said to be the most beautiful woman in all the provinces. But her father was… protective, some say obsessive. He kept her hidden away in a tower, allowing visits only from her tutor and himself.”