Blood Of The True King Novels & Stories

He didn’t look like a man anymore. He looked like the ruler of the underworld. A king made of blood and vengeance. “Chapter 45,” he murmured, voice dropping into lethal promise, “begins with bodies.”

I made them believe that we are not their enemies and that they must protect us. I could feel my body weakening. I could feel the weight of using the new ability I discovered with every one I manipulated but I did not pay it any mind. Even when my nose started bleeding. When my knees almost gave out. They need me and this is all I can contribute. "Father!" Kohen's loud scream caught my attention and I saw the king falling on his knees. What happened? There were no other injuries other than the stab—poison. The queen laughed manically while staring at her husband who was now fighting for his life.

Micah said slowly, making her way to where Berth was seated on the bed. She took Berth's hand in hers… "The king told me something quite shocking today, Micah…" Berth began, her eyes full of dread. "The king owes Father a debt that can never be repaid; Father saved him. Father saved the king from the clutches of a bear." Berth began, and Micah was so shocked that she almost forgot to breathe. She slowly lets go of Berth's hand; Micah's eyes flash with anger. "So… Father didn't die naturally; he was killed! Murdered in cold blood?!

Supernaturals—especially vampires—healed faster. Except... they were given substances to slow that ability. The king began to speak, and the low murmuring seized. “You all know one of the things I hate,” he paused, locking ice-blue eyes with Erin. “Being taken for a fool. Do you know these guys?” Erin’s babbling would have been comical if this weren’t a pivotal moment in the case. I didn’t feel like laughing—I wanted to hear the truth. “N-not at all, my king. I—I have never met them before.”

Matteo Romano. He rose from the shadowed corner, towering, broad-shouldered, his black suit tailored with the precision of a king in exile. His face was carved in lines of command: sharp jaw, straight nose, lips that could give orders like death sentences. But it was his eyes that froze the blood in her veins. obsidian, fathomless and unreadable. Il Re di Ferro. The Blood King. Whispers rippled through the hall like wind through dry leaves. No one expected him here. No one dared to speak his name too loudly.

" 'HELP!' she screamed, but they didn’t listen. They thrust the golden dagger into her chest, and her blood spilled out. They collected it into a golden cup and served it to him. He drank from the cup as though it were ordinary wine, and just like that, the vampire king’s curse was broken. The end!" She ended the story with a squeal and a bright smile, but what she got in return were long faces. "What?" she blinked, confused. "You don’t like the ending?" She searched their faces for answers.

Across the ruined throne room, younger versions of Lorrie and Lorenzo stood surrounded by smoke. Past-Lorrie was clutching a crying newborn to her chest, her face pale, blood dripping down her temple. Beside her stood Past-Lorenzo, his armor shattered, his blade dripping with black blood. They looked terrified, yet utterly devoted to one another. Suddenly, the heavy iron doors of the sanctum exploded inward. A figure shrouded in living shadows walked through the flames, wearing a crown of jagged black iron. The First King. "Give the boy to me," the First King commanded, his voice shaking the stone floor. "He belongs to the primordial bloodline."

I pulled the ancient, blood-stained scroll of the Old Northern Dynasty from my belt, holding it up so he could see the royal sigil—a seal that predated his petty lineage by a thousand years. "My mother wasn't just a 'soft-hearted fool' for you to break, Silas. She was the last keeper of the True Blood. I am the only Princess of the Old North, a Sovereign by blood and by blade. And today, I am stripping you of the only thing you ever cared about."

Valerius slowly brushed a light dusting of white frost from the tattered crimson velvet of his cloak. He did not look at his frozen, mummified army. He did not look at the shattered iron gates of the fortress. He looked up at the battlements. He looked directly at the General carrying my unconscious body away from the parapet. A slow, terrifying, and profoundly possessive smile spread across the True King’s pale, flawless face. The sight of my grand-scale environmental magic hadn't filled him with fear. It hadn't filled him with anger. It had filled him with an insatiable, dark obsession.

Its body formed from black smoke and silver bones. “Me.” The right handprint filled with darkness. The door pulsed. Raiken’s blue fire surged. “You are not a king.” “I wore your blood. Your face. Your throne.” The smoke leaned closer. “I remember every choice you were too weak to keep.” The seal began to turn. I lifted both hands. White water gathered around the door. The false king smiled. “You cannot stop a royal claim.” “No.” I looked at the crown carvings. “But I can question it.”