Burning Crown Novels & Stories

All of his hype comes from his brothers, how good-looking he is or horny people who like smut-filled books. His brothers are just as famous as him. His eldest brother, Christian Crown runs a few strands of clubs and hotels. The middle brother, Khalil Crown is the maker and designer of the Crown. A car luxury brand, which became as popular as BMWs, Teslas, Lamborghinis, Mercedes and other car brands in just its first year of being produced. Soon enough they became on the same level as Rolls Royce, Lambos and other luxury cars. I do have to admit Crown cars are sexy as fuck.

“Princess Deloris, will you uphold the customs and duties of the crown?” I nod my head. “I will.” The same voice booms again and snaps me yet again to attention. “Princess Deloris, do you accept the crown?” Again, I nod. “I do.” A couple of clergy step forward. One puts the crown on my head, while the other places the royal golden egg with my family’s crest in my hand. My eyelids again dip, but a slight pain in my shoulder has me whipping my eyelids wide open again.

Twisted, Formed something solid. A crown. Made entirely of white fire. Floating above Lyra's head. Pulsing with her heartbeat. The power inside her calmed. Stopped churning. Flowed into the crown instead. Contained, controlled, given form. The flames died down. The crown remained. Hovering, burning, beautiful and terrible. Lyra stood in the circle, breathing hard. The crown cast white light across her face. Made her eyes glow. One silver, one shadow. Both reflecting the Crownfire.

I ignored them completely and looked straight at Violet. "Ms. Neel, you still have time to admit you're wrong. Otherwise, when this blows up in your face, it's going to hurt." Violet clearly believed I was just like her, another fake trying to bluff her way through. She lazily pulled out a black card and flicked it onto the desk in front of me. "Name your price." A gasp rippled through the crowd. "That's the unlimited black card, right? If Violet's not the real heiress, I'll eat my own words."

A crown of shadow floated over my head. The Crown whispered through me. This is justice. Heat spread under my skin. Not warmth. Power. Dark and intoxicating, rushing through my blood like wine after starvation. The red roots around my arm became silver. The pain dulled. Then disappeared. The village returned in fragments. Smoke. Screams. Cassian shouting my name. Damien’s face above the square. The Crown whispered again. Take it. Make them kneel. All of them. My fingers curled.

Across the entire Crown now. The Hollow Queen screamed again. Stop her! The panic in her voice was overwhelming. If she gets free— The sentence never finished. Because the Crown exploded. Not into pieces. Into light. Silver fire erupted into the sky. The force threw everyone backward. Cassian crashed into the snow. Kaelen hit a broken pillar. Astrid's warriors were knocked off their feet. Even the creature staggered. Lyra remained standing. At the center of the storm. The Crown hovered above her head.

Others froze. Damien fired a shot into the ceiling, the sound deafening in the enclosed space, and shouted orders in Italian that Elena didn’t understand. Most of the workers bolted for the exits, but three returned fire. Someone grabbed Elena and shoved her behind a concrete support beam just as bullets ricocheted off metal and glass exploded nearby.

Only enough to show uncertainty but not enough to show fear. “We still control the narrative,” Marcus said, and he could hear the desperation creeping into his voice now, could feel his grip on the situation slipping like sand through clenched fists. “The people still believe in moral corruption. They still believe that the crown has been compromised by degeneracy. All we need is...”

"Place the crown and claim the North." Madison didn't move it toward her head. She gripped the metal. Her knuckles turned a bloodless white. A low, celestial hum began to radiate from her palms. The air around the crown began to shimmer with a white-hot intensity. Sizzle. The gold began to weep. Molten droplets hit the obsidian floor, burning holes into the stone. The diamonds turned to gray ash. Within seconds, the crown was a shapeless, glowing puddle of liquid fire dripping through her fingers.

It shimmered between worlds, and he could see glimpses of her, of the realm she walked. “She’s still fighting,” he said quietly. The Crown pulsed in his hand. He knew what he had to do. Callen had warned him: once worn, the Crown would mark him permanently. There would be no going back. But she was in there. He had to get her out. With trembling hands, John lifted the Crown. As it settled on his head, fire coursed through his veins. His knees buckled, his vision exploded into red light, and his soul fractured, then he stood in the Hollow, not as a guest, as a challenger.