Burning Crown Novels & Stories

she says evenly before striding away from the chambers, her composure masking the fury brewing within her. Back in her own chambers, the maids exchange nervous glances, well aware of the empress’s volatile temper. Hastily, they open the door to her room, bracing themselves for the outpouring of anger that they know is imminent. Regina’s voice fills the air with frustration and fury as she releases her pent-up emotions, scattering jewels and shattering vases in her wake. The room bears witness to the storm within her, mirroring the turbulent tempest raging inside the Empress herself.

Betty screamed aloud and went to hide at the back of princess lucy who looked the more confused. She had to go check the outside to get what Betty was trying to say to her, to make sure Betty hadn't gone insane. When she peered through the narrow key hole of her door, she could see people running here and there all over the palace hall and fire was seen burning in big flames in the palace. Smoke came into her chamber in a minute and smelled deadly like someone or perhaps, an animal got burnt inside the flames. Where is stone?.

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.

Not here. He removed his hands from the bowl and stepped back. The high priestess placed the bowl on the floor where she poured water initially, and she started chanting in old tongue. The whole room was tense, and after what felt like eternity, the bowl lit up in a soft white, unmistakable glow. I didn’t know what it meant, but the look of horror on Jeremy’s face told me everything I needed to know.

"Kyle, even if the crown had to be thrown away, you shouldn't have been the one to do it!" Rosa screamed herself hoarse. In that moment, it was as if she had forgotten her status as the noble and dignified Luna. She couldn't even hear the pack's collective gasp as she charged straight toward the flames to grab the already warped metal crown with her bare hands. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Though the pain was excruciating, she didn't loosen her hold.

And then the tree ignited. A voice thundered—not aloud, but inside us: The Crown is broken. The heir lives. The balance falters. Lily staggered. I caught her. Her eyes glowed bright gold. “I know what we have to do,” she said. Lily The vision came in waves. A girl with my eyes stood at the center of a burning city. Fire in one hand. Shadow in the other. A crown—not worn, but hovering above her like a halo. Bone. Teeth. Gold.

It was testing our unity. And for the first time, I believed we might actually pass. The chamber didn’t dissolve like the others. It open, slow and deliberate, as though we had passed through something sacred rather than conquered it. The light from the dais surged upward, folding back into itself until what remained was a hovering crown wrought from pure ember, six points of flame arcing outward, each pulsing in rhythm with the Concord Sigil against my throat. I couldn’t breathe for a moment. The crown wasn’t physical, but it wasn’t an illusion either. It was memory, magic, inheritance. Aurelian magic. My magic.

A faint glow pulsed like its own heart beat a shape, curved mark that was glowing beneath the sleeve of my leathers, a mark only seen that I have only seen in books. The Lunar Bond. She looked up. Across the table, Aeryn Valecrow met her gaze again. In that moment she felt terrified and unafraid at the same moment. Nemphis did not like it but craved it all at once. She pushed forward even more.

When I finished the main column and set my finger on the initials at the bottom, E and S entwined with A, he decided the moment had ripened. "You are charming," he said, voice pitched to travel, disgust on a leash. "Pirates always are. They tell stories because their hands don't stand up in daylight. But stories are not law. The crown's seal is law." He lifted a paper of his own, thick, smug, ribboned. "By authority of Her Majesty the Queen, of whom this town is very fond, we declare these documents forgeries, concocted by felons to disrupt a sacred Conclave."

At the center, resting atop a stone pedestal, is a jagged crown—half bone, half scorched gold, smoldering with silent flame. Ceres (awestruck): "That's it…" Lady Ilven (reverently): "The Crown of Flame and Bone. Forged in dragonfire. Tempered with the blood of the first Umbra king. It can only be worn by a rightful heir." Guard (low voice): "It looks like it's… alive." Indeed, the crown pulses faintly as if breathing. Ceres: "Why bring me here?" I'm not here to rule. I want answers." Lady Ilven (approaching the pedestal):