Casting Crowns Courageous Novels & Stories

Lila tiptoed just to clip the veil on Emery's braided, black hair to secure it because the soon-to-be crowned queen was rather taller than the average height. She, then, whispered, “Your Highness, a lady must learn to be patient.” The soon-to-be queen rolled her eyes at her statement. When the horn was blown, Emery walked with careful steps on the aisle that led to the king's side. She minded every step she made because her burning red robes reached the floor and if she stepped on it, she will surely become the laughing stock of the palace. At the end of the aisle was the throne made of gold. Its sides were carved with wolves—the predators that best represent the current king.

Royalty…- my wolf spit the word out with more venom than I had ever felt work through her. There is no way, there HAS to be a mistake- I told her back. I even allowed her to speak once they announced it, asking how they were chosen and whether we could change it up, invoke someone else, someone more worthy. I didn’t use those exact words, but I knew they knew what I meant. Fucking Molina Abuela came out of nowhere with the crowns and we had to stand there and watch as their powers grew and they got literal crowns on their unworthy heads.

My skin crawls at the thought of baring his disgusting mark. Crow's large toned body is almost identical to Trent's, and that makes my worry only grow. They are as even as my mate was to Gunnar. Trent attacks first, and Crow dodges in the nick of time. He swipes at the womanizer's black pelt but also misses. Trent strikes again and lands a hard blow to Crow's head. Crow stumbles, and Trent attacks. He claws Crow's face, and when Crow lifts his arm to block, Trent latches onto it.

He was at the back. Children at the edges who were smaller children when I left and learned from the adults around them what to call me and what to do with what they called me. None of them spoke. Zayden rode beside me and said nothing. His presence was doing its own work without requiring words. Alpha Zayden Crowe of Obsidian Keep was known across every northern territory. The scarred arms and the gray eyes and the quality of contained force that he carried everywhere he went. The Red Claw wolves who did not know what to do

I am so small that his one big hand can almost go all the way around my bones. "You..." His mouth opens and closes. He looks at my thick clothes, then he looks at the big pain in my eyes. He sees that I am trying to act strong even though I am terrified. He just stands there. Many years later, Castiel Crowe will still talk about my face at this moment. He cannot understand how a wolf can look so broken and so proud at the same time.

I kept my expression neutral as I picked up the card, clicking my tongue softly. "That ornament might look old, but it's still an antique. There's even an auction tag on it. Didn't you notice?" "Yeah, right," Jim scoffed. "My underwear has a tag, too. Guess that makes it an antique." He didn't take the hint at all. Instead, he grabbed my clothes, trying to pull at the fabric. "All that talk, and you're just after money in the end. Quit stalling. Start taking it off. Maybe if the guys here enjoy the show, they might toss you a few bucks to help you pay for the bag."

“Two days ago, Alexander personally took her to a private jeweler. Measurements, design consultations—he stayed the entire time.” My heart clenched. “There’s more,” Ethan continued. “And it gets worse.” “I accessed her private cloud. Password was Alexander’s birthday.” Inside were photos. Hundreds of them. I opened the file he sent. The album was titled: My Knight. The most recent post was dated two days ago. He said this crown belongs only to me. Just like him. Next week’s family dinner—he promised to give me a name. The image showed an exquisite bridal crown— diamonds and sapphires set in a constellation pattern.

Celeste: “I refuse your terms. I will not become the thunder that refuses to die. I will become the thunder that refuses to die alone. The storm does not outlive the ones I love. It lives because of them. Take it or leave it.” I reach up and rip the cracked Crown of Dacia off my head. Hold it out. The Thunder Crown screams (rage, fear, longing). Then it lunges. Not at me. At the circle. Lightning pours into all seven of us at once. It burns. It remakes. It binds. The two crowns shatter and reform as one (smaller, warmer, alive).

They stood together at the heart of the celebration, hands resting where they belonged, bound by choice and love beneath banners of storm and lion. Ancnix, scarred but standing, celebrated beneath a crown that no longer ruled through fear— —but through hope.

A wolf howled in the distance, and my heart sank when I realized that it was Ragnar. I could tell by how sad the howl sounded that he had discovered my absence. “I’m sorry, Ragnar,” I said and sighed. “I had to pick what was best for me.” I glanced at the crow and saw it watching me closely. After a few seconds, it spread out its wings and prepared to fly. At the base of its wing, I saw the unmistakable emblem of the Nightclaw pack. It wasn’t just any ordinary forest bird; it was a crow from the southern kingdom, and the idea that it must’ve been following us because it was ordered to sent a chill down my spine, and I pulled them to my side.