Chronicles Of An Aristocrat Novels & Stories

Jake asked her while pulling the dead boar from the ground to their place. Amira just shrugged and smiled at them. " Simple, just luck!" She muttered and place her tool on her back. Agnes was quite disappointed in herself. She's not happy after all. She only plays nicely to her princess because it's her role. She's a slave of the kingdom. She's only a servant. She's not even her friend, she only fantasizes about it. "Good job, my lady! You did well today!" She fakenly blurted out while rolling her eyes at the back of her.

His grey eyes tracked the micro-movements of the crowd like a predator selecting its next kill from a cornered herd. "They look remarkably fragile when you take away their titles, Dmitry," Natalia murmured, her layered, royal voice carrying a cold, quiet resonance that made the aristocrats in the front row flinch. "They are fragile, Natalia," Dmitry purred, his deep baritone dropping to a low register that sent a visible shiver through the kneeling crowd. "They built a civilization out of paper ledgers and pedigree charts, believing that because their ancestors hid behind a mountain for three centuries, the world outside would never learn how to climb. Now, the mountain is gone, and they hav

Sure enough, when he spoke again, the face of Chloe sitting opposite suddenly turned deathly pale. “Almost bankrupt the Davenier family raising you? Is the Davenier family so weak that it’s just a fallen household? Don’t worry, the Davenier family can’t afford you anyway. My Westvale family is the real aristocracy. You can cause trouble all you want—we’re not afraid!” Esther: “…” Is that what he means? Is that really what he means? What’s wrong with this guy?! There’s a limit to joking around! ***

The name hit my skull like late static electricity. Rafael. Vittorio. Ricciardi. My right hand tightened on the desk. The nail of my middle finger dug into the wood. I only noticed when the tiny stab of pain arrived. “Can you imagine the press? That European dynasty? It’s like Succession, but richer and actually old,” Dianna went on. “And we—” “No,” I said. She stopped. “What?” I looked at her. “Decline.” Her carefully shaped brows pulled together. “What do you mean ‘decline’? Ara, have you seen the number? This isn’t just a wedding. This is—”

Clara praised me immediately. We both kissed each other, and she glanced over at the hot pink mini dress I was wearing for a night out. That dress is very revealing because it has a deep v-shape neck and is backless. I can move there because there is tape, and my soul will not just come out. "Thanks, Clara. Well, I used to be hot, right?" I told her, bragging and joking. We both laughed, and she nodded. "Stop it, you two. You're raising your own chair again," Josiah interrupted the conversation to tease.

She wore a deep sapphire dress that clung in all the ways the stylist had intended, collar like a black ribbon at her throat, hair pinned up to expose the curve of her neck. “Politician,” Aria narrated in her ear. “Rival. Old money. Old sins. He likes to think he’s smarter than the men who keep his debts quiet.” Kael adjusted his cufflink and glanced at Lys’s reflection. “You think you can behave?” he asked. She smiled, slow. “Give me a definition first.” His mouth twitched. “Don’t start a war in the middle of the hors d’oeuvres.” “No promises,” she said.

A pyramid of delicate champagne glasses, stacked one on top of the other, twinkling under the golden lights. My fingers tighten around my red bag as I take a slow, intentional step forward. I already know my next move. “Happy anniversary, my darling. And cheers.” Roy’s voice carries through the air, dripping with the kind of arrogance that used to make my skin crawl. He lifts his glass high, a warm smile on his face. The crowd echoes him, raising their glasses in unison. I make my move. Reaching down, I pluck a single glass from the base of the towering pyramid.

and there he was the hypocrite silence " come sit down with us" It was a table full of greedy aristocrats Celeus set down " our empire is on safe hands with you as our prince" says the aristocrat " this idiots had no chance against our prince" " well ofcourse, he is my son after all" says the king " Haha, your right my king" " I wish I could see their faces crying for their life" says an aristocrat " Oh how I wish I could see it too"

The grand ballroom of the Cliffside Hotel was a study in opulent cruelty. Crystal chandeliers blazed, their light glinting off the champagne flutes of the city's elite, who mingled with an air of morbid curiosity. At the center of the room, displayed on velvet-draped pedestals, were the relics of Lanc Arcony's life: a gold pocket watch, a set of leather-bound journals, a painting from his private collection. It was a museum of a ghost, curated by his jilted lover, and the main exhibit was my son.

Following his gaze everyone around the table grimaced. "I just don't believe in unnecessary death." Nerissa harrumphed. "Who says it's not necessary? We're not talking the execution of some random women and children. We're talking about the people who're the prime reason your city fell in a single night. They've lived lording over their subjects for thousands of years without remorse. Their ambitions and actions only getting worse and worse over time." Christopher argued his voice cold. The mask may hide his face but it did nothing hiding his feelings as he spoke. And if there was one thing evident at this very moment. He loathed the nobility.