Crimson Gown Novels & Stories

My patience is needed for a greater cause. I moved through the halls in silence, head held high, eyes fixed on nothing and everything. The tailors were beginning to arrive for my fittings. “Lady Lyra,” one of them greeted with a bow. “The first coronation gown is nearly complete. Crimson silk with golden embroidery. You’ll look radiant beside the king.” I smiled politely. “Lovely. I’ll come for the fitting later,” I said softly like a woman whose dream had just come true but boiling with rage inside.

Thorncrest wolves filled every level, dressed in formal black and silver, their faces turned toward me with hunger, contempt, curiosity, and fear. The room smelled of roses. Not real ones. Selene. My stomach tightened. The white gown waited at the far end of the hall. Displayed on a silver chair beside Damien like an offering. It was not the same gown. Not exactly. This one was cleaner, newer, more elaborate. White silk. Silver thread. Long sleeves. High throat. A delicate crown placed across the folded bodice. A costume for a ghost. A threat made of fabric. Damien had prepared the hall exactly as I remembered it.

Chapter 15: The Widow’s Second Wedding "White is for the innocent, Bianca. You’re wearing the blood I spilled for you." Dante’s voice rumbled behind me as the seamstress tightened the corset. I stared at my reflection. The dress wasn't the virginal silk my father would have chosen. It was a heavy, structured ivory that caught the light like polished bone, but the underskirt was a deep, bruised crimson. Every time I moved, a flash of red peeked out—a secret wound trailing behind me.

She giggled and raised the gown from it's hanger. I had designed it myself but somehow, I was amazed when the tailor was done. I had chosen crimson velvet to signify my bloodline and authority. The sleeves where long and flowing, ending with silver cuffs. The bodice designed with silver embroidery that formed the shakes of wolves, forest and the moon if you look close enough. Celine helped me wear the gown. As I felt the weight of my leather belt around my waist with my daggers in them, I straightened my spine and leveled my shoulders.

Today is the day of our mating ceremony and coronation, a moment I had dreamt of yet scarcely believed would come to pass. The room buzzed with activity. Maids and professionals bustled around me, their movements precise and practiced. They had dressed me in a breathtaking gown of deep sapphire and crisp white, the colors of our Pack. The bodice was a delicate lattice of silver thread and intricate beadwork, glistening like stars scattered across a midnight sky. The gown flared out from my waist in a cascade of layers, each one a whisper of silk and satin, catching the light as I moved. The train was long and flowing, pooling around my feet like a shimmering sea, held up by Mari as I walked.

Alika’s POV The blood beneath my fingernails hadn’t dried when they forced the gown onto me. Ivory white, laced with deep crimson—not thread, but sinew. I could tell by the smell. The way it clung to my skin like a living thing that breathed. The spirits didn’t speak in words. They didn’t have to.

She only knows that her Alpha is gone. ​"Fine," I whisper, the word scratching my dry throat. "We play it your way, Clyde." ​I spend three hours preparing. I refuse to look like a convalescent. I refuse to look like a girl who fainted in a bathtub and had to be rescued. ​I choose a gown that isn't a dress; it’s a declaration of war. It’s a deep, obsidian-shot blood red, the silk so heavy it feels like a second skin. It’s backless, exposing the smooth expanse of my spine, but the front is a high, structured collar that frames my face like a portrait. I don't hide the mark on my neck with lace or jewels. I leave it bare—a mahogany brand against my pale skin.

"Could you bring me another gown, please? This time in red." "Of course, miss," the clerk said, clearly sensing the tension in the air. While we waited, Vivian continued her performance, adjusting her white dress and posing to catch the light. Her friends clustered around her, offering increasingly forced compliments about how angelic she looked. The clerk returned with a stunning red gown that made my breath catch. The color was bold and dramatic, a deep crimson that seemed to glow with its own inner fire. It was the complete opposite of anything I'd ever worn before – daring where I'd once been safe, bold where I'd once been careful.

My breath caught and never came back. It was a crimson silk gown so rich it looked wet. The bodice plunged into a soft V that promised to cradle and reveal in the same breath. But the back—Holy God—the back was two whisper-thin straps crossing low, so low the fabric barely kissed the base of my spine before flaring into a skirt that skimmed mid-thigh. A slit climbed high enough to make nuns faint. The color was blood and fire and every deadly sin stitched into one devastating gown. He held it out. “This.”

Her eyes swept over the silk, and she gave a small, noncommittal hum. “It is a lovely color on you, Willow, but I think it’s too simple for this event ” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “Try the red one next” I retreated and pulled on the crimson gown. It was bold, with a neckline that made me feel more exposed than I was used to. When I walked out, The Luna smiled, her eyes lighted up for a second. “This looks very good” she murmured. She paused, tapping a finger against her chin as she inspected the fit.