Crown Of Blood Novels & Stories

One thing Roxanne liked and hated about being dragged into a mare's nest and a world of dementia in Blood Moon pack were the elegant and elaborate ball parties they threw, where the champions looked their best and Roxie got to feel beautiful and a princess. Just like the other girls, Roxie was dressed pretty, in a glamorously red gown that flowed to the floor, her hair was done and her makeup was nicely touched by Bloom who fortunately didn't bake her face with too much makeup, unlike the other girls who looked like they had eaten up makeup and was overly dressed.

The pack roars with laughter and many of the members begin to chant, "Let her sit, let her sit." Victor stands beside my throne and the head elder walks towards him holding my crown on a golden pillow. I gasp when he hands the crown to Victor. The crown is gold filigree with diamonds and emeralds on the tops of each point. Just over Victor's shoulder I can see the Blood Moon shining brightly in the sky. It is almost at its highest point in the night sky. Looking back at Victor I notice that he has already begun his speech. I cringe inwardly hoping that I have not missed anything important.

Just wind. And silence. Behind her: the crown—no longer gold, but forged in obsidian and bullet casings. It wasn’t worn. It was placed—on a pedestal. A symbol. She didn’t need it on her head. Because the world had already bent its knees. ~~~~~~~~~~ BOOK OF BLOOD — FINAL ENTRY OF THE CITADEL ERA “I did not inherit an empire. I burned the ashes and named the smoke.” “I did not want their crown. I broke it, reforged it, and left it behind.”

Each blow echoed with years of loss. “You destroyed our name,” John rasped. “You turned it into a curse.” “You fool,” the Blood Father spat, lurching up. “I saved this place, I gave it fear, strength, power to survive.” “No,” John growled. “You caged it in your madness.” John reached for the gleaming black crown on the Blood Father’s head and tore it free. The Hollow trembled. The crown pulsed in his grip, golden veins twitching like they were alive. The moment he touched it, heat surged up his arm, raw magic biting into his skin.

Her blood fell in perfect rhythm with the moon’s pulse. Bianca watched, every maternal instinct screaming, This is wrong. Yet her destiny, carved in prophecy and flame, would not release her. “Repeat after me,” Bianca commanded, though her voice faltered. “Blood to blood. Bone to bone.” “Blood to blood,” Luna echoed, her voice steady, “bone to bone.” “Crown of the serpent, release your throne.” The wind howled, tearing at their hair, their cloaks. The crown lifted slightly, defying gravity, a thin trail of blood connecting it to Bianca’s hand like a living tether.

It was for a purpose. This time, she would not die in the dark. This time, the crown would burn before it fell into another’s hands.

I’ll shatter it before dawn, and I’ll make her thank me for it. ═══════⊹⊱♚⊰⊹═══════ What Awaits Author’s Note: You’ve met the firebrand. You’ve seen the king fracture. Now—watch the tower burn. Midnight Crown is a dark romance built on crime, obsession, betrayal, and slow-burn war between two people who should have destroyed each other—but didn’t. Because control is never clean, and neither is love. You’ll drown in silence and secrets as the story unfolds through four arcs:

Just beauty for its own sake. Flowers bloomed from our palms, each one reflecting a different perspective. Golden roses for Kael's fierce devotion. Silver lilies for Rhett's sharp intelligence. Blue orchids for Darius's gentle strength. Violet nightshade for Marcus's dark history transformed. And in the center, a bloom that shifted through every color—Lyra's cosmic nature, containing multitudes. We wove them together into a crown. Not for wearing. Just for creating. Just to prove that even as one being, we could still make beautiful things.

The hallway had different sections; Joya was in one of the sections of the hallway and was about to take a turn in the direction Ragaleon was coming from. When another maid called her, catching her attention. She turned around, her ponytail dangling behind her, eyes so blue they reflected like crystals. Simultaneously, Ragaleon took the opposite direction of the hallway, without catching a glimpse of Joya; Joya was backing him. The maid handed over a brush for dusting to Joya. Joya took the brush and then turned around; it was then she saw a man with a golden crown on his head, walking away, the cape attached to his royal outfit swaying behind. His right hand clenched a golden horn, which wa

“Like that.” Sirens screamed closer, red and blue slashing through the broken windows, lighting the walls in streaks. Sienna’s gut clenched—cops could mean help or a bigger mess. She dug the vial out, holding it up, the red inside catching the glow. Yours, Sienna. Always was. Her blood, his blood—Dorian’s twisted game, and she was neck-deep.