Crown Of The Deep Green Novels & Stories

All of his hype comes from his brothers, how good-looking he is or horny people who like smut-filled books. His brothers are just as famous as him. His eldest brother, Christian Crown runs a few strands of clubs and hotels. The middle brother, Khalil Crown is the maker and designer of the Crown. A car luxury brand, which became as popular as BMWs, Teslas, Lamborghinis, Mercedes and other car brands in just its first year of being produced. Soon enough they became on the same level as Rolls Royce, Lambos and other luxury cars. I do have to admit Crown cars are sexy as fuck.

They had uncovered secrets but ignored the greatest one within their grasp. Elior reached into his cloak. The others tensed slightly, as if sensing what he was about to do. His fingers closed around the cold metal, and slowly, he pulled The Crown from its binding. It was a thing of dark beauty, its surface glinting in the firelight. The metal was blackened with age, yet veins of silver pulsed faintly across its ridges, like a heartbeat beneath the surface. It was neither large nor ostentatious, simple, yet impossibly heavy in its presence.

“Don’t worry… I am not forcing you to stay by my side. That is why, Emery, I will give you this one last chance to decide. Will you choose to be with me or do you want to return to the eastern continent with King Lawson? If you choose the latter, I will understand and will let you go without harm. However, if you choose me now… I promise to never let you go no matter what. I will cherish you for the rest of my life no matter how many of my people would go against us. You will become the empress of the Varmore Empire and do whatever you wish to do.” He then showed her the ring that was carefully forged with expensive raw materials by the greatest jeweler in the empire. With one glance, it loo

William dropped to one knee before me, indifferent to the shards of glass slicing through his pricey pants. He clasped my shaking hand, his gaze warm and filled with a gentle pity. "Sophia, my dear little Principessa, forgive my tardiness." He slipped off his trench coat, still holding his warmth, and draped it over my shivering frame with precise care. Then, with fingers sheathed in black leather gloves, he tenderly wiped away the dew from my lashes. His voice was a deep, raspy whisper. "The car held a first-aid kit, top-shelf liquor, and three hundred brand-new Brownings.

Sanctioned means no one touches you—unless someone higher says they can. Caelric steps closer. “Where is the token.” The attacker’s eyes flick down, terrified. Soryn’s grip tightens, and the man whimpers. “Pocket—inside—” Caelric reaches in and pulls out something small. Metal. A coin-sized medallion. Even from across the room I can see the etching—too clean, too official. A crown shape. A vertical line through it like a blade. My blood turns cold. Caelric’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes harden into something I’ve only seen right before people disappear.

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.

“I can do it again.” Outside, the bells tolled midnight. Deep beneath the palace, in the Sanctum, frost crept along the golden walls. And in that silence, somewhere between prayer and power, the two sisters began to draw closer once more, one in chains, one in silk, each preparing to claim the crown that the other could not hold.

“I promise.” Promises were easy to make, but keeping them was another matter. ********* Just before sunset, the guards announced that the breeder had arrived. My heart sank. I stood beside Kael in the entrance hall as the heavy doors opened. A young woman stepped inside. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Golden curls framed a delicate face, and her pale blue dress hung loosely over her slender figure. She looked around nervously before lowering her gaze. “So this is the Alpha’s breeder,” one of the elders murmured.

Other people knelt as the king starts announcing. “Today, I proclaim to all of you. Thariem of Lunekleare, the Crown Prince of Clapestris, is now, the Royal Knight of Clapestris, after the Order of Eren-Narses. The bearer of the highest title next to the King.”

Althea fought her way back to Argos for Lysandros and helped him reclaim the throne, only to find herself trapped in the enemy kingdom of Thrace, wearing a slave's collar for three full years. Through three years of mortal danger, being dragged behind chariots, and bone-chilling winters, Althea survived on a single conviction: her betrothed, Lysandros, would come to rescue her. But when she finally set foot in the royal city again, what awaited her was not an embrace. It was a heavy golden laurel crown pressed against her brow, the Sacred Flame seal clutched in another woman's hand, and a royal heir growing in that woman's womb. She clung to one last hope: perhaps they had cast her aside onl