Crown Of The Kobold King 소설 & 이야기

All the guard bowed when they knew I was there and they repeated the gesture when Andras stood from the throne. He walked to me, two guards following him behind like the ones with me. When we were close enough, he dropped the crown from his head and placed it on the glass floor, following customs. As long as I was still the king, he had to follow them. I was expected to pick the crown and wear it. It was a black crown with different rare jewels on it. It had long spiky thorns of poison rising from it. It was perfect-fit, meaning it could resize itself to the perfect size on the user's head.

What she noticed in her readings was that the family was obsessed with jewels, which can be seen in their names. The pictures didn’t lie about the kingdom of Norway, which was full of gemstones. You can see it in all walls and structures. It may be on the outside or the inside. Since the kingdom is the venue for the prince’s engagement, Hannah has the privilege to look around. The whole structure and style of the palace was so alive because of the gemstones even when they were still at the main entrance of the palace. The gemstones were shining as the light from the lamp post hit them, making them visible to the naked eye. She knew that the security was very strict on a daily basis, but it w

A knight must be loyal to the crown—and every knight was expected to follow everything the king demands. "How was the search?" King Terrowin asked in a monotone. Kael raised his head, seeing the king's middle-aged face, with sharp, midnight eyes. His curly hair, as black as a crow—ran down to his shoulders. On his head the ice crown rested. Its majestic blue form and the elegant diamond gem at the crown’s front would force anyone to bow his/her head in respect. "Still no sign of the Forgotten Winter, Your Highness," Kael replied as he stood up straight. "We've got no leads in Hailborne City. And we're still waiting for the report from the other search in Casterfall."

"Long live the King! Long Live Queen Mother!" Everyone, including those at the high table stood up and bowed deeply. They all repeated; "Long live the King!" "Long Live Queen Mother!" Out of everyone in the hall, only Ron raised his head slightly to see the King and his breath was taken away. Zedekiel looked regal in his black and gold robes. The golden threads were woven within the black, creating the pattern of dragons. His smooth skin, white as snow was a beautiful sharp contrast with the black, giving him an other worldly presence. His silver wavy hair was let loose, gently grazing his shoulder. The cold looking silver crown atop his head with the red ruby in the middle made him look lik

His eyes, a piercing gray, scanned the room before landing on her. Emilia’s breath caught, but not for the reasons she had feared. He was undeniably striking, but his presence was unnerving. There was a weight to his gaze, as if he were assessing her, calculating her worth. Kael inclined his head toward her father, offering a curt but respectful bow. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “Prince Kael,” her father replied, gesturing toward the empty seat across from Emilia. “Please, join us.”

They see King Bartholomeo worn a camel's hair coat, black silk cloak, a hat trimmed with peacock feathers, along with a surcoat. His gold imperial crown features a green tourmaline as the center stone. It has 9 hoops that rise from the ring to form a single-rounded dome with arches rising at the center. He gently touched his white beard upon seeing them walking on the red carpet. Shortly after, they kneel down upon arriving in front of the King. King Bartholomeo stood up and noticed the bruises and contusions on their faces and bodies. He turned his gaze at Prince Arthur who was standing next to them. "I felt some earthquakes behind the kingdom. Did you just revive some creatures so your war

Kael (voice flat, lethal): “Xibalba. Death-lord faction. They took him through an unregistered cenote gate in the lower catacombs. They left this.” He hands me a jaguar mask carved from obsidian. On the inside, written in Remy’s blood: “The crown is the key. The coyote is the lock. Come alone or he wears his own skin as a coat.” The Thunder Crown on my wrist flares white-hot. I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I go very, very quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before lightning learns a new language.

It waited there, silent and claimless, an ancient burden cast aside. The Crown of Eldoria. Forged in the heart of dragonfire. Set with moonstone mined from the sacred caverns of the Frostpine Wilds. Passed from one ruler to another, generation after generation. Kings and queens had worn it, yes, but not as a symbol of glory. The Crown of Eldoria was a chain. A heavy, unyielding chain that demanded sacrifice and blood and obedience. Elara reached out, her fingers hovering above the twisted metal. She felt it hum faintly, an ancient pulse of power, a whisper demanding order, calling for submission.