Romans & histoires Crowned Heads Blood Medicine

“What?” “The samples.” She tapped each vial in turn. “One feels like raw pressure. The other feels like it’s already trying to become a system.” He frowned slightly, considering that. “So the crowns may not care about the blood itself. They may care about what the blood proves you can survive.” Celeste went still. That was closer.

Under the chandelier light, it gleamed coldly. I had seen it my entire life but I never like this. An elder cleared his throat and spoke in a measured voice. “A drop of blood activates the compound beneath the crest, Pure lineage reacts chemically. The silver turns crimson.” “And if it does not?” someone asked. “It blackens,” he replied. “And there is no interference possible?” “None.” I stared at the crest, Crown or collapse. Across the table, Dante watched me without speaking. Victor’s gaze never left my face, there were no strategies left. No financial leverage. No hidden witnesses, Only blood.

1. The Shadow Crown Burns The Shadow Crown sat heavy on Ava’s head, colder than steel, yet thrumming with heat that pulsed beneath her skin. It wasn’t a crown forged by goldsmiths or royal decrees. It was made of blood. Of betrayal. Of truths too old to be remembered. As the altar burned with fireless flame, the world tilted. The five heirs knelt before her—but Rowan’s bow was slower, his movements hollow. His gaze never left hers.

The Queen POV I adjust the microscope and the slide comes into focus as a crease forms along my forehead. This isn’t what I had been expecting. After 10 separate tests, each of them came up with the same result and the same changes in the blood cells. It isn’t the royal blood, but it is Trinity’s blood which can heal people. The royal blood can heal lycans, but after mixing the royal blood with Trinity’s, it is the crown princess’ new blood which works miracles on both lycans and werewolves and in a fast time frame.

“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.

His voice was so hoarse that it made my ears sting, "I wondered why that thing didn't scoop out your heart. Turns out, your blood was the best shield..." …… I woke up drenched in sweat, back in my bed. It was a week before the Haunts world descended. The gold bar from last night's burial was still heavy in my pocket.

I take the crown from Reece. It is not the Luna's crown. The Luna's crown is decorative, ceremonial, the beautiful object that signifies a position relative to someone else's. What I am holding is older than that. It came from the archive this morning when I sent for it, wrapped in cloth that hadn't been disturbed in a generation. The crown of the Moonblood line, which has been in the palace's keeping since before any living wolf can remember and which belongs to one person and has been waiting for her to come back to it. I hold it and I look at it and then I look at her.

Upstairs, in the master bedroom, the door was left ajar, letting out a heavy stench of blood that even overpowered the room's fancy cedar scent. A man sat in a wheelchair among the broken ceramics and bloodstains, fiddling with a scalpel still wet with blood. Next to him, a traitor shivered on his knees, his throat cut, twitching as death crept closer. "Another one comes to meet their end?" His voice was gritty and dark, laced with a sinister delight for bloodshed. I shut the door with a flick of my wrist, turned the lock, and shut out the prying eyes.