Crownless King Novels & Stories

Damon drifts toward center ice and stops at the logo. I follow. For a moment, we stand where the game began. Where so much between us almost ended. “Funny,” he says. “All that fighting over who gets the crown.” “And?” He looks at me fully. “There was only ever one.” The words hang there. Not competitive. Not sharp. Certain. Only one crown. And it doesn’t belong to one king. The arena lights dim slightly as the crew prepares to clean up. I feel his hand brush mine. Not by accident.

It was loud enough to be heard from anyone as close as Camren was to us. Which one would I choose? The King? Or- this complete stranger? I don't even know if this guy would hold up much longer against him. King Camren was made out of the finest genetics. It looks strong enough to make anyone faint with the right look. Camren had always been my ideal type. His crown was my ideal type. Every drop of muscle and power he held in his body came with his attitude he was holding in his tone. This man was not someone to be trifled with. I looked away in final shame as I found myself unable to choose.

I let the king touch the crown, then I smiled at him, and I could see Maia in the gem in the crown, and I honestly had no intention of placing this crown on Mio’s head. I looked at the crown, then I lifted it up and winced because there was a strange white power that enveloped the entire crown gem. I looked at Mio, then I smiled at him and made him climb up so that I could place the crown on him. When he got close to me, he looked at all the people around him and smiled. Mio was blocking me, so I was able to remove the gem in the middle of the crown, then I replaced it with another gem. I smiled at everyone, and then the king spoke. “Today we declare our eldest son Mio to be your next king,”

The lush gardens surrounding the palace were filled with vibrant flowers and sculpted hedges, creating a serene and opulent atmosphere. King Felipe Evreux, the ruler of this splendid domain, desired power and influence over his people. He enjoyed spending time with his concubines, finding pleasure in their company. However, none of them had been able to bear him a child, except for the empress, Regina Brosethorn.

"I overheard the other girls talk about it in the hallway, I got the recap of it." "Help a girl out?" She asked. "He has three younger brothers and one sister," I said to her. "The current King's name is Carrick, his wife's name is Mayela." "Yeah, that seems like the important parts." She looked out of the window for a few seconds. "The guy's name is Sebastian right?" I started laughing. "Yeah." I answered. A few tables over I heard the redheaded girl sigh loudly, clearly annoyed by our ignorance. Tessa seemed to notice it too and raised her cup of coffee.

pressed Lillian with her hands on her hips. “His name is Edwig Joseph of South-North, the eldest son of King Ethelwulf and Queen Anba. He has crowned the crown prince of the South-North Kingdom at the age of sixteen, and would later become the 35th king. He's my brother, the future great king. Not the leader of the forest filled with silly Falsies!”

Fighting the pain, I looked up at him with great difficulty and watched as he slowly straightened his cuffs. "Look at how pathetic you are right now. The once-proud heir of the Wright family, and you threw it all away for a woman. Now, she can't even stand the sight of you." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Honestly, it'd be better for everybody if you just happened to die in here. Ashley won't be tied down by you anymore. Luke could officially call her his mom and inherit that multi-billion-dollar empire you built for her." I glared at him and forced the words through my throat. "In your dreams!"

His expression was deeply uncomfortable. "Mr. Kingsley," he started. "I know you explicitly stated you didn't want any media briefings this morning, but... this is trending globally. It involves Ms. Rowe. The public relations department needs to know if we are issuing a statement." "What are you talking about?" I asked, my brow furrowing as I reached out to take the tablet. The moment my eyes hit the screen, my heart stopped. The headline was from a prominent British tabloid, flashing in bold, ugly text: RUNAWAY PRINCE FOUND: HEIR TO THE THRONE SPOTTED IN UNDERGROUND NEW YORK TRYST.

This time, they didn’t stop. Outside his window, dawn was still hours away. But the darkness felt heavier now. Oppressive. Like something essential was watching. Waiting. Counting down to the moment when everything he was would be exposed to sunlight and burned to nothing. The Winter King, they called him. He didn’t feel like a king anymore. He felt like a boy who’d made one irrevocable mistake, and now the entire kingdom was going to die because of it.

But what struck Isabelle most was not his undeniable handsomeness, but rather the hint of weariness that shadowed his expression—a private fatigue visible only to those who knew how to look beyond polish and perfection. As he descended into the hall, the crowd before him bent in waves of bows and curtsies. Isabelle and Amelia followed suit, Isabelle’s movements stiff with the unfamiliarity of court etiquette. “His Royal Highness, Prince Sebastian Nathaniel Winthorne,” proclaimed the herald, his voice reverberating through the now-silent hall.