Emilia Clarke Novels & Stories

She reached for her hand mirror and called for Margarette. “How are you? Did you get the dusts?” “Margarette, we need to talk. I want the truth. I want the whole story of Lenriad. Also, I have to tell you another thing.” Ellaine opened the leaf and stared at the beautiful face of a sleeping angel with golden hair.

Emily Warner The loud knocking and my cat meowing in my face woke me up. What the damn hell? “Emily Anne Warner, if you don’t open this damned door in a minute, I swear to god I will knock it down with a bulldozer. I am not kidding you. You haven’t replied to any texts or calls in a week. At least before that you answered my texts. I am not going to leave you alone now.” I sat up straight in my bed as I could hear Danika yelling.

Her consciousness flickered like a faulty flame. She was dimly aware of Dante standing in front of her, shielding her body with his own, his voice shouting orders. She heard Luka’s growl as he tore through the first wave of witches. She heard the cry of the High Priestess as she was thrown back by a surge of dark magic. And then—beneath all of it—a new voice. A woman’s voice. “Emilia.” Soft. Familiar. Too familiar. Emilia forced her eyes open through the pain. The haze parted for a moment, revealing a figure stepping through the smoke. She wore a long, dark cloak, and her golden hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Her eyes shimmered like liquid silver in the moonlight.

Why must she make me rush over to the hospital? Finally, the hospital came into view, and I screeched to a halt in the parking lot, barely remembering to put the car in park before leaping out and sprinting towards the entrance. My heart was pounding in my chest as I burst through the doors, searching frantically for someone who could tell me where Emilia was. I was practically panting by the time I found a nurse and demanded to know where Emilia was being treated. "Where is Mrs. Emilia Clarke?" I asked the nurses once I got to the hospital. That was the name Caleb gave me as Nathan's mother-in-law.

My feet are rooted to the floor. The woman makes another sound of pleasure, and this time her head tilts a little further back, giving me a glimpse of the side of her face. A gasp catches in my throat as I recognize her - Emilia Torres. Star of Cataclysm: Earth. One half of Hollywood's hottest - and recently engaged - couple. I can't believe I walked in on her and Luca Fontaine going at it. The premiere must have gone very well. But as Emilia shifts again, I catch a glimpse of the man between her thighs and suddenly my world goes cold.

A few minutes later, a beautiful middle-aged woman stepped off a sports car. “Clarke? Aren’t you Clarke Watson?” She asked Clarke, who was busy setting up the table. He smiled at her, knowing that she might probably be Keira’s mom. They look a lot like each other. She could be the most gorgeous middle aged woman he ever saw in his life. She approached Clarke with a spark in her eyes and extended her hand. “I am Almira, Keira’s mom. Where is she?” Clarke pointed in the direction of the main house. When she looked at it Keira was already running towards her.

The screen lights up with a news article and my chest tightens as I see the headline. “Clarke Heiress, Faye Clarke Speaks Out: A Show of Love, Loyalty, and a Woman Fighting for What’s Hers.” I’m barely done reading the headline and there she is, for the first time in what must have been forever, she’s standing there, Faye Clarke, in front of flashing cameras. Her hair is dark as soot and her dress is a flowing perfect white. It’s flowing around her, like she’s an angel. Her stylists wanted to go for a certain look and they definitely nailed it. From the way she’s styled to the way the reporters speak to her, you’d think she’s some goddess descended from the heavens.

I even trusted Khalil, in the fractured way you trust someone who has nothing left to lose. But Emilia knew things. Secrets about the underground, about the networks that connected people like Adrian Wolfe to people like the architect. She'd been part of that world once. She might still be. "Call her," I said. Celeste dialed. The phone rang three times. Then a voice I hadn't heard in two years—rough, tired, and unmistakably familiar. "Daphne Vega's better half. I was wondering when you'd reach out." "Emilia," Celeste said. "We need your help."

This union was meant to strengthen our empires, but it seemed it would also test the limits of power and desire. Elara's Perspective The suite was luxurious, a gilded cage designed to entrap under the guise of comfort. I paced the room, my thoughts a whirlwind of anger and helplessness. A soft knock interrupted my turmoil. "Enter," I called, expecting a servant. To my surprise, a young woman stepped in, her demeanor calm yet confident. "Miss Vasiliev, I am Dr. Emilia Clarke, the family's physician. I've been asked to ensure you're comfortable and to address any medical needs you might have."

(Lily POV) The diner's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I refilled coffee for the third time in ten minutes. My swollen feet ached in the cheap sneakers I'd bought at a thrift store. My back screamed with every movement. At seven months pregnant, I shouldn't be doing this kind of work. But I didn't have a choice. "More coffee, Emma?" The regular at table four, a kind elderly man who always tipped well held up his cup. Emma. That was my name now. Emma Clarke. Not Lily Morrison. Not the woman plastered all over the news five months ago as Tony Stark's mistress and gold-digging liar.