Fenrys Throne Of Glass の小説・ストーリー

Fenriz says, emptying his glass and pouring another. It makes sense… it makes more than fucking sense. “But ‘concealed or surrounded by a red serpent crown’... what….” I trail off, then pull out my phone to check on something. Fury burns in my chest as I mentally tick off the names, and without thinking, I punch the wall above the fireplace and let out a roar. “The one who has her is the one from the prophecy, yes?” Fenriz asks, and I nod, looking down at my bloodied fists.

Nora picked up the folded paper. She didn't open it. She held it. "You want the throne," she said. "Yes." "And you want me to trust you." "Yes." "Those two things are going to conflict at some point." "Probably," he said. "When they do, I'll tell you." He held her gaze without wavering. "I want the throne through legitimate succession. If Caspian fulfills the anchor requirement and succeeds, the succession is his by right and I'll accept that." He paused. "What I won't accept is the succession being built on an arrangement that's being managed dishonestly. But then. if the anchor is being kept in the dark about the terms of her own arrangement

Suddenly, the blizzard came to a tempest, before disappearing as violently as it appeared. Once more, everything was quiet again. However, Zephyr could already make out the silhouette's face. It was someone who wore a golden crown, holding an old, rickety staff. Around it lay many, blue-hued bones. Beneath it, the pile of bones stretched on for miles and miles. This stretched on so far that it looked like a pathway of death. A great, icy throne could be seen behind it. Soon, the figure that Zephyr saw was sat upon it. Its eyeless sockets glowed a deep crimson. Zephyr did not need to see its eyes to know that it was looking at him.

And the tension in the chamber was thick enough to cut. High Lord Cassian Thornwood sat in the fourth throne from the left—carved from ice that never melted, its surface etched with scenes of winter hunts. He was beautiful in the way all Fae were beautiful, but there was something cold about him. Something that suggested frost and sharp edges and death that came slowly in the dark.

Hunger. Kill. Tear. Feed. The name Aradaa flickered in his mind for a second. A single, golden spark. Then it was swallowed by the black. The Shadow-Fenris didn't use its shoulder. It simply walked through the obsidian door. The stone didn't shatter. It turned to dust as the beast touched it. Magic couldn't hold a void. The seals Hecate had spent centuries perfecting vanished the moment the Shadow-Fenris stepped into the throne room.

“Step through, wolf of broken blood, and wear the crown that was stolen. Step through and know why your Pack was built on bones.” Fenric drew in a breath, the faces of Kaela, Sira, Raelin burning in his mind, their voices, their trust, their doubt, their anger. He closed his eyes and stepped through the archway. The stone burned as he crossed, and the air shifted, heavier, darker, but alive with something that made his heart pound as if it beat in time with the very walls. The chamber beyond was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow, its floor lined with bones laid in patterns too deliberate to be graves. At the center stood a throne of stone, not carved for beauty but for weight, its surface rou

He carried two curved blades that hummed with a strange, damp energy. "This is Thorne," Fenris said. "He is an Eclipse-Stalker. His blades are forged from the same silver that Jackson used to poison the exiles. They are designed to drink the light of the sun". The circle was drawn in the center of the square—a ring of salt and cold iron. I stepped into it, the ground beneath my feet feeling like the cobblestones of my rejection once again. But I was not that girl anymore.

I want to look in his eyes and see the same love and lust like expressions in them as I had seen the first time we met, but I cannot open my eyes. I try to move my hand but my body is not cooperating though I can feel that someone's holding my right hand. The sparks I feel from them confirms that it is Fenris who is holding it. I try to squeeze his fingers or at least move them in the hopes of alerting him that I am awake but I cannot even move an inch. "It is time for the heir to ascend the throne. It is empty for two decades after the King died. It has given unnecessary rights to the rogue to carry on with his evil plans," someone says but I cannot recognise his voice.