Fenrys Throne Of Glass Novels & Stories

--The Nydisian Kingdom, Eraregord, Royal Academy-- "Dane, comprise a list of your best students and have them submit their names to be before tomorrow at noon," Lucian ordered as he took a seat in the headmaster's study. Dane was a tall yet lean man with olive skin tone and piercing red eyes, the colour eyes most vampires seemed to have. "Consider it done, Milord. Do you still wish to hold the tournament?" The headmaster, Dane, asked. His Highness had sent word to him a few days ago that he'd be arriving in a week's time to gather the academy's best as well as strongest fighters.

Every time our blades met—his ancient silver steel against my future-forged obsidian—a spark of silver and gold erupted, scorching the ancient, moth-eaten banners that hung from the high rafters. ​“You are a mistake, Elara!” Fenris growled, catching my blade in his bare hand. The silver fluid of his blood hissed and steamed against the obsidian. “A branch of the tree that grew too long and touched the sun! I will prune you myself before you rot the roots!” ​“I’m not a branch, Fenris!” I screamed, the silver fire erupting from my eyes until my vision was nothing but white heat. “I’m the forest fire!”

Her heart stuttered. Then she felt it. The throne was alive. Not sentient, not exactly—but forged with magic so old and feral it bore the memory of the First Queens. Their regrets. Their triumphs. Their blood. It wasn’t welcoming her. It was judging her. "Serena!" Elias’s voice echoed distantly, as if through water. He started to run up the steps, but a wall of light erupted between them, throwing him back. He hit the floor with a grunt, Theron catching him before he fell off the edge of the platform.

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.

It looked like the houses of royalties with high ceilings and huge freaking glass stairs. I was glad to see that Nazarus' wounds were now completely healed. I could see how he could move properly now while he was serving us red wine at his dining table. "Are you sure this isn't human blood?" Fenris asked. I wiped my mouth as I just tasted it without thinking about the possibility. I swallowed deeply as I stared at the wine. It tasted sweet but I wanted to puke. I never wanted to taste humans. "You want human blood? I have some on my fridge." Nazarus smirked.

And there it stood. The Blood Throne. It was carved from obsidian, veins of red crystal pulsing through it like a beating heart. The floor was cracked around it, as though the throne had erupted from the earth. Before it knelt a man. Or what was left of one. He was bone and ash wrapped in black robes. His hair was silver, his skin like charred marble. He did not look up—he only whispered in a language none of them understood. Aelin whimpered. “He’s trying to bind to me. To make me sit.”

The throne room was a cage of polished marble and gilded lies. Kaelen sat on the throne of his ancestors, a heavy, ornate monstrosity of cold stone and cold ambition, and he felt like a fraud. The echoes of Seraphina’s arrest still reverberated through the castle, a silent, seismic shock that had fractured the court into a hundred terrified factions. They looked at him with fear, with respect, with a new, dangerous understanding. He was not the pawn they had believed him to be. He was the predator they had foolishly ignored.

The sight of Kaelen walking into the liquid glass was a vision of the impossible. The heat that was melting the foundations of the Blackwood Keep should have incinerated a mortal child in a fraction of a second. But as Kaelen’s bare feet touched the glowing surface, the glass didn't burn him. It turned into a pool of sapphire-and-gold starlight. The "Twin Frequency" in his marrow was rewriting the physics of the courtyard, creating a localized sanctuary of "Genesis" energy that the Sun-Eater could not "Unwrite."

“Yes. Tear each other apart, little Alphas. Fight for her heart while the world drowns. You don’t even see what’s happening!” She pointed toward the Rift, where the eclipse light bled into cracks across the ground. “The throne is not a seat. It is a seal. And if your precious girl sits, she won’t wear a crown—she’ll unlock him.” Her words silenced the battlefield, if only for a heartbeat. --- The Prison of Fenris Inside the Rift, Serena froze as the ground split beside the throne. Chains clattered. A low, guttural growl rose from the depths, vibrating through her marrow.