Fix Your Crown Sis Novels & Stories

Liam's Pov London had hardened me. The late nights buried in economics, the endless lectures about mergers and acquisitions, the luxury parties where men twice my age shook my hand with fake smiles—it had all left a mark. But when I had finally returned, the city no longer felt the same. I wasn’t just Liam Brooks anymore. I'm now the heir to my father’s empire, the man who would carry the Crownwell & Brooks name into a new dynasty. But of course, Father wouldn’t hand me the crown so easily.

The mirror-Selena moved with the elegance of inevitability. Each step she took echoed with finality, her crown glowing a stark blue that pulsed in eerie harmony with the one fused into Selena's spine. Across the shattered glass plain, the two figures stood—identical in form, unequal in essence. Selena gritted her teeth, her body still adjusting to the ancient weight now embedded in her soul. The name the crown had whispered lingered like frost behind her lips: Aeleth. It didn’t just change her. It restored her.

Then, it happened again. The crown refused me. Just like before, it hovered above me, never touching my skin, then gently floated back into the slave’s hands as if it had a will of its own. My mood turned sour. “I thought you said you knew how to fix this,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at Charles. He let out a long, tired sigh. “I’m trying,” he said, jaw tight as he waved the slave back. “No matter what we do… no matter how hard I try, the crown still won’t settle on you.”

Sirens wailed somewhere far off. Domenik moved to her, hunger written in every line of his ruined body. He set his glass down, crowding her against the wall. “You think this is sanctuary? It’s a cage with better locks.” She didn’t flinch. “You always did like cages, Crown.” His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back. He kissed her—hard, bruising, claiming. There was no tenderness. Not after everything they’d lost. He bit her lower lip, drew blood. She gasped, the sound half defiance, half surrender.

Her face was already pinched into the expression of a woman preparing to fire the entire palace staff. “Mami.” I cracked an egg into a bowl. “Morning.” “My crown is missing.” I picked up a second egg. “Which crown?” Gabby looked at me like I had just asked who the president was. “My pink glitter crown.” “You have four pink glitter crowns.” “The aquarium one.” “Oh. The cheap one.” “It’s royal.” “Royal and seven dollars can coexist.” Her face darkened. “It’s gone.” Another set of footsteps came from behind her.

For once, I did not try to make myself appear smaller. Greta adjusted the fabric over my shoulder and smiled at my reflection. “You look like a Luna.” “I am a Luna.” Her smile widened. “Exactly.” On the vanity rested the ceremonial crown. It was not delicate. Ironclaw did not create delicate things. The crown was made of dark silver, shaped like two wolves facing each other beneath a crescent moon. Small black stones had been set into the metal, catching the morning light. I lifted it carefully. My hands trembled.

"I'm listening?" "Well, you see... it's in the tradition. The throne shouldn't be vacant for more than a month and it's about three months now that no one has sat on the throne. So the elders and I have agreed that you'll be crowned King in two weeks time and also, your wedding will take place on the day of your coronation." "Wait...all these are too much for me."

Althea fought her way back to Argos for Lysandros and helped him reclaim the throne, only to find herself trapped in the enemy kingdom of Thrace, wearing a slave's collar for three full years. Through three years of mortal danger, being dragged behind chariots, and bone-chilling winters, Althea survived on a single conviction: her betrothed, Lysandros, would come to rescue her. But when she finally set foot in the royal city again, what awaited her was not an embrace. It was a heavy golden laurel crown pressed against her brow, the Sacred Flame seal clutched in another woman's hand, and a royal heir growing in that woman's womb. She clung to one last hope: perhaps they had cast her aside onl

the Lycan corrected. My pulse pounded in my ears. Crescent House, the throne image from earlier flashed in my mind again. Stone pillars and Silver crest. “I don’t remember any of this,” I said. “You were not meant to,” Ethan replied. His voice softened, just slightly. “You were sealed before your first shift.” The clearing reacted audibly this time. A murmur and a ripple. Ryan’s face drained of color. “That’s impossible.” “Is it?” the Lycan asked.

The heavy metals aggressively clamped down on my internal wolf like a forged steel vault, burying her alive. I leaned heavily over the basin, panting raggedly, cold sweat violently beading at my temples until the scorching, agonizing fire finally, mercifully subsided into a cold, sickening, dead numbness. My scent was entirely gone. I smelled like absolutely nothing but cold iron and expensive silk. Wiping a stray drop of silver liquid from my bruised lips, I stood up. I began to weave my long, dark raven hair into an elaborate, rigidly structured crown of tight braids.