Gavriel Throne Of Glass นิยาย & เรื่องราว

She had never had any reason to come to the throne room in her past life, so she couldn’t properly remember anything about it. Finally, they walked into the throne room, and Gwen held her gasp. It was covered in the colours purple and black, giving the room a royal yet eerie essence. The throne was placed at the highest point of the room–fitting for the Supreme Lord of the Enu realm–and was onyx black. There were no towering windows to allow sunlight, but the place was covered with already lit candles. Suddenly, she was pushed from behind, and she fell to her knees. “You’re in the presence of the supreme Lord.” Sandra said. “You should be on your knees.”

“No—no, no—Erevan—something’s wrong—something’s wrong—” He grabbed her hands, forcing their palms together. His shadows wrapped around their skin, trying to anchor her—but they slipped through her light like water through fingers. Her heart hammered painfully. “Erevan—help me—my light—my magic—it’s—” He pulled her against him, voice raw with terror. “It’s not you,” he said fiercely. “It’s the throne.” Aria’s vision blurred. Her light continued unraveling. Thread by thread. Erevan looked up at the throne—voice cracking with rage.

Daddy, I went to meet archangel Gabriel one-on-one, and he told me that our throne had been soiled, and he asked what I was going to do about it, and I promised him I would restore the throne to its former glory. I accepted his gift and traveled to the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I realized that with the help of the almighty, fifty-five people had been sacrificed on the throne. So, before we can do anything, those people's lives must be returned, and I've been able to bring the fifty-five souls back. Now we must go to the throne room and make some sacrifices. When may we walk to the throne room, His Majesty sighs and says, "Thank you, my son, elder sister."

"He'll like you." Something moved in his expression: warmth, genuine and unguarded, the kind he did not perform. "I hope so," he said. The afternoon light was moving through the study windows, crossing the floor in long warm strips. In three days she would stand in the chamber and the lycan world would rearrange itself around a truth that had been suppressed for thirty years. She would stand there with a name and a bloodline and a bond that was constitutionally complete and absolutely her own choice.

The car drove slowly toward the bustling, sinful heart of New Haven. It was an empire that belonged entirely to me. I raised my right hand, wearing the ring of power. Looking at my cold reflection in the window, I curved my lips. A man’s love is worthless. Only absolute power never betrays.

Paul—or whoever he was—lay there with his throat opened up, eyes staring at the ceiling in a permanent state of shock. Words from my childhood rang in my head: They will find you later. Just stay low. Don’t do anything stupid. Fuck! They had found me. My past had caught up with me. Yes, I, Thalia Thorne, held a secret. I wasn’t human. I was born into the wrong part of the hierarchy. In the Great North, your eyes are your destiny. Gold eyes are Gemini—the royalty. Blue eyes are Capricorn—the servants. But then there are the ones like me. A dark-eyed cub with a cancer mark—an abomination. Black eyes. The ones who didn’t get to live.

He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain, driving the blade deeper. The throne cracked. The ruins trembled as the very foundation of Dawnfire groaned under the weight of what was happening. The Veilblade pulsed wildly, its glow consuming the darkness. The throne let out one final, deafening cry before it shattered completely. And then, silence. The air was still. The darkness had receded. The throne was gone. Elior fell to one knee, breathless. The Veilblade, its purpose fulfilled, flickered before vanishing from his grip. He looked up, meeting the gaze of the First King.

The throne was never truly within his reach. The hall held its breath as I lifted the circlet. I stepped toward the princes. Before I could place it in anyone’s hands, Ethan suddenly strode forward and dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty,” he said, voice ringing clear through the chamber, “I beg you to release me from this honor. My heart already belongs to another.” He turned slightly, reaching toward Ava without touching her. “Lady Ava Miller is the woman I love,” he continued without hesitation. “Our devotion is neither fleeting nor shallow. No one but her will ever be my wife.”

that stretched into the absolute void. Avery Vane-Thorne stood in the center of the "White-Vast," her "Gold-Vanguard" aura flaring with a "Vicious-Tender-Defiance." Her indigo gown seemed like a "Sovereign-Stain" on the perfection of the room. She could feel the "Origin-Standard" trying to "Format" her "Marrow," trying to "Re-Index" her as a "Substitute-Variable" rather than a "Queen."

The Obsidian Throne Room was quiet except for the soft crackle of black candles and the occasional drip of wax onto marble. Elias Nightshade lounged in the massive chair carved from volcanic glass and bone, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, a crystal goblet of blood wine balanced on his fingers. The liquid inside swirled slow and dark, spiced with something older than most of his court could remember. To anyone who didn’t know him, he would have looked like a king at ease, beautiful in that deadly way vampires were, midnight hair falling loose around sharp cheekbones, crimson eyes half lidded, lips stained red.