Graceling Po Novels & Stories

I let the silence stretch between us before I finally leaned in and whispered, “I need you to poison your queen.” Her entire body tensed. “P-Poison?” I nodded, watching her reaction closely. “Nothing too obvious. Something slow. A poison that will weaken her, make her appear ill. When she dies, it will seem like a sickness. A tragedy, yes, but a natural one. She would probably last less than twenty-four hours.” “No,” Grace stammered, shaking her head. “I—I can’t—” I reached across the table, grasping her hand. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “You can,” I murmured. “And you will.”

Marcel whispered a lullaby mantra to Grace as he rubbed Grace's open back, making Grace's eyes feel heavy and closed slowly without answering Marcel's words. "Beautiful." Marcel complimented when he saw Grace's face at a very close distance, a face that he always failed to forget. ****

It only got worse when her helper came from the back at the sound of the bells jingling over the door; it was as if I wasn't there. "Hello, welcome to Pitter Patter Pet store; I'm Gracey; how can I help you?" Gracey was a brunette with a chest that even I envied and tattoos up her arms and across her chest, fully displayed in the tank top she barely wore, with jeans that I was almost certain had been painted on. I felt two feet tall when she turned all her attention on Gabriel.

Then she stepped out onto the balcony once more, just as stars began to pierce the velvet sky. She whispered into the wind, not a farewell—but a blessing. “For all of us. The lost. The found. The ones still walking.” And as Ironclaw glowed below her, no longer a place of pain but of promise, Grace finally—truly—breathed. --- 完结

KATE’s P.O.V. Graduation practice. I don’t know how, but thankfully, I passed all the requirements needed without Claire’s help. Elijah is there, and he gave me a very useful hand in everything that needs to be done. And now, I can proudly say that I’m one of those graduating students ready to march at stage and get our diploma. “Braganza, Claire,” the emcee announced and she climbed up to the stairs, shaking that hands of those who act as the honorable guest and teachers.

The door opened and the pheromones wafted out, and Gil smiled broadly. “Oh look, your arrogant face when looking at me is no longer there, it's just a face that wants satisfaction. Do you want to do it with me?” Gil laughed loudly at the reddened Graciella, the woman's breath coming in gasps. Three days and two nights, Gil knotted and marked Graciella despite the woman being under the influence of HEAT. When Graciella woke up and realised what was going on, the woman was crying her eyes out. She screamed hysterically, which made Gil, who was fed up with the woman's reaction, raise his hand and slap Graciella.

Connor turns to stand next to Grace as if he’s ready to step in if she hurts the sprite. “Your name is Tula, right?” Grace says, gently reaching out and stroking the girl’s face with her finger. She sniffs and looks up at Grace. “Yes.” She says quietly. “I know you were hurt, but my Gamma, Lady Gamma Sirona, needs to look at you so she can help you heal.” Grace says, using the terms that the sprites use when they address us.

All I could see was Grace, her perfect mask of innocence that I knew hid nothing but lies and manipulations. To my surprise, she didn’t fight back. Instead, she crumpled to her knees, letting out a high-pitched wail that grated on my ears. “She’s crazy!” Grace cried, clutching at her arm where I’d scratched her. “She’s completely unhinged! Someone stop her!” Her words only made my blood boil more. "You liar!" I screamed, fighting against the pain that threatened to drag me under. "You poisoned him! You're the one who's crazy, not me!

She looked at him with a gaze that was no longer soft, but as hard and cold as the silver of her father’s crown. "You think you are so clever and that you have fooled us all with your cheap tricks and your lies, but you forgot that a wolf always protects its pack from the shadow. Grace slap him across the face with all the strength she had, the sound of the hit ringing out through the quiet clearing like a thunderclap that signaled the start of the war," Grace said. She stepped back and pointed her finger at him, her voice rising until it was a powerful command that broke the silence of the night.

The corridors of the Dark Elf Kingdom were cold, impossibly vast, and carved from obsidian stone that reflected no light but seemed to swallow it whole. Grace’s footsteps echoed sharply against the polished floors, each step punctuated by the soft rustle of her exile robes. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and metal, a combination she had long associated with power—and danger.