King Baratheon Novels & Stories

As I noticed, no one else was willing to ask anything at all. "It's better if I show you. Come on! Touch my crown." Uncle Adrian spoke as he stepped closer towards me. Hesitantly, I reached out. He narrowed his head so I could touch his crown. He was taller than Zeus. While I was not as tall as Queen Victoria was.

He says gazing at me intensely. "What do you mean? Aren't you listening to me?" I ask him. "Trust me Morgana. Once you get your wolf, I'm the only one you'll be able to think about. This human boyfriend of yours won't even matter." He says firmly. "His name is Charles. Besides, we can always break the mate bond right?" I state "OUT OF THE QUESTION!" He says with a growl, his voice sounding authoritative and a shiver runs down my spine.

Matteo Romano. He rose from the shadowed corner, towering, broad-shouldered, his black suit tailored with the precision of a king in exile. His face was carved in lines of command: sharp jaw, straight nose, lips that could give orders like death sentences. But it was his eyes that froze the blood in her veins. obsidian, fathomless and unreadable. Il Re di Ferro. The Blood King. Whispers rippled through the hall like wind through dry leaves. No one expected him here. No one dared to speak his name too loudly.

And in the middle, on a stone bridge that spanned the torrent, stood Leigh’s father. Lord Valerius was a tall, lean man like a hardened sapling. He wore no armor, only a worn leather jerkin over a grey tunic. His hair was more silver than black, tied back. He held no weapon. He stood alone on the bridge, facing Gryffen’s army, a solitary figure of calm authority.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Selene in that dress. Selene’s hands around his neck. Selene’s laugh—genuine, unguarded, the kind of laugh that made him forget, for one stolen moment, that he was the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation and the future Alpha of a pack that expected him to marry someone else. He'd spent all his life learning to control every impulse, every instinct. His father had made sure he understood that. An Alpha does not react. An Alpha controls. An Alpha must not show weakness.

Saeris gripped the railing of their loft, stunned. “Y-your Majesty!” Hareth wailed, face mottled with disbelief and fear, like he had only just realized his king was in court. “You can’t—I’m a noble! A veteran lord—!” But Vaelen stood over him now, blade already lowered, red dripping from its tip. “You think your medals matter? Your name? That stories of your old victories excuse what you’ve done?” The blade angled lazily now, already handed back to the guard without anyone noticing. And when Vaelen spoke again, the very air seemed to still. “It’s not your bloodline that matters now. Not your gods. Not your past achievement. Not the crown my father bestowed on you.” A pause. “It’s m