King Joffrey Mga Nobela at Kwento

“My Lord I didn’t realize you were here otherwise I would have brought the girls another day to get fitted.” The King turned his head to look at Lazarus, at the same time his eyes were off to the side glancing at Jezzebelle. His hair was well managed and was well past his shoulders. You can certainly tell he was an ancient his ears were pointed and when he spoke he had an accent. According to her father he came from France. He also had frightening fangs. The older you get the more the Bloodthirst takes it toll. The King noticed Jezzebelle was looking at him or more than less was studying him.

'No, this is real,' he exclaimed. Yes, I plan to make my intentions known in the forest. I feel something for her. Is she the chosen one from the bloodline to be my queen? Queen of the Iron Throne? He strolled past the maid quarters and into the royal Court, exchanging pleasantries with his council. The man holds out a white sheet of paper written in black. Kohl nods and accepts it. "Awesome," he says after reviewing the names on the list.

That was all I felt too. The doors to the main hall opened, and the smell hit me first—cedar, smoke, and power. Then I saw him. Lucien Moretti. Alpha King of the Northern Territories. The man who slaughtered my father. The man who burned my pack to the ground when I was five years old. He sat on a throne of black stone like he owned the night itself. Tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes like molten silver. A scar cut across his jaw, and his jaw was clenched like he was holding back violence.

I laugh into his chest, still clutching my dad who I’ve been missing for weeks, thinking I would never see him again. We finally pull back, and he holds my shoulders affectionately as he looks me over. “Are you a maid?” he asks as he notices my outfit. “It’s a disguise,” I explain. He’s still searching me as if looking for injuries as he says, “Alpha Jackson says you’re the king’s shikra.”

His clothes were still bloodstained and he reeked of death. “We came to find you, Joffrey. You just disappeared without a word.” I lay a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. “Well, you found me. Now leave me alone.” He shuffled away to his car. Kane grabbed him, wheeling him around, a fierce scowl on his face. “What have you done to my sister’s body?” he demanded. Joffrey pushed him back, growling. “You mean my mate’s body. My. Mate.”

All eyes went to Daemon who took confident strides towards her. He side-eyed Joffrey who stood right next to her and smirked. His eyes uncomfortably rested on her hand where the new wedding ring is on her finger. “I never thought you’d be the type of a man who would steal someone’s wife. Where did the honorable man who served my father go, Joffrey?” Joffrey’s face twitched in annoyance. “The old man would be disappointed on you if he’s still around today. He made sure his men are respectful to other families but I guess his own son fell short of his standards.”

They exchanged nervous glances among themselves as the realization of who I was dawned on them. "Y-you are the… Lycan king?" one of them stuttered. "That's right, I am the Lycan king." I rolled my shoulders, already getting tired of all that was happening. I needed all this to be over soon. They shuddered in fright at my affirmation and begged profusely for their lives to be spared. "Please… Your Majesty… please don't kill us. I personally had no choice but to join Alpha Frederick. It was either join him or die for rebelling," he cried in fear.

As we reached the last platform of the staircase, Joffrey stopped, as he cleared his throat, making all heads turn in our direction, while the space around us went silent. “My name is Joffrey Livingston, the true heir of the throne. My greatest grandfather was the first of our kind, and he ruled for many years as your Prince. I come before you today to ask for your help, not to take back what should be mine by birthright, but to ask you all to stand with me against a threat that has spilled through this city like a parasite taking whatever it wants. This individual that claims to be the heir is an impostor, stealing abilities and powers with the help of dark magic. He is nothing but a mere v

“King Dreg.” A noble squire bowed in respect. Dreg nodded and shook his hand firmly. “ Your accent doesn’t sound like you’re from the East.” Egret patted the squire on his back. “His name is Leon Pujet, he is the third son of the royal family in the Southern Kingdom of Ghenu.” “So you are the groom of tomorrow....” Dreg stated bluntly. Leon nodded with a slight smirk, his brown eyes assessing the stoic and dominating form of Dreg. “I have just obtained the rank of squire so it was time for my marriage to be arranged.”

the voice came from a speaker in the ceiling. I looked around the room. A man stepped out of the shadows. He wasn't wearing a mask anymore. He was wearing a simple janitor’s uniform, the kind I saw every day in the hallways of St. Jude’s. It was Mr. Silas. The man who emptied the bins. The man everyone ignored. "Mr. Silas?" I gasped. "What is this? Why are they in there?" The old man smiled, but his eyes were empty. "Everyone looks at the Thorne family. Everyone watches the Hales. But nobody looks at the man holding the broom. I’ve been the ears of the Order of St. Jude for thirty years, Loveth."