Romans & histoires Maeve Throne Of Glass

Mauve is hysterically sobbing, unable to notice what she just made. “Miss! If you could hear me, Please calm down! Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.” Sephie screams as she looks around and scans trying to pinpoint where Mauve is. She lets go of Nicholas and runs towards the circulating force. She notices that there is a warm orange light in the middle of it. That must be Mauve, confused and unable to control her emotions. The longer the time passes, the darker the color gets and as it turns red, one of the glass windows shatters.

’’ I then said to her now relieved my best friend was not a monster but just trying to distract her, while in my mind I was now mindlinking Lesley, Chris, the Vampire King and Caspian on our next plan of action. ‘’As soon as I heard from one of my Lenoras Max that some Vampire prince had picked up some girl with a surname Maverick a relative of mine, I knew those leeches where up to something and I was right as you were a gift coper like me but your weak and heck you ran away as soon as you had the word danger.’’ She then said looking smug at me and I so wanted to wipe that smug look off from her face.

Tonight, she approached it, pressing a palm against its surface. A ripple shimmered through the glass, and a voice echoed back—not hers. "You vowed, Blythe. You promised Auren." She flinched. "That was before I knew he'd survive through the boy. Before I knew the fire would wake again." The mirror showed a flicker—Xavier's face, then a crown of ash, then flames. "Then choose Queen of Two Wars," the mirror whispered. "Blood or fire. Past or future." The Mark Beneath the Marble

Nothing can interfere with what I’ve already achieved—the dominion that is now mine. With my right hand, Fenrer, by my side, I walk toward the throne room. The space is vast and majestic, adorned with paintings of the kings who came before me. At the far end stands a massive stone throne atop a grand, elevated platform with a marble staircase leading to it. Behind the throne, the wall is made entirely of stained-glass depicting the phases of the moon. I take in the scene prepared by my soldiers—cameras positioned strategically, lights focused on the throne. I stop in front of it, admiring its grandeur, its power, it's meaning.

He knelt on one knee before me on the day of his victorious return and announced me as the tribe's queen. The others all knelt and bowed in allegiance. I smiled and told Sean to rise. Then, I declared in public that I would never take another mate; I would only have Sean alone. He was instantly so touched that his golden eyes turned red with sentiment. "You don't have to do that, Lynn," he said. "Hush, Sean. Listen to me. You are enough in this life," I said. 'Well, duh. I'm not foolish enough to take on more mates and tire myself out,' I thought.

And they were walking straight into it. The throne itself rose from the center of the Vale, carved from obsidian and bone, crowned with flame that never flickered. It pulsed with ancient magic, the kind that didn’t ask permission. Aria felt it in her chest, pressing against the unborn flame inside her. Luna stopped walking. “He’s here,” she said. Kaelion nodded. “Then we finish this.”

The light poured from my hands, from the cracks in the throne, from the air itself. And when it faded — the room was still. The throne beneath me had changed. The obsidian was gone, replaced by pale stone streaked with silver. The cracks were gone, healed. Magnus rose slowly, eyes wide. “Impossible.” Vale was at my side in an instant, catching me as I slumped forward. My body trembled, drained. Cassian stared at the healed throne, whistling softly. “Well, guess we’re past the point of pretending she’s normal.”

My hands curled into fists until my nails bit skin and then I whispered into the empty corridor: “I will take the throne you stole, Liam.” My voice was steady. Deadly. Certain. “My throne.” And with that, a new motive crystallized inside me— sharp and unstoppable. A motive that would tear the Reigns open. A motive that would drown a kingdom. A motive with my name on it. Revna Draeven. The rightful Queen. Whether the moon agrees or not.

Elara’s POV The air crackled with power. Elara stood frozen as the wraiths remained kneeling, their hollow eyes fixed on her. The weight of their expectation pressed against her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. “Take the throne, Elara.” “You were always meant to rule.” Their whispers twisted through her mind, wrapping around her like an invisible chain. The longer she stood there, the more the magic of Valmere seeped into her bones. The throne—her mother’s throne—loomed before her, a beacon of darkness and power. A throne carved from obsidian, veins of molten gold pulsing like a heartbeat beneath its surface. It was alive. It was waiting.

“This is Kallista. The new missus Hawthorne. You will accord her the respect she deserves as well as a maid until she leaves the premises to her husband's abode. Am I understood?” Evelyn nodded and Naomi smiled. “Now greet.” “Kallista,” Evelyn greeted, her voice smooth and cold, like ice slipping over steel. “Welcome.” “Evelyn,” Kallista said, dipping her head slightly. “Come inside darling,” Naomi said, pulling her into the foyer with Evelyn stepping aside as they did. “You must be exhausted.” Kallista entered and her eyes widened at the opulence of the foyer. Chandeliers glittered overhead, the light reflecting on the marble floors and artworks she did not know their value adorned the wall