Marquess Novels & Stories

“Mauve, listen to me. This isn’t about money. You’re not in danger. Not from us.” “Then what is it? Why tie me up? My family doesn’t have anything you’d want.” Nicholas leaned forward, his gaze locking hers. “Mauve Harrison. You are the next ruler of Elite, the parallel dimension to Earth. I, Nicholas Clarke, will serve as your Eliot. Sephie Scott is your Astral. Our duty is to escort you to Elite, where you will claim your throne.” The words hung heavy in the air. And then Mauve laughed. Sharp, disbelieving, almost hysterical. “That’s the best excuse you could come up with? Ruler of a parallel world? Do you think I’m twelve?”

he asked Duke, not minding my presence. "Yes, babe, she's my steward," Duke responded dryly. If I am not mistaken, she is Marie, the second daughter of the Menejez tribe; they lived near the Criose territory, the most hard-headed tribe; they were called the black sheep tribe. They don't follow the rules; they are killed once every hundred years via poisoning or hunting. They were the main reason why we wolves were almost exposed, and now, humans do believe we exist and continually hunt us. Either to kill or to attract people for money.

Laylin asked them slowly, ready to hear any explicit warnings or details if she needed to. Her handmaids, who were always ready to cave in gossip suspiciously, drew in closer. “Marquis Belijour is an aloof noble with immense wealth and resources at her disposal. They say she has no heirs decided. The son she has is her step-son and married the late Marquis for his standing in society. Now she owns hectares of land and runs a Trade Union but has no heirs to pass it onto. The son might end up inheriting it all!” Halo explained, her eyes gleaming with admiration, a complete contrast to her words.

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She sucked in a deep breath when her eyes landed on his thin lips. How could she forget how they taste. Champagne focus... She mentally scolded her self, reminding herself why she was here in the first place. "I... " She whispered, lowering her eyes. Her heart thudded loudly. "Am here to return this Sir ..." "Nikolai " his deep voice made her eyes look up in confusion. " My name " He added, closing the file in his arms "and you need that money. " Champagne stood still, it's like words had just disappeared deep in her throat.

“Tell your second to take care of the palace and call Niel to join us.” “Yes, Your Highness.” After a two hours drive, they arrived at the countryside and Mark guided them to a small wooden hut where his uncle was living. He knocked on the door and a few moments after, a short old man wearing a white gown opened. “Mark!” he smiled widely and hugged the tall male. “Such a long time without seeing you!” “I missed you uncle,” Mark smiled back. “This is my husband, Niel.” he blushed when introducing him. “What a handsome gentleman!” the physician hugged Niel then his eyes grew wider when he saw Andry in a royal uniform holding Daniel who was still in his night robe.

The Marquess appears to have picked up on her intentions right away. "...Are you implying that you wanted me to support the second prince, His Highness Azazel?" He arched his brow at her, and she could see he was staring at her with intense eyes. Marquess Evans was a stoic figure who supported the Imperial Family, especially the Crown Prince. He has a strong presence and a well-established family with no scandals. However, Verena understands how much he values his three sons who were sent to war in the past. Even the youngest, who was only 15 years old at the time, was ordered to war.

It was the Duc de Bourbon, the cousin of the king. He was tall and skinny, as wilted as a bean plant in a drought. His ill-fitting blue velvet suit was ornamented with a mauve sash to match the mauve stockings on his twig-thin legs. His ostentatious powdered wig and his milky-white face were both exceptionally ugly.

To make out the words Darach looked closely and read the word 'Cold Bitch' loudly. "That's my most prized possession." The lad beamed when he caught Darach staring at his bracelet. "You designed it yourself?" Darach found himself asking the question. If the children on this territory were allowed to wear swear words like battle trophies than Moon helped the people around here. "No, it's a gift from the Queen." The lad beamed again. Darach scoffed at his answer. Of course, it was a gift from the fucking Queen and Darach has no idea who the fuck she was.

“Perhaps Moonspire grew tired of her whining and sent her back to the woods where she belongs.” Rexor dropped the sealed letter on the table between them. “Read.” Their laughter faltered. Ravena snatched it up, eyes scanning, and her face paled. “No…” she whispered. Then, louder, trembling with fury: “No! This cannot be!” Mariseth leaned over her daughter’s shoulder, her sharp intake of breath betraying shock. The crescent seal stared back at them like an accusation. “She bears the mark of the Chosen One,” Rexor said, his voice flat, drained.