Mr Queen Novels & Stories

Queen mother Meghan looks at Alexander " Oh, how will she look at the harem when she is only the wife you married till now". Now, Alexander knew Queen mother motive for coming to meet him. HE DIDN'T react to anything he pours himself more tea and drank silently with a cold face.

Queen Marabella is this year, fifty-six years of age, she's fresh as ever in appearance but matured as ever in personality. She has no time for jokes, perhaps she does jokes with the immediate members of the royal family, her children, siblings and grandchildren. To others, she has no time for such, this doesn't means she's mean or rude, she's kind, compassionate and sweet but in a different way. Whenever you get to be in her presence, you have this standalone aura surround you, there's no how you escape being self-conscious. She's a queen that wants everyone and all things around her to be in order.

I listened in on the whole conversation. The great Miliani Hwang is just a broken girl under that tuff exterior. I've seen my men shudder at her name. I've seen my victims kill themselves trying to escape her wrath. She is ruthless but yet still so innocent, having never taken a life with her own hands.

I had it stored in my backpack so Sarah wouldn’t see it but now that I was alone, I wanted to read a bit more into it. As I read the contents of the pages, I froze when I came across the section about the Moon Queen. It clearly stated that the moon queen was the only one in existence who was able to have a sorcerer as a mate. Besides that, occurrence, sorcerers did not have mates.

My head badly wants to rotate and seek assurance from my mate, who stands behind me, but I don’t. I can do this too. Because I am Queen. “Good morning, everyone.” My voice booms in the silent arena and bounces back to my eardrums. I don’t even have to be loud — the silence is enough to carry even the quietest sound. “I’m Brooklyn…” I trail off, having no idea what my biological surname is. And although Landon and I have yet to mate officially, he’s mine and I am his. “…McBroom, mate to Landon McBroom, Luna to the mates of the United Kingdom, and Queen to the werewolves.”

My pride bled out with each hit. A hush swept over the gathered crowd. And then a new voice spoke. “That’s enough.” I looked up through blurred eyes. A tall woman strode forward, robed in dark green velvet, her silver jewelry glinting in the sunlight. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, deadly. She carried herself like royalty. She was the queen. She stopped in front of me, hands clasped behind her. Her mouth curled faintly. “River,” she said, her voice deceptively smooth. “You’ve truly gone mad this time, haven’t you?”

mí padre said. “We have an alliance in place,” I said. “Respectfully, her current last name isn’t as important to me as her future last name.” I took a step forward. “Sir, you know Jasmine’s worth. It’s why you keep her so very well protected.” I brought my right fist to my chest. “I will do the same. With me, she will be my queen.”

The woman corrects kindly; Mum laughs and apologises to the woman, though the small glint in her eyes indicates to me she wasn't very apologetic. "It's nice to meet you both," Marcel says. I gave him a friendly grin and let my glance wander over his features; he was a muscular man with black hair that was gelled back and a strong bone structure. While I stood beside him, Warren shook his hand and introduced himself, and after Warren, I introduced myself to the couple. Then, all of a sudden, the front doors open again, drawing everyone's attention to them. My breath catches in my throat as I come face to face with maybe the most gorgeous person I've ever seen.

“I keep it stocked.” “Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Queenie says, and settles herself at the table like she’s been here a hundred times. Then, while Maurice fumbles with the kettle: “Maurice, do you happen to know where Mrs. Aragon is currently?” Maurice’s back stiffens at the counter.

Soft music twirled through the air, along with the rich scent of money and power, mingled with the stale scent of pheromones and sharp perfumes. The ground was colorful, with ladies dressed in their own levels of elegance. Their eyes held envy, a mixture of jealousy, which was strange because I never considered myself pretty—maybe somewhere between average. As for the men, their lips curled with smiles as if they were watering their prey before claiming it. "Freya, you look amazing." Spinning around, I spotted Mrs. Queen moving toward me with a glass of wine. She looked amazing, quite young for a woman of over forty years old. Every detail of her gown screamed attention to detail.