Novel & Cerita Nehemia Throne Of Glass

After hearing it, Hydra almost falls from her sit. " What do you mean? A light like a blazing fire?" She asked Valdemar. Leonor couldn't concentrate well on her job until she struck her queen's nails. "Ouch!" She shouted and kicked Leonor. She stumbled on the five steps stairs from her throne. " I'm sorry, my queen!" She begs for Hydra. Leonor quickly stood up from the floor and kneeled before her queen. She was shaking. She can't die yet. She had siblings to help.

“Why do you need to protect me?” “Your uncle wants you dead. He later found out he took the wrong twin. You’re the rightful heir to the throne. You are the heir of the light “Heir of the what?” I started laughing so hard. I’m seriously buying into this? I just can’t believe everything she’s telling me. Like what? Like I’m a king or something.

The other six chairs surrounding it were already occupied. "Alpha Ciaran," said a dry, feminine voice. It was Amyra, the vampire queen. Her cold and calculating red eyes locked onto mine with amusement. "Countess Amyra." I bowed my head slightly, taking a seat at the table. Across from me, Zolaiah grunted in acknowledgement. The ogre king didn’t like formalities. His tusks jutted out from chapped lips, and his enormous bulk made his chair creak under him. "Let us begin," Rune Elarion, Princess Regent of the Bleeding Throne, said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The disgust must be evident on my face, because I can feel the heat of it spreading through me, steaming beneath my skin like a slow-burning fire. Then, my eyes shift And I see it. The glass tower. A pyramid of delicate champagne glasses, stacked one on top of the other, twinkling under the golden lights. My fingers tighten around my red bag as I take a slow, intentional step forward. “Happy anniversary, my darling and cheers.” Roy says, He lifts his glass high, a warm smile on his face. The crowd echoes towards him, raising their glasses in unison. I make my move. Reaching down, I pluck a single glass from the base of the towering pyramid.

THE BREAKING POINT Blythe's POV A soft breeze stirred the scent of wild jasmine and crushed rose petals. Blythe stood in the greenhouse—but it wasn't broken this time. The glass sparkled. The vines were trimmed. Lanterns floated in the air like stars. It was just as it had once been. And seated beneath the trellis, on that old stone bench— "Mother?" Blythe whispered, her voice trembling. Queen Nera looked up with a gentle smile, her silver-streaked hair coiled in a braid over her shoulder, eyes as fierce and kind as Blythe remembered.

Ceres chuckled as she took the blood wine that was prepared for her. “But how can you tell about something that never happened yet?” Alpha Jace wondered before he sipped on his tea. “Well, Alpha Jace, I’m not just the so-called great fallen rogue but I’m also the Immortal Blood, so yeah, I could tell.” Ceres was smiling as she took a sip again over her blood wine.

At its center rose a circular throne carved from a single slab of black stone. Upon it sat Nysera. She rested one elbow against the armrest, her chin balanced lightly upon her hand. Long silver-white hair flowed over the dark throne like moonlight spilling across midnight stone. Her skin was almost unnaturally pale, untouched by time. Crimson eyes, ancient and unreadable, watched the chamber below with effortless authority.

Beside him, the scarred Sand-Eater Alpha represented the Rogue Clans, his yellow eyes darting suspiciously around the room. To my right were the remnants of the Highblood elite—Lord Arcturus of House Grimm and Lady Vane, both looking as though they had been forced to swallow broken glass. And at the head of the table, wearing the simple black nanoweave suit of a soldier rather than the crown of an Empress, stood Neoma. The Queen of Silence. Between them all lay the document. The Obsidian Covenant.

But his knuckles twitch at his sides. Beside him, Nioma steps forward. Her crimson gown hugs her frame like flame wrapping glass, her black hair bound in intricate knots, each strand pinned to perfection. She walks with grace, head held high. Nana approaches her, smaller crown in hand—a delicate circlet of silver and sapphires that glint in the rising sun. Her father watches with satisfaction in his eyes, his usual cold eyes softening at the happiness on his daughter’s face. Theon doesn’t look at her.