Order To Read Throne Of Glass の小説・ストーリー

And if, it was any other God, they would take it for treason which it is, but as it is, my flawed nature allows me to joke even at wrong moments, which baffles me, because at this point, anyone could have killed king Orrin. And all that we know, we can't do anything about it yet, until the end of the competition of Gods, to attain a new king to the throne. Such a competition that hasn't been held in the last thousand years. And such a competition which will begin from the 3rd day after king Orrin 's ceremonial burial. "Alec," My head snaps away from my journal to the voice calling my name. Odell stands at the open door, with two hands into the white suit trouser he is wearing.

] I just pocketed my phone when a voice, both familiar and pretentious, rang out: "Welcome, everyone, to the wedding of Sebastian and me." I turned to see Sebastian, sharp in a tailored suit, standing by Rosa in her bridal gown, playing the perfect hosts. They stood before a rainbow archway, their oversized wedding portraits smiling down. Catching sight of me, Rosa rose on her toes and planted a kiss on Sebastian. The crowd erupted in whistles and cheers, and Sebastian, a bit sheepish, dabbed at his mouth. He glanced up without thinking, and our eyes locked in an unexpected standoff. Sebastian, caught off guard, shoved Rosa aside, his awkwardness bordering on comical.

The fog itself seemed to shiver, pulling tighter, until the figures were so near Mia could see the glint of eyes—silver, countless, unblinking. The pendant pulsed again. Slow, rhythmic. A heartbeat that wasn’t hers. “They’re here,” Mia whispered. Her voice broke like glass. “The ones who rewrote it.” The eyes blinked all at once. Then a ripple of sound, like parchment tearing, cracked the air. The mist split open, revealing not the clearing, but a throne towering in the distance, veiled in shadows. On it sat a figure crowned in violet flame. The Queen. *“For me,”* her voice thundered—not loud, but absolute.

The Throne shatters and grows in the same breath, spines twisting like serpents. And in the heart of it— Us. Burning. Breaking. Becoming. The Throne roars a promise in my skull: If I can’t have you, I’ll take HER. And then— Everything goes white.

I said, quickly changing the subject. "Yes, we do. Does anyone have a suggestion on where to start?" Braxton asked. I saw Thane hook his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the books on the desk. "I vote we do some reading." I nodded, then stood up and approached the desk. They all looked very old, but I was drawn to one book in particular. I picked up the black, heavily used book that was titled Demon Hierarchy. I then turned back around and sat back down. I felt as if I was in a trance as I opened the book. All the noises in the background all faded away. I was pulled into my thoughts as I scanned the pages. I blinked a couple of times and when I looked up from the book I saw an enormous

CHAPTER ONE: THE YOUNG LADY RUINED THE MEETING ROSE AMARA'S POV Kingdom, throne, blood, gold, and power. You have nothing if you don't have any of these. It involves more than just being at the top. No one can touch you or others nearby if you are high enough. Nobody looks at you because they are afraid of being blinded by the non-negotiability you reflect back at them when they do. That’s why I don’t and will never stop.

And the war for the throne had finally stepped out of the shadows—into the open. The palace trembled beneath the strain of their joined power. Dust cascaded from the ceilings. Torches flickered, some extinguishing completely, as the corridor seemed to shrink and stretch all at once, as if reality itself were bending around the three of them. Selene’s eyes darted around wildly, searching for any advantage. Her hands flicked, conjuring defensive barriers and arcane spikes that shattered against Draven’s aura before they even formed fully. “You underestimate me,” she hissed. “I am the order of this kingdom!”

Then the feeling faded, smothered by the shadows that had taken root in my soul. I walked to my dresser and picked up the black dress that had been laid out for tomorrow's ceremony. It was beautiful. Deadly. The kind of dress a queen would wear to her coronation. Or to her funeral. As I held it up, something strange happened. The shadows in the room began to move, swirling around the dress like living things. They formed shapes, then words, spelling out a message in ancient script that I somehow understood: *"The crown devours. The throne demands. The queen who sits upon it rules alone forever."*